"contenders" poems
at times we tend to think
our democracy is safely founded and secure
only eventually we recognize
the need to constantly defend its fundamental rights
work steadily against their stealthy abolition
watch carefully the words of politicians
lest they betray what they pretend to say
think twice for whom we cast our votes
avoid contenders who too often bray
that these were not their quotes
listen to those who have good arguments
do not unleash too easy sentiments
and in the end cast our votes when called
in short
democracy turns out to be hard work
in case we shirk this
we soon pay the price
unfree societies have known
dictatorship corruption vice
have often needed centuries
to remedy injuries done
to find their four freedoms
and to recognize
democracy remains a living promise
a brilliant idea with many faces
always a work in progress
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Yeah it's one shot one ****
Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
Remember to think better,
think further,
think deeper
and with vigour.
Pepper your remember
with colour,
with light,
with friends who delight.
Boost your remember
with story,
with histories,
with cramped group selfies.
And remember your remembers
whenever,
wherever
you drift off centre.
And there you'll discover
your defenders,
your never surrenders
against all contenders.
Then you'll remember
your forevers.
Remember -
it's your best self defense.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
trickling down cheeks
the beads of sweat gather on chins
jaw lines glisten
chalk on asphalt
contenders equidistant, soon to be unison
two of them
racing
each reach for the first to get
to the line
a place for few of them
bronze rusts, and silver runs
but nothing like us
off that starting gun
all at a chance
to watch the refs
wave the flags
and decide a winner
go for gold
outside the champion's circle
are shoulders cold
if you don't give it all
you're no pro
you're an amateur
a beginner, 1st in show
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 2:00 AM UTC
I only pretend with pretenders
And contend with contenders
I'm only giving to the givers
And forgiving to forgivers
I'm only strange with strangers
And dangerous with dangers
I'm only hateful to the haters
And traitorous to traitors
©
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
I work hard & play harder, expressing my magna carter
Give and take in life, you should see expressions when we barter
It’s the code of ethics,Artistrythe message
Quote the reference cause I been known to show the people who the best is
Leave you restless, have you wondering and asking questions
Taking notes it’s a thin line, anorexic
My manifesting counting blessings, mount the back of aggression
And tame the beat with my sessions from my adolescence
Now I’m grown dog, game of chess playing leap frog
Where the contenders, too quick to surrender, claim me the winner
In other words its competition versus me and beginner
Just a side with my dinner, been hot from day one, straight through the winter
Walk with my chin up, built from the chin-ups
This is my get up, that I flex when I sit-up,
Some used to call me narcissistic, I guess that’s realistic
Cause appearance means everything, put that on your wish list
Handle my business, even if it means getting me twisted
I risk it, I’m on the rise you soft as bisquick that’s ironic isn’t it
That’s the same biscuit.
Who the next in line? I know you got a vest fine
Ye, that ***** **** ill, right next to mine
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
At least give the devil his due;
A thousand wind-swept contenders become a few
As the coast erodes & tides
approach
we wonder if God ever spoke
___
the drained heart of god
Initials & pillars both flown, blown away
To await scripture from a new era
Is he there, in a modicum of fear
© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
Great professions
Great foundations of thy nation
To them we look up
A brainwave for every aspirant.
Beggars, unemployed
Criminals and those who are sick
Bed-ridden and with counted lives
They, who are in need.
If we look up to people
Do we also look down to others?
If we are great contenders,
Are we also great in making others feel low ?
We choose to upgrade lives
While in the stairs, our views are on pinnacle
The hub was to escalate
At times, forgetting to where we came from.
What's the point of attaining positions ?
Or even being the crest in the nation's list ?
We indeed are people with the same blood
The same dreams , yet with mixtures of line ups.
To be great , one must serve
Great leaders starts from being great servants
For He who saved us became a servant first
He didn't boast His power and authority
He didn't look down to others
Instead, He lived with them
To those who are oppressed ,
Abused and neglected
By the ever-judging society,
You are the God's centre .
We must have the eye
To see things the way He sees them
The heart that feels
With compassion and sympathy* to others.
Love God
Love others
Show mercy and care.
7/9/14 (@xirlleelang)
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
My mind and body can’t agree
On what the hell to do with me
See, I’ve lived my life afraid to live
I’ve got so much more I still can give
But I am selfish, an introvert
I shy away when I feel hurt
Protecting all that I hold dear
Living out my days in fear
I shudder at the thought of change
That somehow I’ll drown in the rain
Barely noticed, I feel restrained
From the noise inside my brain
Nothing ventured
Nothing gained
Enough to drive a man insane
And now it’s time to end the game
No contenders, mine to claim
It’s hard for me to explain
Like art, I feel stuck in a frame
No excuses, none to blame
I’d surrender if it’s all the same
And live my life that’s too mundane
While ending up in the hall of shame
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
The Little Skiff Slips through the water, following Swamp Trails.
Soft Light of a Bayou Moon in the Mist, on right the splash of Gator Tail
As it hunts in the Moonlight, Twinkle of Neon Blares through the reeds,
From a Swamp bar Southeast of Lake Charles, Fiddle and Wash board,
Scrap , over Sweet Chords of Accordian Tunes drifting in the mist, As a
Patron of the Bar stirs coals on the bonfire, Drunken Guests Cut a Rug
On rolled out linoleum, Et Toi a Night of Bon temp Roulle on the Bayou
Inside the door, for some Cat fish and Red Beans & Rice with a cold brew
The Old Juke Box Plays Aaron Nevilles "If Tear Drops were Diamonds"
As the Band takes a Break, fiddle laying at Bars end Winks in Orange
To the flash of the Beer Sign, Uncle Solacess Raises his glass to the Moon
A high toast to La lune ete Amour de Coure, A Drunken Fight breaks out
Old Family issues, the contenders hugging and laughing over fresh Beers
As I Stumble out the door, just as the Zydeco strikes up I crank up the skiff
As I float into the fog, Bon Temp Roulle under Bayou Pale Moonlight
C'est bien de te voir, A bientot Au Revoir Bonne Nuit et Beau Reves....
.................................................................JMF 10/114
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
Here in receding darkness, the sky meets the earth;
In waning hours, here the music of the waves
consoles the mourning sands; here I go pursuing
the citadel of mists, rising lotus-like from clouds
hanging on rugged mountains in the distance.
Maelstroms in the desert carry vortices of sand
and moist fragments of mirages of oases;
The fury of the sea brooks no contenders:
***** make home the sands levelled flat of my
feats; Again the uproar of mist-filled thirst.
Invisible companion, tonight, in moonlit silence,
will you come walking waters, like those ages
many, of Galilee ago? A storm is brewing.
A labyrinth of seasons in the Catherine-wheel
of life, growing and swirling out of the haze;
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
In theory, we're demoralized,
In practice, neutralized,
But with force we analyze
What happens around us.
Sanctimonious ********
Pulling our plastered limbs
To an ever lasting fight,
Against forces of evil? Where are we?!
Black veils on their faces
Dark tears in the traces
Marked by the graves that are left behind.
Apathetic pathetic pythons biting the bits and piecing the peace that pits you against your brother.
Pompous posers pushing pampered ideas into our polluted brains.
Anti-idealistic contenders competing for riches and a nice comfy throne.
Plausible pseudo-righteous imposers asking for an applause for all the ill-witted words they shed.
Rectify the wrong wriggled reason riddling wibble fed to feeble citizens.
We sit here waiting for divine intervention,
Well divinity's gone! Not to mention the tension,
All these factors and factions, the fact is we're dying, and they're not helping.
Something drives them, something we don't understand, but who has the guts to ask them what it is?
Our blood has become the dividend divided among the not-so-united lands that fall under a geographical, categorized country of hell.
In this hell we live in, we've become minions of liberal less-than-mediocre minds ironically not minding their own business, feeding off of ours.
Intertwined, undermined, understand the outer line, see the truth, feel the crime, freedom's yours. Freedom's mine.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
I can see through your eyes
Dark pigment
Surrounded by a colorless horizon
Lids and lashes act as curtains
But as you become surprised they rise
...
Your eyes are wide
The reflection I get makes me think that I'm in the picture
But reality tell me that everyone else sees themselves within you
I can see through your eyes , but I can't tell who you're looking forward to
Contenders
Applicants
Aspirants
Do we all make your eyes sparkle or is that just the only thing that divorces me from the other prospects?
The other prospects keep looking just as I do, so I know that it is something that they want
...Your eyes
Your eyes become my shining gold when your cheeks elevate and suppress , leaving wrinkles right next
Your upside down rainbow, I mean ... your smile
So kaleidoscopic and polychromatic
Dynamic and emphatic
What creature wouldn't be attracted?
...
Umm
Whatever natural specimen with a good sight that can see through your eyes.
Someone with similar vision, but nonidentical decisions to I
I know your smile is moody
Your heart is choosy
And your eyes are gluey
And yet I dissociate myself from your gallery
Believing some day that you'll just shut your eyes and become blind to all the other guys
How do I disregard the signs that I'm instructed while seeing through your eyes
The signs that show me how you flourish off of all the concentration that you get
I'm posing inside of a picture that I know is framed by faces that do not have placement
Your art steadily draws attention
so as soon as you get glimpses
You start your bidding
Your craft is so worthy but so inexpensive
As if you put your body up for sale and mark down the price, only to stay top seller to the cheap consumers
How do you allow to have a allowance upon yourself; moreover, place yourself on clearance
The real question is why do I window shop knowing that the quality of the product is so unreliable
I don't think I really wanna see, what I really see when looking through your eyes
Wishing you weren't so prideful about your high demand of men
If yu weren't so disdainful maybe you'll blink more often and try to
Shun from keeping eye contact with me
Instead you proudly advertise yourself as the best deal yet
I hate that I can see through your eyes
Because I hate to witness a beautiful woman with such a bargaining mind
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
*In the crowded platform
he sure was the dancing peacock
in his heart was blowing a storm
he feigned though looking at the station clock.*
Not the clock he was eying that one lovely girl
her face storm gatherer like her hair's black curl
he blushed every time she would catch his eyes
stealing her a look in indifference's disguise.
He was within enjoying this farcical foreplay
didn't know her train his was an hour away
imagined she too was singling him out
from the flock of men his contenders no doubt.
Did a wispy smile float on her cherry lip
few moments' encounter could it be that deep
still in his wondrous thought the girl he did own
on that absurd stage for her his love was grown.
One could not tell what was going within her
her eyes were they touched shone there a star
was she too mindful of him held him once in gaze
or her mind was too far away on a different page.
The hour passed quick in the young man's trance
between changing trains with the peacock's dance
when chugged in her train flew away the butterfly
the whistles of his train drowned his rending sigh.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
I listen to the sound of my fate as it pours out of the bottle. At last the pressure can escape. Breathing a sigh of relief that would meet the clouds with gentle licks. I am seated at the edge of my own precipice and at the bottom is a river. Ready to carry me down a tumultuous pass to the sandy peroxide foamy waves that exfoliate my sins.
Scout the bottom of the ocean for my heart,
You will find it throbbing like your eardrums in the auricle of a conch shell
You will hear the sound of my voice
And feel the grit of sand as you clench down your teeth
The water dries around my knees as I float atop the surface. Exposing my holy flesh to the contenders of will power. Will power my will to engage the mighty rock. And burst and bleed and eviscerate to form, to mold, to sculpt the golden stool of my consciousness.
Feast your eyes upon my crown
Adorned with the corpses of my victory
And collateral damage
Feel its weight as heavy as mercy
The blood pours into the ink as I dig these verses from my soul. The goal, my raison d'être, ikki *** and my modus opernadi is to excuse the agenda pushing glitterti when they tell me what my life should be. I should be, cruising the milky ways and the galaxies that my being exists in. Infinite space, infinite time leaves way for infinite possibilities to truly be free. So don’t mind me.
Standing as the revolution
The testament
Revolving around your disillusion
Thicker than cement
My empire was built on dreams, schemes occupy my reality and place you next to me. And the rest of me I will give to you as I pull you inside of me. So that when my eyes close you sleep and when you are sad I weep, deep is the colour of our passion beyond indigo. More fierce than the might of Chaka and his legions and yet as quiet as snowfall and you are
Beautiful. A shock to the senses that
dissipates the fog.
This concludes
the prelude.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
Running out of
Oxygen, burning out
When contenders feel like
Dropping dead,
In an unexampled manner
Summoning a vestige
Of energy
Bringing into play
A new strategy,
Miruts Yifter Ethiopia's
Olympic legend
Used to surge ahead
Demonstrating a race
Is a sport of foot,lung
And head.
That is why
A commentator
Christened him
“Mirutse Yifter
The gear changer!”
“I dare say
Catching up with him
In a dead heat
There is no way
Once, he broke away!”
Two golds in 5 thousand
And 10 thousand meter race
In Moscow Olympic
With a gear-changing tactic
What a trick, what a trick!
What a story to children
And grandchildren to tell
Recalling minutest
Detail well!”
In our childhood,
With people
In the neighborhood
Our eyes
To TV screens glued
We used to relish
Miruts' sprinted finish
Forcing rivals
Winning dreams
To relinquish!
After the medal
Putting on ceremony,
Heading to
Our football pitch
We used to run round,
Round,round and round
Till exhausted ourselves
We found!
It is adopting
Mirutse's footprint
Haile,Derartu,Kenenisa,
Tirunesh,Selershi and
Meseret sprint!
This formula grand
Gradually has found
Its way to Kenya
And England
May be tomorrow
To Sire lanka or America!
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
You do not die
The absence of life is death,
as the absence of light is dark.
Belief deemed- burning can only be seen
in relation to that which would smother.
Pressing belief to emerge befuddled,
so shall we persist in futile struggle?
Use ability, a gift that has blessed,
enhancements, emerge into unique success.
Leading on to evolve, until age-
leaves its contenders trapped; a skin cage.
You do not die. That is fear believing lies.
In an attempt to avoid distrust,
we will continue, on, out and up.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
Disingenuous
you're a
hip hop
***** mop
slap right in the face
a turn down
runaround
useless piece of space
a pretender like you really care
but I know you ain't going anywhere
so disingenuous
I'm a
cold fish
broken dish
ran away with a spoon
I look alive
with a high five
cow jumping over the moon
a pretender like I really care
but I know I ain't going anywhere
so disingenuous
we can dream
we can scheme
stay on the top of pretenders
we can cry
and wonder why
alone in a world of contenders
so disingenuous
Gomer LePoet ....
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
what is the shortest poem ever written?
There is no single, universally agreed-upon "shortest poem ever written," but some common contenders include Strickland Gillilan's "Fleas" (Adam. Had 'em.), Muhammad Ali's "Me? Whee!!", and Aram Saroyan's single-letter poem (a four-legged "m") which the Guinness Book of World Records once listed as the shortest.
Commonly cited examples:
"Lines on the Antiquity of Microbes" / "Fleas" by Strickland Gillilan: This couplet, "Adam. Had 'em," is often cited as the shortest poem in the English language.
"Me? Whee!!" by Muhammad Ali: After a Harvard commencement speech, Ali responded to a request for the world's shortest poem with this couplet.
Aram Saroyan's "m" poem: This poem consists of a single letter, a specially designed four-legged version of the letter "m", which was recognized by the Guinness Book of World Records at one time.
But without a doubt, the shortest poem ever writ,
will never be by yours so truly,
unless you will consider his rhyming name,
of three syllables a suitable contender
Nat Lip Stadt
( ok forget that)
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 7:02 AM UTC
sorry for my cutting presence
a darkened cloud of piercing shards
for these words stand to make a mark
I fight for girls and boys of a crimsoned heart
a mischievous rising that shakes and splinters
that comes down upon all of our calloused contenders
self proclaimed nights of armor
to which they could not stand any more wrong
oh how they pull and tug, weeding, deceiting us along
an enamored kiss that shined rose
cloaking all forehadowed, creeping woes
glittering flames that sparkled with lust
a now blistering conscious and presence of regretful musk
raise those silvery swords
because today crimsoned boys and girls
we enter a battle of heart forsaken war
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
From hood to hood
you can catch me smokin' blackwoods
to dutches & boone farm liqour quicker
than Draw Mcgraw **** the law raw
with this tale i tell no fails as i sail
deep into the ocean
takin' me to higher notion
Of **** this! & **** that!
so many don't know how act
When fame grows it comes & goes from fresh kicks to calicos
Pistol shinin' death waitin' for signs and
i lay low beyond the radar
Keep my head above the waters still slaughter
contenders they get no love from me
my heart pumps faster than a hummingbird
no koolaid too many gettin' sprayed
over dumb **** butthurt over modest sentiment
no time to repent cuz ill probably die in sin
but then again ill be reincarnated as a human
Which dates back when
i was born full of scorn souls torn into pieces
i patchin' up the scattered pieces
Hear my thesis
that i was made to be a culprit **** i can't find no peace
went from a hoopty to cadillac to ******* in the back
Chokin' on my nut sack
Now that im ballin' but still i find myself stallin' fallin' to stereotype
Since I'm vigilant and ripe
Listenly closely
i don't follow the hypppppEEEE!!!!
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Rose,
The morn is bright
and fair,
and so art thou.
Good Lord! when
shall my envy
cease, for he that loveth thee?
My convincing love words
will never be exhausted
until your highly sought
after hand in marriage I have won.
Contenders from the east, west,
north and south of France
line up by day just for your
consent to seek.
But just as dauntless, relentless
and resilient in battle I have been,
so will I be in my struggle
with these contenders
for your heart's epicentre.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
i'm concentrating on falling apart.
we were contenders, but we're still throwing the fight.
but i just wanna believe, i just wanted to believe,
i just won't believe, in us.
because there's a lump in my throat,
and i'd rather it be cancer than tears.
because there are tears in my eyes,
but i'd rather go blind than cry for you.
and then there's this portion of my heart,
it beats faster than the others, you see.
but i'd rather it be a defect than be from you,
and all of our talked about, moonlit dreams.
there are walls around my heart,
locked doors inside my head.
i'd rather choke on the key,
than hand it over again.
oh, we're so c-c-c-c-c-controversial.
and i know we loved it, fed on it.
we would've bathed in it,
given the chance.
we are entirely smooth.
slick with tears, [and blood, too]
we admit to the truth.
we are the best at what we do.
tell me, what did we do?
what did we do to deserve such a mess?
thrown together and pulled apart,
we are the most vile of verbal arts.
after all, these are our words.
we wish we wrote them down,
but they'll have to do for awhile.
at least until we figure us out.
this is the way you wish your voice sounds,
at two in the morning, or hell, even six.
this is the way we wish we could say:
**** i love you. don't let us melt away.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC
I keep you warm within a delicate memory
-a Victorian lace cobweb
safe from all contenders to love
in the attic where no one searches
where beauty resides in an old box of photographs
and a childhood was a distant Sun shining.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
They hope against hope
For survival
But what are they?
Dead on arrival
Historic footnotes
Perhaps archival
No longer contenders
Or arch rivals
Former debaters
At the kids table
Who wanted a chance
To prove themselves able
To break out and join
The rest of the stable
All they needed
Was a booster cable
But as another one
Bit the dust
Going down
In total disgust
The frontrunners
Remained nonplussed
While observing
All that’s left is just us
See their base
Was so hell bent
On making sure
That the message sent
Was conservative to the core
As far as that went
And they we’re determined
Not to relent
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC