"cred" poems
street cred makes a boy a man
able to take care of business declares manhood
then why are they actin fools around women
playen, traden and, braken hearts
forgetting that is someones daughter, sister, mother, etc
women give birth to men and are trampled on by men
humiliated, disrespected, disregarded, mistreated, abused and, neglected
all with a smile and honey coated words
sweat melting int he mouth bitter swallowing
disturbing to the stomach, difficult to ***** out
trapping women desperate for safety
proudly declaring: "i am man"
sealed with appalling behaviour
this is how i see the generation, from which i have to choose my mate from
party,high maintenance girls chosen
dependable good women ignored
this begs the question what is a real man
lots declare publicly, i am a good man
bias and subjected words to safe faded honor
honor
a word created to make ego taste better
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
Rap is a craft and it oughta be,
But my rap is crap;
That’s just the way it comes outa me.
My rhymes and my rhythm are kinda feeble,
When I play a record sideways all I do is break the needle.
You lay a eight on its side and you get a infinity;
that’s how old I was when I lost my virginity.
Took my side piece out for a high class dinner
To show her I’m a winner
But I lost all my street cred when I ordered the sweetbread.
My homies formed a gang
And I tried to join the ranks,
But the only part of “gangsta”
I can handle is the “angst.”
I’d bust a move but my move buster’s rusted,
I’d pop a cap but my aim can’t be trusted.
One more thing to say
Before I depart:
Next time I’ll do a mic drop
Before I start.
Pizza? Out
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 6:28 AM UTC
In the cold of my car I shivered,
as the engine ran,
I sat still hoping to
dispense with the chill,
but my will said, 'accept it you are a wimp and an old cold one at that"
I was wearing my hat and my coat with light gloves,
I loves to wear, they separate my fingers
from the cold,
knitted grey and bold,
they let me hold,
objects of metal like keys to hearts, objects of stone like me very own heart,
objects of desire, that I keep secret until something transpires
which warms better than fires,
on a dark and lonely night under the stars bright, wait was that my tire?
Oh where did I wonder off too,
as I was in thought, now lost,
my wit, not sharp as the nail in my tire, the cost,
on a dark night in November, as six speeding police cars swoop past me,
on an urgent mission to stop a crime, their sirens wail as I am a
counterintuitive pantomime against the noise that assails me while
I am changing
a tire but remain the same,
metal tire rod tool in my hand, stone cold heart beating, against my ribs,
as I labor in disbelief that where I live is across from where I stand,
and with all technology you have to get on your hands and knees to
change a tire, I sneeze, I am not sure which is worse,
my situation or these verse,
which decorate the night, not like stars,
as when spoken aloud every other word is profane,
while two homeless push there wares by me and laugh
with disdain.
For in these transactions they have more street cred than I,
and I would give them a bitcoin of my thoughts, but they
are two and I am one, alone and without a cell phone, and
this poem rolling around like lug nuts in a hubcap, as frost
creeps closer than the creeps who wish to reap of my misfortune.
Of which I now have some, that I can mix with theirs and then
I notice their bloodthirsty stares, so I begin to recite this poetry
and expound on the woe in me and send them packing covering their
ears with out attacking my hapless now three wheeled car.
When I was done I was nuttier than those lugs,
"good news" it was too cold for bugs,
and with good conscience you, from this, can unplug.
©DWE112013
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
A dope gangsta is when you can slang dime sacks
Everyday of the week
While his honey-dip struts her stuff
Making sure she's at her absolute peak
If I ever get caught
I'll spend some more time at the central booking house
Hopefully, my homie will stick to his alibi
That's if he's able to, use all of his nous
You've got a head you can't think with
An eye you can't see with
***** you can't play with
Your neighbours an RRR hole
And your best friend is a total pussie
My britch loves to slip my Charles Dickens
Into her wet and shaved vertical smile
It's always a different position every night
And she always creates, a smile on my dial
She don't ever scream, when I slide it into her chocolate starfish
She’ll take one for the team, ya know what I mean?
You just wish ya momma was just like mine
Who never minds ya licking her dish, ever so clean
You've got a head you can't think with
An eye you can't see with
***** you can't play with
Your neighbours an RRR hole
And your best friend is a total pussie
Back home where every man is a potential enemy
Every woman a potential ***
There is not one hip-hop star today
Who has original street cred, you know
They're not street, they're just five star suite
Sleeping with girls who think they’ve got hot figures
At least I've walked the walk and everybody knows
I ride for my *** smoking, motley crew of ******
You've got a head you can't think with
An eye you can't see with
***** you can't play with
Your neighbours an RRR hole
And your best friend is a total pussie
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:52 PM UTC
It's the same dull presentation every year.
Her friends all aware.
She stands out today,
but then again,
not really.
She is of the few who remembered,
the occasion that is.
Simple black dress.
Black boots.
Poppy ablaze on her heart.
She is quiet today.
The Marlboro-huffing voice,
crackles over the P.A.,
telling students to report to the cafetorium.
She rises out of her seat,
smoothes her dress,
and straightens her poppy.
She is first to hand in the annual
"I Will Remember..."
slip of paper.
Along with her older brother's name.
Not looking back as she leaves.
Everyone files into their seats,
their bland, identical, mauve-coloured seats;
fidgeting before they even sit.
The "populars" in front of her,
texting and tweeting life away.
Insanity.
She silently studies the band, bitter as can be.
All there for extra cred, or to get out of class.
"Delinquents reading sheet music"
Printed on white, crisp new paper,
only to be forgotten about,
or thrown out tomorrow.
The anthem is played,
she loses control.
Tears tearing a path down her face.
Nothing but a scratchy wool sleeve to help;
all the while,
not without a stiff upper lip.
And as soon as it started,
the entire thing is over,
and everyone files out of their seats.
While she and a friend quietly duck into a bathroom,
seeking refuge from the common calm.
She cries.
Then quickly collects herself and walks back alone.
She enters class,
late with bloodshot eyes; daring anyone to speak.
Smeared makeup like warpaint.
Catching the eyes of her classmates,
as well as those of her teacher,
who now understands.
Though it's a silent knowing,
of course;
because nobody enjoys talking about,
nor remembering,
the day of the assembly.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Life's your own boomerang
Shoots you forward
Flings you back
Its no wonder with this lurch
That im a crippled insomniac
Its whack
How i take a few steps forward
Only to get smacked
In the head
Maybe i dont have enough street cred
On this path of Life
Its no wonder im a **** head
Cuts the anxiety like a knife
Couldnt wake up from this limbo
Couldnt fall asleep to dream
Only stuck in this middle space
Gotta survive by a solo team
So ill go on shooting forward
remember where i return
Makes the next wound a bit easier
Less strong of a burn
Doesnt mean im going backwards
Just means i must revert
To this origin
This oneness
And my mode of thinking
I must convert.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Feeling the rain more than hearing it
6:24 dark and threatening
It’s so cold in this ******* basement
2 hours and 36 minutes away
Crouching in plain sight
The work day.
Delivering food for the food bank, which is punk as **** frankly,
It’s a wasteland out here
And people need to eat
(A human right, if I understand the constitution correctly. Happiness is a lost pursuit in a body that’s hungry. You say food is a privilege <yes, you said it and believed it>, I say it’s life and liberty.)
Two 15 pound bags at a time
In exchange for baggage a mile high
Stacking cred against labor to build tone in your thighs
My joints wonder how young I think I am
Remembering the time my leg seized up and that old man just stared until I saw him see me and I smiled, I’m so silly
Hurry before all this pain ripens to taste
Slug it down like tequila
Try not to make a face
Born at the finish line, running in place.
2 hours and 26 minutes to make the coffee and absorb the caffeine
While I’m still me
And there’s nothing else to be
Dec 6, 2021
Dec 6, 2021 at 6:50 AM UTC
The band was loud, but in the other room and the bar was jammed.
He set his drink down a little too hard and it over-sloshed a bit.
“Run away with me,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “I’m done with school!”
“Well.. you graduated - that’s why you’re done,” she said, somewhat amused.
“We share a gravity, you and I - we’re.. we’re like aligned suns,” he romanticized.
“You should’ve majored in sales.” she said, sipping her own beer.
“Our love is so real, so raw - it's pure and yet - so street.”
“We have ‘love cred’?” She asked doubtfully.
“Wherever we go, we'll navigate that urban maze, hand in hand, we’ll OWN those concrete streets, we’ll paint our own graffiti!
“Have you snorted something?’
“No matter what life throws at us, we’ll face those challenges head-on and we'll stay united.”
“Have you been practicing this?” She asked
“We’ll swagger,” he said, “our love will be timeless..”
“And rhymeless,” she interjected hopefully.
“Together, we’ll be urban legends..” he continued.
“Like Bonnie and Clyde?” she asked, making a yuck face.
“We’ll be living art,” he said dreamily.
“Sounds dope.” She admitted.
“Then you’ll DO it?” He asked.
“Until Monday,” she said, nodding in assent, “classes start on Monday,” she shrugged.
“It was worth a shot.” he said stoically, after a moment.
“It was a good pitch,’” she said, taking his hand in hers.
“I didn’t oversell - I wasn’t too pushy?”
“No, you were right there,” she assured him.
“Maybe next time,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe next time”
They kissed.
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 1:07 PM UTC
This need I have
for unidirectional movement
will **** me.
For all the windows to fall shut against the wind in one long line like prttttpptttt.
Cards being shuffled.
Dominos clack’d together on a gray kitchen floor .
This need I have
for hidden meaning of the most obvious kind
will **** my street cred.
A painting of a puzzle piece, a puzzle of a peace sign. Getting cute
with your words can get you killed out here.
I am buried under
all the pressure of having blood.
Of being an body owner. Like here, this is yours now ;
Make a home for the body.
Being born is like having a child
beside yourself, another one inside.
Pushing out, in.
But I need the pressure, baby. Turn me back into
the shape of a man.
This need I have for object permanence,
is killing the suspense. What if the ball
doesn’t exist behind the couch?
What if I didn’t have this need for
storytelling voice, telling the story I’m only living.
Because the story needs a teller
like a hat needs a feather.
Like a cat needs another reason to eat..
This need I have for control
is inoperable cancer.
Gravity in the bones, nothing left for me in the stars,
the unbearable weight of barely anything at all.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 3:06 AM UTC
Like waves on the seashore
sadness washed over me.
Like moving shadows
despair set in.
Waiting to drag me under,
waiting to crush my soul.
It is a void of darkness
fathomless depths I could not reach.
Like wildfire in the night sky,
it could not be quenched.
Its cold icy grasp soaked me to the bone
gripping my frail heart in its clutches.
Where were you my love?
where were the winds of the wylde,
that used to sweep through my heart.
Where were you my stronghold
my safe haven from the things of the dark?
Like the cold winds of winter
you left me to die,
you cut into me like a noose
squeezing the life out of my soul.
For me without you the end was near
the light was gone
the darkness set in.
To whom then
could I lay those burdens?
To where then
could I have rested my head?
In the silence of my defeat
I laid my burdens down.
I swayed the pale flag of surrender
and I hung my head
low towards the ground.
For how could I see the light,
when all that was ahead of me
was a shroud of mist and gloom?
When all that my future foretells
is my doom,
creeping nearer and nearer.
I looked into my future
I saw tears, and I saw blood.
I saw wicked winds
Ripping into my body
tearing it apart.
Crushing my lungs
choking me of love.
Ridding me of my joy.
Then out of the shroud of my despair,
in a mirage of reality
a light appeared in the distance.
A glistening star shined for me.
Mocking the darkness
scorning the fear.
Steadily as I watched
it grew in volume.
It crept closer and closer
to my beating heart.
As it came nearer
it exploded alive with color and life.
Suddenly as I gazed into that bright beacon,
that beautiful pure light.
I saw through the realm of my eye
glimpses of beautiful things,
shining halls and glistening walls.
Golden streets,
and glorious beauty.
Fields of green
of violet.
Flowers of yellow
of blue and crimson gold.
"Is this the end"?
I cred and cried
"Is this the moment where mortality
and eternity meet"?
From the shrouds of the deepest sorrow
I had emerged.
On the wings of this glorious star,
my heart now soars.
Suddenly as I earnestly watched,
the star grew brighter and brighter.
As this took place, from somewhere
in the midst of the glory
came a voice deep, soft, and forgiving.
"Welcome my child,
welcome my friend,
Welcome home to the life
I have made for you.
Come and your troubles
shall be washed away.
Take my hand
and follow the light of this dazzling star.
The light of my heart
the light of my life.”
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
if I am elected president of this great country,
next month will be a month long
holiday, a celebration of blacks
whites yellow red brown cellophane
imaginary characters, superheros,
invisible mystery movie stars
country western, Rap stars, long haired rockers
Disco even ( among the most reviled)
rhythm and blues, blues reds
those with accents, those without,
homosapiens and bisexuals lesbians thespians the gay and those happy
foot fetishists, my subscription to wow toes lapsed,
biologists psychologists street pharmacy dudes
Marilyn Monroe (oops my freudian slip, there)
women men boys girls , old young two and four legged
disabled American vet or not
truck drivers , doctors nurses garbage collectors(I gotta give them cred)
machinists secretaries liberals conservatives socialists ummm
communists?, maybe not so much,
waitresses even bill collectors,
lawyers the clergy and those elected,
maids kings queens prostitutes pimps
bad weak , rednecks Santa , I seen him today at the seven eleven
he works construction this time of year, the DEA
the Armed Forces, probation officers
the unemployed , the guy in the suit at the grocery in front of me buying Ribeyes with food stamps, teachers, septic tank pumpers
.......whew, I gotta take a break. I left many out , but this month long holiday is going to be inclusive. No one left out behind.
All colors all sizes all sexes all religions.
Gotta for once stop dividing this country into us
and them, see us all as Americans.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
Im hurt by your honesty
in the past you told lies and know all I do is cry
Are you my daddy or just another man
trying to still my heart
No one can
You lied I cred
now whats there to say
Im threw Im done
with all your Lying Games
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 8:52 AM UTC
If I were to die today
Well, what can I say?
I'd simply be dead
To overthink, is to lose your way
It ain't just all about... street cred'... flashy clothing... and being overfed
One needs to find a balance, be it at the brim
He who adds no value to your life, is the one that you trim
Off, and lose touch with
Or not associate too much with
Do not take life too seriously
I know that I will die too, curiously...
I feel nothing even remotely close to fear
Suprise me death
You could be far... but then again
You might just be near.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:03 AM UTC
What does it take for a poem to be great?
A riddle, A rhyme, without any mistakes?
Does it need words, those that are fancy?
Or simply bold words, not of a nancy.
Should it have humor or wisdom?
Written on rest or excessive ***
For Hemmingway said “make sure to write drunk,”
Or to make it scary, get locked in a trunk.
I heard about some guy, who wrote on his head,
While rappers turn poems into righteous street cred.
It’s rumored that some poems were writ on a trip,
But not the kind with a map and travel tips.
Other great poets flirted with death
or were simply in love with their friend named beth;
some great poems came from hate and abuse
or about women whose pants were too loose.
Some poems inspired by breaking the law
or by an unforgettable ménage trios.
So many things could derive a great write,
But these extreme measures just don’t seem right.
Maybe all that is needed is a little emotion
So that one can avoid all that commotion,
and maybe what’s great is all a perspective,
And that it’s better to read without an objective.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 8:51 AM UTC
Oh , I think we're back again
Where we left off our sweet little games
I know what you want , to Hurt me again
Throw me down the drain and to cover me with cuts you inflict
You want me to be dressed in pain
But I don't blame you , I blame your guts
To come out here in the open , let's kick some butts
And let me roll one first , got any cigarettes bud ?
Than we'll talk about how much you loath me
And why I think you're even worse than dirt
So take out the old photographs
Wipe and clean , common you fool ,DUST !
Make them shine so that they remind of the time when we were all about love
It makes us smile and makes us giggle you didn't believe but it's a major fiddle lost to the name and the riddles
That walks in the maze and amaze with all that rage it cages in the middle
And all that murderous thoughts provokes the anger that drowns our fears for we are the leaders
Marching forward with coldness that blinds and madness that shines through the eyes of a
killer
And to witness the blood that flows down the streets and make you believe that there is nothing more beautiful than red
Maybe you've lost your soul but you still have your head
So go ahead with your last Breath and paint this town with your cred
And the wounds that were given to you in a disguise never did set and you play with them in your spare time but you're not comfortable yet
And it burns and it turns and you learn form someone that the one you hate lives down the street just at the end
And when you go down and search around the only thing you found was a mirror
you're so stupid , my friend !
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Pardon me in my own symphony of madness
A tool of my own sadness, oh boy what a feeling that is
It’s not poor nor is it **** so I suggest you sit right back and enjoy
For humorous attempts are only to take joy, creating pure fun
So here I got the run of the bun, Yeah it surely is nice to live
Lessons of the positive, dropping on the mind like intellect
I hear ye, dearly elect….Without any rhyme or reason
The one who may create the least treason…Holding onto your seats
Cashing in on all your receipts, Tickets of winning numbers
No longer living by the warm timbers, Refreshing to say the least
Some may call it very beast…Of me to rummage through moods
Many have given their perfect attitudes, Learn then let live…Breathe
A jewel encrusted knife kept within its sheathe, I promise you’ll never go cold
The tale can be told, in many ways
Spread out over many days, although why tend to boredom
Leading us not into whoredom, deliver us our daily bread
Thy concrete kingdom come along with street cred, as heaven’s mouth is open
At last it becomes very Zen, Living to learn
Rights under a government mule are hard to earn, no sense taking them for granted
Always being doubted, keeping a watchful eye
The lurker leans toward using the skills of a spy
Soon our story will be drawn to an end
Appending my wrongs as my rights come to a bend
Rendering my sins under microscopes as they unbend
Entering the light, being dunked in pools as I ascend
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 4:44 AM UTC
my heart bleeds
a thick, red ooze
seeping through the cracks
all the burdens i hold
have finally breached
sorrow, pain
these dark clouds
have overwhelmed
i had you
i have lost you
the very seal of my sanity
i cred and i begged
but i knew deep inside
i have lost
every chance
every possibility
within my pain, i see you
and i heard an awful sound
a bone chilling crack
that centered deep in my chest
i cannot change what has passed
you walk away
i fall in my sorrow
a black hole in my sanity
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
Let's make something clear,
same thing that got me here,
can make you disappear.
Hard work, motivated, man of the year.
Bright future, good look, ever clear
Black card, street cred, accepted everywhere
ya'll dudes, ain't offending me
stop pretending B,
Ya'll trying to Kenny A G.
i got it in the BAG your not contending
I'm top tending, so no need for defending,
Stretch'n the truth, but I'm not bending
I hope you hear me, ya'll go fear me
then I a-peer, Blank stare- U just standing there-
No dirt on my hands, me handling with beef is rare.
I'm top teer- seeing things loud and clearly, vision-aire
Aire to the thrown, Millonaire
I'm so fly, I Con-Air, recline chair
your future,for a finders fee, ending indefinitely
20/20 hind-sight, judge's deputee-
after hearing me, you go need some therapy
**** gets Kalmplex- and ain't no telling what he can do.
off of the strength of me, he, destroying all off you
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Do you ever tire of the endless days of stress less path ways that only lead to in·cred·u·lous stays at a perfect place
Your body is cold and brittle with beauty
A seemingly confident struggle to blossom
Faded gold is still gold
Jaded only by dust
Weighted down by lust
Created in sound that must
Parade around and rust
Your future seems bright
But don't be too sure
A lesser present is not yet out of sight
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Get your **** straight
Focus on your life together
Before trying to spread hate
You talk loud doesn't make you right
Dissing out disrespect to be heard
Doesn't earn you street cred
Told you be down stood tall
All these haters trying to level
Can't back up their own word
No one happy for your success
Trying to make it about themselves
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:15 PM UTC
blind faith
lead them to believe
in a charlatan
like moles they were
sightless
to the false god
they were following
he who had nothing
of the Messiah's
tangible fabric
never did it dawn
on them
that he was selling
a religion based
on disrepute
none of his disciples
being overly astute
and still they're listening
and still they're standing
with his stead
and still they can't eye
the paucity of street cred
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
^
capable of being touched or felt, TANGIBLE
easily perceptible, NOTICEABLE
easily perceptible by the mind, MANIFEST
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
*mind, body
tangible, noticeable…manifest
a summary specific quality,
body, mind, you, me,
actual, imagined…felt
realized, visible, invisible
palpably difficult, struggling to tell,
the nuances well, so easy understood,
yet,
so credibly hard to to my
cred,
to re-realize the*
essential essential
*of getting this
precise,
right.
knowing fully well,
that twice alright
have made the
human touch
my poetic target,*
and yet,
(always, always an and yet)
*I fear my failure
to touch you
to whom I communicate
by ether and pixilation,
by wire and satellite,
across continents,
through pouring secretions
from my pores
how palpable is the need
of my heart beating to
feel understood,*
*this need, so urgent,
to kiss your lips,
brace you to embrace,
pervade your kind mind,
(kind enough to let me enter),*
**to tangibly manifest
from my skin to your skin,
from my creviced mind,
to your creviced heart,
the pounding albatross
of this verbal unreality,
that is so real to me***
*that shakes with pleasured
anticipate, that the very
thought, of your reading
this loving wail,
this so tangible gesture,
breaks me to real-ease,
the tears pooling in my
eyes to land on your
exquisitely soft cheeks,*
and to take them away
returned to me, with gentlest
of a finger uplifting them,
and placing them on my
tongue,
for safekeeping…*
10/8
0907am
Wed
2025
~~~~
^
capable of being touched or felt, TANGIBLE
easily perceptible, NOTICEABLE
easily perceptible by the mind, MANIFEST
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
haint gonna mock ridiculous science
asper to be bled
dark practices to leech out mailer daemons,
not so laughable nor in cred
double, when oppressed diabolical dread
oompah loompah fealty l'chaim fled
as hand grenades explode within my head
mettlesome monsters
make mercuric chrome dome feel like a led
zeppelin with fractured stairway to heaven in stead...
delivers me zombies, where angels fear to tread
cuz, the devil and psyche did wed
shotgun Swedish crow did house mafia style
wrenched, wrested wretched
mental state most intense (no croc) dial
shattered, slewed, splintered sanity,
thus practitioner with "FAKE" know how aisle
apprentice Aunt Roadie,
who will skewer me evil spirits den da deuce
till I beak home one sacrificed overly cooked goose
a burnt offering shish kabob
no longer able to raise cane on the loose
like a red bull
rocky on the shoals of a frantically angry moose
livid with rage
(akin to diary of mad a housewife)
entropy written, where death will be only truce
pyromaniac qua ramshackle shanty (tinderbox)
unleashes wicked zeal
hellacious incendiary juiced ride
up plies noisome rubbery odor,
sans hot wheel
along the outer limits of functionality explosions
precipitate like drops of molten steel
routing hunger, searing nostrils,
tearing tenuous fragile tethered tendrils
self cannibalizing via tooth and nine inch nail
linkedin with nauseousness as thine meal
exemplary asper full blown panic attack
lodged within mine genetic blooper print deal.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC