"despirito" poems
..My Name Is Pete..
Up beat down to earth feet planted but not yet on them, my name is Pete...Eh Hem
...i am hopeless romantically driven, living a walking day dream of things gave and given forgave and forgiven, pride stricken but uplifting...mind made from the street my name is Pete, short for Peter, kind hearted but now to the point where if you don't care...I won't care either...improvisioned mind strong that words escape from wrong...my words are mine...written sloppy but revised to be perfectly neat...
my name is Pete...I am poetic artistically gifted me...
it's not clear to see cause I hide it for a bit for my self composed reflection...
my words are mine...they are my sunshine...my turpentine....my intoxicating mind destructive weapon, never letting....
my pen get a break from the constant fast circle motioned shake,
I write words 'til pens break....
up beat down to earth feet planted but not yet on them...eh hem...my name is Pete. my poems are written down to be discrete, I show the chosen few to read the real Pete...the passioned compassionate...hopeless romantically driven...pride stricken...up beat artistically gifted down to earth planting my feet to be on them...eh hem...my name is Pete
By: Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Is the home of the **** hearted that sent people to graves by the gun they held….dearly departed….it’s hard to live in this beautiful place without hiding our face away from danger and the gangster anger…angrily leaving us weary about loving
“Brooklyn”
…money taken late at night…killing pride from inside like venom from a snake bite…why fight to live…we have given so much and still give for a decent living…and still have to worry about being sent to our grave by brave thugs who shoulders shrug when they send that hollow tip slug to our chest digging itself deep inside like venom from a snake bite killing our pride…’cause we think we can’t do anything…yet we have power of might….but it won’t matter at night…’cause the **** hearted blood suckers from “Brooklyn” have already token what we cherished the most
“Our Brooklyn” streets are filled with life stripped ghost….belt on pants are used as a gun host…spill the first sip of a 40 ounce to toast the dearly departed…
”Brooklyn” my home of the **** hearted, hidden face from the gangster angled anger....I am no stranger to the danger of “Brooklyn”
"New York City...My city of reality...my city of those broken dreams...my city of the business schemes...New York City....my home sweet home...the only place my heart will roam...so i could never ever leave it alone"
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 27, 2019
Nov 27, 2019 at 7:53 AM UTC
Head full of words almost
Escaping from my mind
Anticipating a fond
Reason for them to meet
The paper they want to be on
Beating on my brain waves
Evading the capture of my voice box
Actually hiding behind my eyes....the words tries to stay in my mind
Til they find the need to be on the paper they want to be on
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 11:40 PM UTC
A poetic mind will never find it so hard to see the words....to feel the words...
to place the words so perfectly where he or she may want them to be...
In a poetic mind lays a soul....that has enough control to impose that words are never easy to let go...so they over flow....some darker than others...which smothered the un-uttered compact and cluttered words.....
A poetic mind will unwind from time to time....some poems will rhyme....more often than many will not....but that won't stop that poets poetic mind....day dreams of the words that fall into place in front of faces....not leaving spaces on the paper to write another un-uttered smothered word that compacts and clutters the poets poetic mind like window shutters....
A poetic mind can never let words just be...written from left to right....its just to easy to write....a mesh of words blistering the finger tips from the pen grips...and the paper scrapes...across each line because that poetic mind will find it....so easy to grind it or engrave the words...so a poetic mind becomes a slave to the paper....blank is it? to you it may be...but on a blank sheet of paper I see....words rhyming in perfect harmony....made from the poetic part of the mind of mine.....
This poetic mind won't find it hard to see....the words that I perfectly place together....whether in blue or black my poetic mind won't cut slack to the blisters on my finger tips....or let go of my pen that drips in motion that places....the words so gracious...leaving paper with no spaces to write another smothered compact un-uttered word made from a poetic mind....a mind of mine....
P.O.E.T.I.C M.I.N.D
E. H. A. E
T. O. T. S
E. M. T. P
R. A. H. I
S. E. R
W. I
T
O
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 27, 2019
Nov 27, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC
To protect
Never neglect
Teaching him respect to gain respect
To strengthen his intellect
To be his cheer up when he tears up about a hiccup
Be the voice of his reason when in need
To him I pledge this creed
To strengthen his fight
To help him strive through out life
By him I'll do right
Help him lift the world off his shoulder when in need
to him I pledge this creed
To be his open arms to cry in
To learn when he's lying
Will never deny him
Hold his hand while guiding
Give him life's lessons when in need
To him I pledge this creed
My Son
My Soul
My World
My love
My Prayed for
My hoped for
My wish come true
My will, My Creed
I give to you
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
I let go of train of thought when I notice a person getting caught, and abused by another person in the form of cursing or some sort to have that person feel distort....and after that person is abused...and used to amuse...suicide becomes their last resort....word weapons are such a discretion...
Stop the Word Weapons...Stop the Word Weapons...Stop the words weapons that are being used more than machinery...it gives people a reason to start swinging in a violent matter...after that word weapon's egged on chit chatter....
I let go of train of thought when i notice a group of people circling another person...laughing...and giggling...pointing...and singling out one after another...while he or she is crying...like a bullet hit deep...signs of that person's pride dieing...now rendered weak...unable to speak...misjudgement of character...like a book chapter missing....someone should say something but they act like they're not listening...
Stop the Word Weapons...Stop the Word Weapons....Stop the Word Weapons....stop the reason for violent discretion...stop the judging...stop the pushing...and shoving...stop saying nothing...let the abused's pride be rebuilt inside...let the weak speak....let the shamed look up to the sky...let the quite unable to speak stop being shy...be strong instead of weak...laugh instead of cry....we all are people...we have feelings that are equal...no matter the color...let us listen to our mother when they have said...to treat others like we want to be treated...smile when being greeted...cool off when you are heated...look with a smile instead of a frown...cause our father who art in heaven is looking down...wondering if we are lost...and can't be found...
United We Stand...Divided We Fall
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC
I blink musical words like birds whistle or chirps on their perch or vine....their sharp tuned song sung so Devine...my mind...I can't seem to find a time where I can relax...or just collapse...so until then I'll continuously rhyme rhymes of rocks...of girls....of mom never of pops....of funny girl tops...of scared feelings never revealing...heart closed consealing...heart is slowly healing which is being filled with names in silly rap games while the music fills my veins....
I think music when I'm sleeping it's keeping me breathing so I can't stop leaving poems here and there cause I can see words like neo (matrix) sees numbers...everywhere....everyone wonders where my mind goes but they don't really care...so I stare music in the face like an evil goon in a nightmare...
I shall use musical words to strum my bow across my violin...placing my fingers along the finger board in chords I never played before never getting bored...a real eye sore...I swore I won't play for myself no more...I shall play my violin to express the words I can't say or sing...like musicals that relate to a late Mozart day...I shall play even when it rains because of the music in my veins...
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC
My air is contaminated by the cigarette smoke that I smoke....walking in the puff clouds makes me choke...though I enjoy it no joke...no money in my pockets cause the habit leaves me broke...calming my nerves destroying my lunges...the excellent taste...the life shortening plunge...I know I’m not wrong when I say that death from it is painful and long...getting weaker...still so strong...though I throw myself into this painful drug...my shoulders I shrug...as I pull and tug...puff and **** my air contaminating cigarette smoke that I smoke...
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC