"beatbox" poems
My heart is the beatbox
My mind is the maestro
My soul is the song
My body is the instrument
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Exotic & dangerous
Life is shorter than what we know or think
so i must enjoy my life freely
do the extreme things before i die
Had to do things that i want
and dreams that i want to fulfill
even from my last breathe
Because i want to
Because im curious of every single thing
Even from the way you breathe or ****
Then i want to spread this
and lend me a hand
Then come with me!
And make this world worth living!
then we can jump to tallest building like hell
This things that i wanted really so bad
To fly somewhere
were everyone can't recognize me
To play in the rain
and be a kid once again
To travel around the world
were i can find myself
and perhaps discover something knew
that i haven't been before
Go picnic and eat some snacks with friends
were i could laugh on top of my lungs
Go partyin' late at night
were i can control and make some noise
like a dj bass
Go to a concert
to a great rock band
Go shopping to the mall
and be a fashion clique
Produce a music
were birds could come and go with you
Represent to your country
and be a world champion human beatbox
Write stories
and be an author
of my own journey
Cause YOLO
you only live once
in your life
and there
*g
o
e
s*
A D V E N T
U
R
E
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Is the occultist aware she’s daring,
That she carries the shadiest orifice?
No.
She just defecates and scars remain.
Akin to the likes of an unmarketable comedian:
passion on one side, narcissism on the other.
‘Twas unforeseen.
Enemies working together,
Exchanging callous banknotes.
No one had foreseen this.
Eventually, she’ll *******
from depositing and withdrawing.
But no one knows.
No one can ever know.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
My hands are not my hands
My voice is not my own
My lip never was my lip
But this blood is all mine.
The spoon sedated my fears and insecurities
It's tender metallic surface gleaning
And involuntarily shaking
As I lapped up alllll the yogurt.
I could use a cartwheel.
I don't want to sleep
I'm afraid of dying
as my back and forehead sweat in agony
My eyes don't open anymore
A steady beeping
A flickering fills the air around me
I told my brother I'll be back soon
If I stop
I'm writing with my eyes closed now.
My heart rumbles like a cannon shot
My only regret is how I never knew you better
Mr. Cobain.
We had such fun nights with Mr. Yorke
and Mr. Coyne
Just laughing
And taking turns rolling Thom's glass eye across the floor.
Spring training.
I'm laughing on my bed outside
Catching glances of the summer
Coiled and contemptuous
They go on their lives not caring
Who lives.
Who dies.
Three girls climbed into my window
They smelled of grass and
polyurethane
The children died 6 years ago
The Johnny Carsons of this life
And
GET OFF MY HAND *******
PASS ME THE FOOTBALL
Percodin.
Codin.
Coding.
I just turned the page
And I'll be ****** if I do it again
“oh ****
If Dan went white-face ghetto
And wore beatnick clothes
It'd be
AMAZING
The incisor broke my fall
Sorry.
No pork and beans today.
Ericccccc
Help my head
Chalk these mint leaves up to fate.
Because GOD **** are they good.
I'm reading your expression
On an empty pizza box.
You don't seem too pleased.
I fear
This ice in my tray made me soak my bed
Honest!
Flounder had a mohawk
I don't give a **** what you say.
His **** mohawk was badass.
His stubble made Sebastian jealous
A bed of ice is better than a bed of coals
Or a bed of cars
Or a bed of rice
But that would feel really, really good.
Take a guitar solo
Now a bass solo
Now a keyboard solo
Now a harmonica solo
Now beatbox, no go?
Maybe the former
The TRANSFORMER of course. I hope I live to see that one day.
Yes.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
You mad genius, Hep cat with the small change jinglin’ in your pocket and razorblade at your throat
Jagged gravel voice crooning love songs about the Apocalypse and the gritty city streets
Crazy angel talking to God and dealing with the devil; raconteur to both
Dig that broken glass cry deep down inside rising out of your ragged mouth
Piano playing jazz, muddy beatbox boomin’, guitar wailin’ in the back alley
Car alarms and the thump thrump thump of the bass, city life and high nights
Crank up the noise and blow that sax, got Ol’ Scratch on your back and death hitchin’ a ride
Ya gotta keep the fire burnin’ ‘til the snake oil salesman slither on home to his whiskey bottle
Lyin’ with your dreams on, just keep playing that late night street corner diner song ‘til I’m gone
‘Til I’m dead, far, and gone
Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 7:13 AM UTC
Play me like your instrument
Reach inside
And find the notes,
Unplug the headphones
And watch me float
On natures music
If you should choose it.
Reach inside and unzip
My second skin,
Stroke the snare as
I watch,
Strip me, lay me bare,
Prepare.
Reach inside, and pull
Back the sheets,
The clink of springs
A xylophone,
Trickling out a tune,
Soon.
Reach inside, and pump
The pillows, watch the
Noise filled pause billow
Out rest stops of tension
And apprehension.
Setting for the show
Change emotion with the motion,
Now
Reach inside and grip
My heart
It's urgent bass beat cues
The start, the warm up
Of this performance.
Now.
Reach inside and slip
Through my blood,
Your music shivers
Up my veins,
An invisible trail,
I beg you,
Take what remains
Now
Reach inside and ******
My lungs away,
The heavy gasp of breath
Beats beatbox any day.
Take them, they're yours.
Reach inside and whisper
in my ear,
Unleash a hum of empathy,
Steer me, clear me
from the coast with the
Ships of my hips.
Take them, they're yours.
Reach inside and pluck
on my strings
Take your pick and
Weave your way
Within.
Take them, they're yours.
Reach inside and finger
at my chords
The ****** of the piece
Applause enough to live on,
Each gasp lingers, strong.
Take them, they're yours.
Each gasp lingers through.
Clear
Reach inside and find
the notes,
My lyrics soaked in
Joyous expletives
Raw and sensitive,
Take them, they're yours.
Take me, I am yours.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
No energy
Inside me
Trying
Honestly to figure
What it is that motivates me
I know I like to beatbox
I know I like to rap
But how do I find
The gasoline to the generator?
The generator that runs
Deep within all of us
I need it for my schoolwork
But all I feel is a dead buzz
Someone, help?
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
i just came here for the whiskey and music,
the rest is zoology formerly known as darwinism, i.e.
logically me monkey you you monkey me
was going to be a rainforest and not a cage,
but the purring in o# gravitated us to
the stratosphere of talkative dinosaurs:
you know... no rain for millennia... then volcanic eruptions
and to the bone tattoos... i almost clapped with the t-rex
concerning our fate without theology; but god it was funny,
runny ***** too, i told the reptilian rejects (crocodiles and snakes and
leather boots) - ‘mind ‘em monkeys, they’ll start to juggle
a single sound into many and discover the steam engine and scalpel!
and depilate for the obsessiveness of ********* *** with politicians
singing - pinky pinky fold into knuckle, floyd my barber whisked up nirvana!’
yep... you just caught me with two watermelons and four flamingos
lodged in my armpits while i pursed my lips waiting for applied lipstick.
it's not that i think evolutionary biology is incorrect...
but for god's sake, i need the word for fluidity and the friday night cinematic stretching of legs knowing that no one made a career from talking crap
imitating a choir of gorillas hoping for a beatbox in the chest of the hidden seal’s applause.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
She puts aside the makeup kit,
and Jimmy Choos in the vault
cranking over her beatbox
as she smiles her troubles away;
fixes herself a drink or two,
walks into her den and
runs her Netflix marathon
and calls it a day.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
Sometimes
I beatbox just to clear my mind
Sometimes
I clear my memory to leave it all behind
Sometimes
I sing because I'm feeling good
Sometimes
I do what everyone should
I always
Help out my friends when they are in need
I always
Stay with my friends, the faithful steed
I always
Make memories that will last forever
I always
Cherish the good times we have had together
I love
My girlfriend,
My friends and family
Until the end,
Until the death of me.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:13 AM UTC
Kawehi : Part Three
No-one can be like Kawehi; but if you listen to her with me,
You will see the smile on my face and maybe, just maybe,
You will realise the love I have to give, is here inside your arms.
Hold me and never let go and in the morning set no alarm.
Let’s wake up together when we are fully rested,
So we can spend another day down with the gifted.
Yea-----h!!! You rock!
I love her music…Mrs. Beatbox.
She can pick the right song and make it better.
I don’t have a new complaint; I am all apologies to any other.
Pop bands can try and try, but they will never be good enough.
Kawehi wins hands down; my soul has been shaken.
Throw down your remixing tools, because they have begun to rust.
If you want a song to be improved, she just makes it happen.
I am in nirvana, with Nirvana,
But when I hear Lucy leaving me to Kawehi’s wonders;
I just think she could never understand me,
So now she is just a memory.
My world revolves around my soul and you drown out all the thunder;
Noise only exists inside my headphones and you are no fictional reality.
No tomorrow could compare to the day I found your songs;
It’s a very, what? Happy birthday!
So surprised to find you there,
Beneath the sounds of those who do it right
And you are able re-write the bad band’s wrong’s.
All you do is right to me and what more can I say?
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC