"dodging" poems - Hello Poetry

"dodging" poems

She picks sunflower blooms, humming a tune While dodging drops of rain Hoping the move will heighten the mood And bring about a perpetual change She spreads the petals in the morning meadows In hopes the rumors are true With the yellows and greens, mixed in between She'll release the color of blue

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Sep 13, 2014

Sep 13, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC

She picks sunflower blooms, humming a tune While dodging drops of rain Hoping the move will heighten the mood And bring about a perpetual change She spreads the petals in the morning meadows In hopes the rumors are true With the yellows and greens, mixed in between She'll release the color of blue

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I live in the birth of Nintendo vs Sony vs Sega Trying to beat that high score in the Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat Combat with a K That innovative **** I survived the destruction of Sega Dreamcast As they became third party And Microsoft took their place with Xbox and Ninja Gaiden Alive from that old arcade I live in the awing of the interactive Wii And internet friendly Playstation 3 I also live in the original Mario Bros and Pac Man and... Terminator vs. Robo-Cop Yea I bet you don't remember that one Or Galaga or Excitebike Or even that good old Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting Spacce Invaders! Yea, I'm from Nintendoland No... Segaworld Nah... Sony City Nu uhn... Microsoft... Can't even think of a place for that I am from that video gamer nation That fight, hack, slash, race, create, explore, role-play Even play those insane sports See I'm from that... See, I am from that... I am from that Video gamer heaven descended That has that powerful curiosity and love for that Space Invaders! No That love for all video games And that memory of the ****** game graveyard Where E.T. now resides... See, I'm part of the new gen Trying to play Street Fighter 4, Final Fantasy XIII, Star Ocean Saying "I go harder than you young bloods cause I played Space Invaders!" So, what era am I from? I'm from the era of all gamers Playing Space Invaders Space Invaders! I'm from the "Game of the Year goes to..." Mario, Tekken, Metal Slug Namco, Sega, Bandai, Konami All those companies that started as something else But realized their calling was for our nation Cause you see I'm from that Old school Nintendo New School Wii Old school Playstation New school PS3 Old school Sega New school Microsoft 360 I'm from a legacy that always succeeds in giving us dreams That always seem to revert back to that Old school Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting Space Invaders!!!!!

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Apr 27, 2013

Apr 27, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC

I live in the birth of Nintendo vs Sony vs Sega Trying to beat that high score in the Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat Combat with a K That innovative **** I survived the destruction of Sega Dreamcast As they became third party And Microsoft took their place with Xbox and Ninja Gaiden Alive from that old arcade I live in the awing of the interactive Wii And internet friendly Playstation 3 I also live in the original Mario Bros and Pac Man and... Terminator vs. Robo-Cop Yea I bet you don't remember that one Or Galaga or Excitebike Or even that good old Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting Spacce Invaders! Yea, I'm from Nintendoland No... Segaworld Nah... Sony City Nu uhn... Microsoft... Can't even think of a place for that I am from that video gamer nation That fight, hack, slash, race, create, explore, role-play Even play those insane sports See I'm from that... See, I am from that... I am from that Video gamer heaven descended That has that powerful curiosity and love for that Space Invaders! No That love for all video games And that memory of the ****** game graveyard Where E.T. now resides... See, I'm part of the new gen Trying to play Street Fighter 4, Final Fantasy XIII, Star Ocean Saying "I go harder than you young bloods cause I played Space Invaders!" So, what era am I from? I'm from the era of all gamers Playing Space Invaders Space Invaders! I'm from the "Game of the Year goes to..." Mario, Tekken, Metal Slug Namco, Sega, Bandai, Konami All those companies that started as something else But realized their calling was for our nation Cause you see I'm from that Old school Nintendo New School Wii Old school Playstation New school PS3 Old school Sega New school Microsoft 360 I'm from a legacy that always succeeds in giving us dreams That always seem to revert back to that Old school Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting Space Invaders!!!!!

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I am alive by luck at this point. I wonder if the gun that will eventually take me has been made. Whose trigger will bury me. How many bullets, like a flock of sparrows, will come carry my life to its final bed. Today, I am alive but there is no law to thank. If not me, then someone else. Born into a game of chance we never asked for. Traded diplomas for obituaries. Traded graduation speeches for eulogies. Traded futures for an early grave. Forced to cash in their chips. We don’t want to play anymore. And this too is eulogy. And this too is prayer. And this too can resurrect the coffin wood back to a tree. Can sing back alive whatever parts of you died with them. Whatever leapt in your throat at yet another headline. Mourning until you, too, are a thing to mourn. But we will no longer be martyrs. We are the rude awakening to politicians who pawned out our safety, who bartered our lives for bribes. You say “gun reform is not the answer” but all I can see is a bullet rattling like a pinball in an innocent student’s jaw. You smell like gun smoke and I can see the AR15 you're holding behind your back and I guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them. Give teachers books not bullets: Kafka isn’t kevlar. Bronte isn’t bulletproof. And how sick is it that we must add school shootings to your list of proud american traditions. Throwing opinions like punches. How many more have to die before you decide your ego isn’t as important as you think it is? And I, too, am buried alive My soggy grave parting its greedy lips. To you, my bones, when ground into gunpowder and mixed into water, taste like champagne. My pulse, as thin as an obituary panting beneath sweaty palms, and sure We are “just kids,” But you are forgetting we are the next generation And you autopsy your fists. Call it reclamatory. Lately, when asked “how are you?” I respond with a name no longer living. And who knows if mine will be next

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Apr 14, 2018

Apr 14, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC

Ammunition: a eulogy for parkland

I am alive by luck at this point. I wonder if the gun that will eventually take me has been made. Whose trigger will bury me. How many bullets, like a flock of sparrows, will come carry my life to its final bed. Today, I am alive but there is no law to thank. If not me, then someone else. Born into a game of chance we never asked for. Traded diplomas for obituaries. Traded graduation speeches for eulogies. Traded futures for an early grave. Forced to cash in their chips. We don’t want to play anymore. And this too is eulogy. And this too is prayer. And this too can resurrect the coffin wood back to a tree. Can sing back alive whatever parts of you died with them. Whatever leapt in your throat at yet another headline. Mourning until you, too, are a thing to mourn. But we will no longer be martyrs. We are the rude awakening to politicians who pawned out our safety, who bartered our lives for bribes. You say “gun reform is not the answer” but all I can see is a bullet rattling like a pinball in an innocent student’s jaw. You smell like gun smoke and I can see the AR15 you're holding behind your back and I guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them. Give teachers books not bullets: Kafka isn’t kevlar. Bronte isn’t bulletproof. And how sick is it that we must add school shootings to your list of proud american traditions. Throwing opinions like punches. How many more have to die before you decide your ego isn’t as important as you think it is? And I, too, am buried alive My soggy grave parting its greedy lips. To you, my bones, when ground into gunpowder and mixed into water, taste like champagne. My pulse, as thin as an obituary panting beneath sweaty palms, and sure We are “just kids,” But you are forgetting we are the next generation And you autopsy your fists. Call it reclamatory. Lately, when asked “how are you?” I respond with a name no longer living. And who knows if mine will be next

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You'll notice him in the busy streets of Peru, dodging vendors and laughing like the sun. You'll notice her at a small diner past 2 a.m, lost in thought, melancholy notes on their smile. You'll notice him on a cobble corner wearing bold colours and singing about the lives he's lived and the fools he's loved. You'll notice her on mountain peaks, soaking in the wind with twigs in her hair. You'll notice him weaving flower crowns and writing in his journals, squinting into the hot sky with dew on his lips. You'll notice her kneeled on the side of the road, comforting a small animal with the voice of sweet honey. You'll notice them, dancing at sunset, colours streaking across their face. You'll notice them running through meadow fields in the early hours of the morning. You'll notice them laughing like the wind, smiling like velvet, with whispfill sparks in their eyes as they sit by the waves at dawn. They are the sun and the moon The sky and the sea Fire and the ice They're not likely to tell you who's who, In fact they're not likely to tell you who they are at all. But even without the spoken reveal Even without the clarity of meaning, When you see them. You'll notice

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Dec 2, 2018

Dec 2, 2018 at 1:47 PM UTC

Heat and Evening

You'll notice him in the busy streets of Peru, dodging vendors and laughing like the sun. You'll notice her at a small diner past 2 a.m, lost in thought, melancholy notes on their smile. You'll notice him on a cobble corner wearing bold colours and singing about the lives he's lived and the fools he's loved. You'll notice her on mountain peaks, soaking in the wind with twigs in her hair. You'll notice him weaving flower crowns and writing in his journals, squinting into the hot sky with dew on his lips. You'll notice her kneeled on the side of the road, comforting a small animal with the voice of sweet honey. You'll notice them, dancing at sunset, colours streaking across their face. You'll notice them running through meadow fields in the early hours of the morning. You'll notice them laughing like the wind, smiling like velvet, with whispfill sparks in their eyes as they sit by the waves at dawn. They are the sun and the moon The sky and the sea Fire and the ice They're not likely to tell you who's who, In fact they're not likely to tell you who they are at all. But even without the spoken reveal Even without the clarity of meaning, When you see them. You'll notice

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"What is a man?! A miserable Pile of Secrets!" he shoutes then he sprung his attack with the holy whip of my ancestors in my hand I intended to make it his epitaph. we battled for hours on end, using holy water and dodging fireballs that would've meant my doom when I had him beaten, he transformed into a grotesque demon which also distorted the room I didn't know which I was battling, my own head or Count Vlad Tepes Dracul Anyway, after one final strike, The Undead terror had finally been slain I hoped and prayed that no-one would ever speak his name

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Feb 18, 2015

Feb 18, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC

neroameealucard

Nocturne In The Moonlight

"What is a man?! A miserable Pile of Secrets!" he shoutes then he sprung his attack with the holy whip of my ancestors in my hand I intended to make it his epitaph. we battled for hours on end, using holy water and dodging fireballs that would've meant my doom when I had him beaten, he transformed into a grotesque demon which also distorted the room I didn't know which I was battling, my own head or Count Vlad Tepes Dracul Anyway, after one final strike, The Undead terror had finally been slain I hoped and prayed that no-one would ever speak his name

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You say, “Stillness is the goal.” I’d like to know who YOU is When you’re driving round the block dodging love, in her bed, ****** her head.. & still your mind’s like a gentle stream & you pretend like you ain’t mean But boy, you’re a dancing devil slashing through a peaceful field you thrive off her destruction.

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Jan 12, 2016

Jan 12, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC

You say, “Stillness is the goal.” I’d like to know who YOU is When you’re driving round the block dodging love, in her bed, ****** her head.. & still your mind’s like a gentle stream & you pretend like you ain’t mean But boy, you’re a dancing devil slashing through a peaceful field you thrive off her destruction.

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It lingers between small talks, things best left unsaid. All that remains is the silence, so dead. Nervous, little peeks when the eyes refuse to meet. That lump in your throat at every heartfelt greet. Staring into empty space like you lost your muse. Why was the courage hidden if it was of no use? The mind begins to burn and the smoke grows thick. It creeps into the heart and makes you sick. The silence then grows with each passing moment. Memories cloud your eyes and make you repent. The tongue begins to sting. So much to be said. Yet, all that ever remains is the silence, so dead. Things remain unsaid when words begin to fail. That excuse you make is just another tall-tale. That tension in the air when you pass each other by. That lump in your throat stays, and you wonder why. Dodging the questions for there are no answers. Wishing for things to go back to the way they were. They still linger between small talks, things which were left unsaid. All that will ever remain is the silence lying dead.

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Nov 25, 2014

Nov 25, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC

Things Left Unsaid

It lingers between small talks, things best left unsaid. All that remains is the silence, so dead. Nervous, little peeks when the eyes refuse to meet. That lump in your throat at every heartfelt greet. Staring into empty space like you lost your muse. Why was the courage hidden if it was of no use? The mind begins to burn and the smoke grows thick. It creeps into the heart and makes you sick. The silence then grows with each passing moment. Memories cloud your eyes and make you repent. The tongue begins to sting. So much to be said. Yet, all that ever remains is the silence, so dead. Things remain unsaid when words begin to fail. That excuse you make is just another tall-tale. That tension in the air when you pass each other by. That lump in your throat stays, and you wonder why. Dodging the questions for there are no answers. Wishing for things to go back to the way they were. They still linger between small talks, things which were left unsaid. All that will ever remain is the silence lying dead.

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Trying to resist The chains suppressing me Pulling tight, steel bites Preventing the instinct to flee So I fight Throw a punch, skip right Not dodging enough hits Peer pressure, my death? Well, it fits

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Nov 11, 2015

Nov 11, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC

Trying to resist The chains suppressing me Pulling tight, steel bites Preventing the instinct to flee So I fight Throw a punch, skip right Not dodging enough hits Peer pressure, my death? Well, it fits

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This isn't about front lines and deep mud, it's not about sacrifice and bands of brotherhood. It's not calling for silence or for national pride, it's not about cenotaphs and those left behind. No, this a thank you to one Ernest Page, Gunner Sergeant, Royal Field Artillery, 182nd Brigade. Thank you for ducking, thank you for dodging, thank you for lasting, thank you for living. Thanks for returning back home to Brockley. Thanks for asking Gran and building a family. Thank you for dad and for little Aunt Betty, for Pam and for Pete and for cousins aplenty. Thanks for Rose Cottage, for trips round the lake, thanks for loud laughter and sleepy eyed late mugs of hot chocolate and medeira cake slabs. Thanks for my sisters, thanks again for my dad. Thank you for surviving, and all that implies. I owe you it all, I owe you this life.

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Nov 1, 2018

Nov 1, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC

This is not a war poem

This isn't about front lines and deep mud, it's not about sacrifice and bands of brotherhood. It's not calling for silence or for national pride, it's not about cenotaphs and those left behind. No, this a thank you to one Ernest Page, Gunner Sergeant, Royal Field Artillery, 182nd Brigade. Thank you for ducking, thank you for dodging, thank you for lasting, thank you for living. Thanks for returning back home to Brockley. Thanks for asking Gran and building a family. Thank you for dad and for little Aunt Betty, for Pam and for Pete and for cousins aplenty. Thanks for Rose Cottage, for trips round the lake, thanks for loud laughter and sleepy eyed late mugs of hot chocolate and medeira cake slabs. Thanks for my sisters, thanks again for my dad. Thank you for surviving, and all that implies. I owe you it all, I owe you this life.

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Her mind was in Hawaii, Dancing under waterfalls, Wandering through rainforests, Picking tropical flowers and Braiding them into her hair, Simmering on sandy beaches, And gazing at the stars. Her heart was in Normandy, Eating crepes and sipping lattes, Strolling through spring green fields And along lazy river banks, Kissing the walls of castles, And scooping up scallop shells, Soaking up French syllables. Her hands were in her pockets, High-fiving friends and Running through her lover's hair, Sewing, cooking, washing, Punching, tearing, scratching, Caressing and confessing, Catching the very first drops of rain. Her feet were on the streets of Seattle, Tapping to the rhythm of the bass, Shuffling in and out of the rain, Dodging puddles and strangers, Observing art and sculptures, Chasing down a taxi or her dog, and embracing the crisp autumn air. Her lips were on the edge of a soda can, Singing along to her favorite songs, Whispering sweet nothings into the air, Empowering the impoverished And scorning the injustice, Kissing a forehead, lips, and hads, And stonecold silent as her mind does the work. Her eyes were fighting back frosty tears, Swallowing scarlet sunsets, Painted in yesterday's make up, Tracing your stoic silhouette, Rolling like thunder before the storm, Lapping up dizzying moonlight, And buried in words, and words, and words. Her body was in Los Angeles, But, she was on a metanoia, Breaking free of past and future To find herself a presence That would always be worth fighting for, To reach sophrosyne, namaste, And to put her frantic body to peace.

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Jul 29, 2015

Jul 29, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC

Her mind was in Hawaii, Dancing under waterfalls, Wandering through rainforests, Picking tropical flowers and Braiding them into her hair, Simmering on sandy beaches, And gazing at the stars. Her heart was in Normandy, Eating crepes and sipping lattes, Strolling through spring green fields And along lazy river banks, Kissing the walls of castles, And scooping up scallop shells, Soaking up French syllables. Her hands were in her pockets, High-fiving friends and Running through her lover's hair, Sewing, cooking, washing, Punching, tearing, scratching, Caressing and confessing, Catching the very first drops of rain. Her feet were on the streets of Seattle, Tapping to the rhythm of the bass, Shuffling in and out of the rain, Dodging puddles and strangers, Observing art and sculptures, Chasing down a taxi or her dog, and embracing the crisp autumn air. Her lips were on the edge of a soda can, Singing along to her favorite songs, Whispering sweet nothings into the air, Empowering the impoverished And scorning the injustice, Kissing a forehead, lips, and hads, And stonecold silent as her mind does the work. Her eyes were fighting back frosty tears, Swallowing scarlet sunsets, Painted in yesterday's make up, Tracing your stoic silhouette, Rolling like thunder before the storm, Lapping up dizzying moonlight, And buried in words, and words, and words. Her body was in Los Angeles, But, she was on a metanoia, Breaking free of past and future To find herself a presence That would always be worth fighting for, To reach sophrosyne, namaste, And to put her frantic body to peace.

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I'd always thought you were just a pretty face a beautiful smile gone to waste hooked on drugs and lost from love I'd always known you were a runaway I'd always thought that you were a tease 'till I read those words that terrified me because they were incredible and beautiful and they were written by a runaway You're so close to perfect and I'd tell you why but right about now you're probably high a beautiful disaster you're like a slant rhyme and no matter how hard I try I can't let myself get away from you you teenage runaway I want to run away with you Shame on me for assuming you weren't smart now i'm dodging the danger, the poison darts 'cause you're so close to everything that i think i might need Shame on me for writing this song it doesn't feel right, and I know that it's wrong and i wouldn't dare to believe that what I dream could be a reality you're so close to perfect and I'd tell you why but right about now you're probably high a beautiful disaster you're like a slant rhyme and no matter how hard I try I can't let myself get away from you you teenage runaway I want to run away with you I don't understand you but I want to and I want you to know that I don't give a **** what you do when you're alone because I don't want you to be alone You're such a mystery you've got a hook on half of me I'm not sure what i'm seeing when our eyes meet but i'm praying, i'm praying that it could be the chance i promised i'd take one day You're so close to perfect and I'd tell you why but right about now you're probably high a beautiful disaster you're like a slant rhyme and no matter how hard I try I can't let myself get away from you you teenage runaway I want to run away with you You and your contradictions you imperial affliction you teenage runaway I want to run away with you

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Jul 14, 2013

Jul 14, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC

Teenage Runaway

I'd always thought you were just a pretty face a beautiful smile gone to waste hooked on drugs and lost from love I'd always known you were a runaway I'd always thought that you were a tease 'till I read those words that terrified me because they were incredible and beautiful and they were written by a runaway You're so close to perfect and I'd tell you why but right about now you're probably high a beautiful disaster you're like a slant rhyme and no matter how hard I try I can't let myself get away from you you teenage runaway I want to run away with you Shame on me for assuming you weren't smart now i'm dodging the danger, the poison darts 'cause you're so close to everything that i think i might need Shame on me for writing this song it doesn't feel right, and I know that it's wrong and i wouldn't dare to believe that what I dream could be a reality you're so close to perfect and I'd tell you why but right about now you're probably high a beautiful disaster you're like a slant rhyme and no matter how hard I try I can't let myself get away from you you teenage runaway I want to run away with you I don't understand you but I want to and I want you to know that I don't give a **** what you do when you're alone because I don't want you to be alone You're such a mystery you've got a hook on half of me I'm not sure what i'm seeing when our eyes meet but i'm praying, i'm praying that it could be the chance i promised i'd take one day You're so close to perfect and I'd tell you why but right about now you're probably high a beautiful disaster you're like a slant rhyme and no matter how hard I try I can't let myself get away from you you teenage runaway I want to run away with you You and your contradictions you imperial affliction you teenage runaway I want to run away with you

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I have several poems started But none of them want to come to completion They all keep dodging my pen

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Mar 25, 2016

Mar 25, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC

I have several poems started But none of them want to come to completion They all keep dodging my pen

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Kindness is not nice. ‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive ‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive ‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or pressed under a muddy boot of disinterest ‘Nice’ is a damp whisper a mouse cowering in the corner hoping you will blink and miss her lest she attract your notice lest she presume too much and cause a whisker of offence Kindness is not like that – Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble a hero with no mask, unasked unexpected, dodging the turmoil leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption Kindness defies convention Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice and advances relentless and regardless of any and all obstacles in her way Kindness perseveres all the love-long day Kindness doesn’t delay Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion ready to disarm with expert compassion with her regiments of patience armed to the teeth with gracious placing tanks of good faith on all fronts Kindness confronts Courage is her currency, boldness her language, trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored happily wearing all-weather clothing for any and all unexpected storms Kindness transforms Kindness weakens all defenses and challenges all camouflaged pretenses Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields she - blooms Kindness is not 'nice' Kindness isn’t in this for the likes Kindness bites She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight Kindness never bails from the fight never fails, never takes flight Kindness is nothing casual, nothing incidental This Kindness is elemental She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level monumental Kindness is not 'nice'. Kindness is loving awe-ful.

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Oct 12, 2020

Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC

Kindness is not nice. ‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive ‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive ‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or pressed under a muddy boot of disinterest ‘Nice’ is a damp whisper a mouse cowering in the corner hoping you will blink and miss her lest she attract your notice lest she presume too much and cause a whisker of offence Kindness is not like that – Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble a hero with no mask, unasked unexpected, dodging the turmoil leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption Kindness defies convention Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice and advances relentless and regardless of any and all obstacles in her way Kindness perseveres all the love-long day Kindness doesn’t delay Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion ready to disarm with expert compassion with her regiments of patience armed to the teeth with gracious placing tanks of good faith on all fronts Kindness confronts Courage is her currency, boldness her language, trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored happily wearing all-weather clothing for any and all unexpected storms Kindness transforms Kindness weakens all defenses and challenges all camouflaged pretenses Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields she - blooms Kindness is not 'nice' Kindness isn’t in this for the likes Kindness bites She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight Kindness never bails from the fight never fails, never takes flight Kindness is nothing casual, nothing incidental This Kindness is elemental She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level monumental Kindness is not 'nice'. Kindness is loving awe-ful.

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You say you’re a ‘boss’, does that mean that I’m God, next, Time you mess with me you’ll see I have a God complex, Whatever, I mean this rap’s getting complex, My effects, they perplex, my ego’s getting convex, I could say that I’m strawberries but I’m much more like lime, Acrid, like acid, I rhyme, I’ll keep my clothes on that’s fine, Your sexisms pasts it’s prime, Gatsby’s acts aren’t fine, Calling me out is a crime since you’re completely irrelevant, The orders are mine, YOU strip but you best make it elegant, I can take off my clothes for fun and still be ******* intelligent, Dodging your blows, fo’ sho, street talk but still make it eloquent, I might be teeth, **** toes but lets make one thing clear, The only head you’ll be getting is off the top of your beer.

0

Aug 12, 2015

Aug 12, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC

Channelling My Inner Nicki Minaj

You say you’re a ‘boss’, does that mean that I’m God, next, Time you mess with me you’ll see I have a God complex, Whatever, I mean this rap’s getting complex, My effects, they perplex, my ego’s getting convex, I could say that I’m strawberries but I’m much more like lime, Acrid, like acid, I rhyme, I’ll keep my clothes on that’s fine, Your sexisms pasts it’s prime, Gatsby’s acts aren’t fine, Calling me out is a crime since you’re completely irrelevant, The orders are mine, YOU strip but you best make it elegant, I can take off my clothes for fun and still be ******* intelligent, Dodging your blows, fo’ sho, street talk but still make it eloquent, I might be teeth, **** toes but lets make one thing clear, The only head you’ll be getting is off the top of your beer.

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A woman who dies in labour, In the pains of pre-delivery For no reason but poor midwifery Is a martyr and a true martyr Than religious charlatans, For she has only died in heroic Defense of life and its perpetuation, She is better than you the user Of contraceptives in odious fit of Family planning frivolity, With condoms and the stuffs Weapons of your ****** war, She is a true martyr To allow live sperms to meander The valleys and fountains of life Without dodging them shrewdly Through wiles of science and tech, Sperms and ova when in a duel they are God’s intent of life, and human lives Alack, suffocating them is heinous A sin as big as murderer Or a terrorism of the Twin towers Or a **** agent armed with gas poison, Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life, Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter, They intent to give life naturally, Godly, And if they have Aids, then you are A martyr who died in support of life Against the wiles of the evil one, You are better than him that Masturbates to waste the ***** Of life, God’s grand purpose of Them to be the first stations of life, You **** them, you commit ****** Genocide, massacre, macabre,

0

Dec 13, 2016

Dec 13, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

She is a martyr that dies in labour

A woman who dies in labour, In the pains of pre-delivery For no reason but poor midwifery Is a martyr and a true martyr Than religious charlatans, For she has only died in heroic Defense of life and its perpetuation, She is better than you the user Of contraceptives in odious fit of Family planning frivolity, With condoms and the stuffs Weapons of your ****** war, She is a true martyr To allow live sperms to meander The valleys and fountains of life Without dodging them shrewdly Through wiles of science and tech, Sperms and ova when in a duel they are God’s intent of life, and human lives Alack, suffocating them is heinous A sin as big as murderer Or a terrorism of the Twin towers Or a **** agent armed with gas poison, Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life, Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter, They intent to give life naturally, Godly, And if they have Aids, then you are A martyr who died in support of life Against the wiles of the evil one, You are better than him that Masturbates to waste the ***** Of life, God’s grand purpose of Them to be the first stations of life, You **** them, you commit ****** Genocide, massacre, macabre,

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Army crawl through dirt We are dodging the missiles Oh no! I've been hit! Cigarette burns, hole in my skirt. Oh what a childhood!

0

May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC

orlagh-lafricain

Army crawl through dirt We are dodging the missiles Oh no! I've been hit! Cigarette burns, hole in my skirt. Oh what a childhood!

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She moves him ‘round the chess board, dodging bishops, pawns and rooks. She coaxes him from square to square without a second look. The white knight cannot catch him. Piece by piece, the foe now yields. Her king is safe; the game is done. The queen controls the field.

0

Jan 5, 2021

Jan 5, 2021 at 8:47 PM UTC

She moves him ‘round the chess board, dodging bishops, pawns and rooks. She coaxes him from square to square without a second look. The white knight cannot catch him. Piece by piece, the foe now yields. Her king is safe; the game is done. The queen controls the field.

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I am never enough In your scowling eyes, Your voice is coarse and rough, No care for how the blood dries. No care for my welfare, Just how it affects you. Remember when you said 'she left you because of the drugs'? Well **** you too. And **** when you told me 'I never said that' Where is your sympathy You gas lighting rat. Go ahead and press my buttons To see me light up, And when I do, You play victim. The meds I take Are to deal with you. Your care is fake, You pretend you don't have a clue. When I try and tell you How I feel, The words don't get through, Responsibility not so quick on your heel. You make dinner For everyone but me, My patience is growing thinner, Your hate is like a tree Taking root under my family, And now I am the wretch, The cans in my room, so pretty, You self absorbed ***** Not big on self regulation, Or object permanence, Day on day commotion Starts again, what a performance. The rage I have for you, You taught me well, I am black all the way through, And water does not quell. Alcoholic, Just like you taught, This life is chaotic K cider 7.5% store bought. Why does Dad have to die of cancer And you continue to breath? You death dodging dancer, Every sip is a seethe. You shouldn't be allowed around children, You dangerous psychopath, A hateful haven, Blood soaked epitaph. So here is wishing You a swift death, Or maybe go missing, I don't want to hear another breath. You won't get a funeral. You are being cremated. And I won't be there To bring you back from the crematorium.

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Aug 18, 2023

Aug 18, 2023 at 4:20 PM UTC

I am never enough In your scowling eyes, Your voice is coarse and rough, No care for how the blood dries. No care for my welfare, Just how it affects you. Remember when you said 'she left you because of the drugs'? Well **** you too. And **** when you told me 'I never said that' Where is your sympathy You gas lighting rat. Go ahead and press my buttons To see me light up, And when I do, You play victim. The meds I take Are to deal with you. Your care is fake, You pretend you don't have a clue. When I try and tell you How I feel, The words don't get through, Responsibility not so quick on your heel. You make dinner For everyone but me, My patience is growing thinner, Your hate is like a tree Taking root under my family, And now I am the wretch, The cans in my room, so pretty, You self absorbed ***** Not big on self regulation, Or object permanence, Day on day commotion Starts again, what a performance. The rage I have for you, You taught me well, I am black all the way through, And water does not quell. Alcoholic, Just like you taught, This life is chaotic K cider 7.5% store bought. Why does Dad have to die of cancer And you continue to breath? You death dodging dancer, Every sip is a seethe. You shouldn't be allowed around children, You dangerous psychopath, A hateful haven, Blood soaked epitaph. So here is wishing You a swift death, Or maybe go missing, I don't want to hear another breath. You won't get a funeral. You are being cremated. And I won't be there To bring you back from the crematorium.

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His name is Zachary James But he's shouted at by many names Running man or crazy jogger Pushing all he needs in a stroller Dodging cars like a game of Frogger His passion for running is a benefactor Of his compassion for humanity Running across the country is insanity Knows politics better than Sean Hannity A motor city kid and an Eastern Michigan grad Thought he'd run to correct a world gone mad Our paths crossed on the vicious highway 322 If you're lucky, fate will send him your way too I'm proud to host such a fine young philanthropist But soon he'll run off into the mysterious mist Yet he will jog on proud and steadfast With our help reaching his goals at last Run for the children and for the love of running Run for life and eternity hereafter coming

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Jul 19, 2014

Jul 19, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC

Running for Children

His name is Zachary James But he's shouted at by many names Running man or crazy jogger Pushing all he needs in a stroller Dodging cars like a game of Frogger His passion for running is a benefactor Of his compassion for humanity Running across the country is insanity Knows politics better than Sean Hannity A motor city kid and an Eastern Michigan grad Thought he'd run to correct a world gone mad Our paths crossed on the vicious highway 322 If you're lucky, fate will send him your way too I'm proud to host such a fine young philanthropist But soon he'll run off into the mysterious mist Yet he will jog on proud and steadfast With our help reaching his goals at last Run for the children and for the love of running Run for life and eternity hereafter coming

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help me be like a tree strong and mighty healing energy let me be like the wind always there no beginning or end guide my soul as i start again. sacred womb filled with deep desires divine flame that lights my fire guarding, guiding, dodging out the dark unique individual creating a spark. my sacred spider spirit guide i come to you within the night weaves webs of hope on my thorn pricked thighs morning rises dew drops drip on my bed water heals my worried dread reflections of truth act as a reminder to soften my heart and always be kinder may i always remember my destiny and who i was made to be remove my ego and pride so now i can see, IN LA'KECH i am u and u are me Maya Ixchel Morales

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Feb 20, 2021

Feb 20, 2021 at 10:48 PM UTC

Words of an ancient soul

help me be like a tree strong and mighty healing energy let me be like the wind always there no beginning or end guide my soul as i start again. sacred womb filled with deep desires divine flame that lights my fire guarding, guiding, dodging out the dark unique individual creating a spark. my sacred spider spirit guide i come to you within the night weaves webs of hope on my thorn pricked thighs morning rises dew drops drip on my bed water heals my worried dread reflections of truth act as a reminder to soften my heart and always be kinder may i always remember my destiny and who i was made to be remove my ego and pride so now i can see, IN LA'KECH i am u and u are me Maya Ixchel Morales

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There are so many sides to me... A perplexing mixed identity... A spliced yet whole menagerie... Of characters... To meet each one...is to be undone... Touched...without flesh... I am Vesuvius...just below the surface... Molten malice merging...swirling... The narrow Nile... Meandering mildly...coaxing vexing perplexing...wildly... A temptress...a child...a bitter diatribe...holding...no...unfolding... This story...non-benign... And this is where you come in... Tumultuous tide...your raging winds... A course-less calamity...to pursue... That is not me...THAT...is you... Unbridled...and unabashed... Alas our toxic story line...how well embittered did entwine...our love... Dangerous pursuit...then...you took root... Off with the loot... Of my misfortune... I attempt to fold... Forfeit my resentment...discontentment... My own deliverance from you... You disappear...no...transform Retreat...from your chaotic norm... Another type of magic trick...to capture my bewilderment.... Fully... Fooly... Folly... Tears tremble on edge...carried swiftly from ledge...where they teeter... Behind each one...is held an ocean... A watery well... Endless emotion... Navigating features...dodging dignities plea... WE... Toss the currency of love into the depths... Whisper wishes on the wind... The downward dance...a wishes chance... The murky bottom is but wishful thinking... I should be rich off the wonder... That put asunder...Our love... I am Vesuvius... Just below the surface...

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Jan 24, 2013

Jan 24, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC

nancy-mcginnis-roberts

I Am Vesuvius...

There are so many sides to me... A perplexing mixed identity... A spliced yet whole menagerie... Of characters... To meet each one...is to be undone... Touched...without flesh... I am Vesuvius...just below the surface... Molten malice merging...swirling... The narrow Nile... Meandering mildly...coaxing vexing perplexing...wildly... A temptress...a child...a bitter diatribe...holding...no...unfolding... This story...non-benign... And this is where you come in... Tumultuous tide...your raging winds... A course-less calamity...to pursue... That is not me...THAT...is you... Unbridled...and unabashed... Alas our toxic story line...how well embittered did entwine...our love... Dangerous pursuit...then...you took root... Off with the loot... Of my misfortune... I attempt to fold... Forfeit my resentment...discontentment... My own deliverance from you... You disappear...no...transform Retreat...from your chaotic norm... Another type of magic trick...to capture my bewilderment.... Fully... Fooly... Folly... Tears tremble on edge...carried swiftly from ledge...where they teeter... Behind each one...is held an ocean... A watery well... Endless emotion... Navigating features...dodging dignities plea... WE... Toss the currency of love into the depths... Whisper wishes on the wind... The downward dance...a wishes chance... The murky bottom is but wishful thinking... I should be rich off the wonder... That put asunder...Our love... I am Vesuvius... Just below the surface...

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∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙ Sometimes (Just like these days) When my heart sang a placid song the speaking brooks meanders my soul Wild hounds hovered the meadows And the sky was blue ethereal as the billow strews in shades anew For Daybreak is awake On the fields of glowing weeds a subtle flower blooms through the breeze And to thee, it kisses the gentle mist Oh! what a Morning Oh! what a day When trees glistens from beams of never ending sun rays made me so gay so yes, it can be. Sometimes (Just like these days) Like Diamonds & Gold upon barren land and rubies worn by a maiden’s hand Oh! what an Evening Oh! what a way When monarchs flew from voluptuous crooks dodging witches and evil dukes Callous, Treacherous "A Foolish Irony" might I say but yes, it can be. Sometimes (Just like these days)

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May 25, 2017

May 25, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC

Sometimes (Just Like These Days)

∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙ Sometimes (Just like these days) When my heart sang a placid song the speaking brooks meanders my soul Wild hounds hovered the meadows And the sky was blue ethereal as the billow strews in shades anew For Daybreak is awake On the fields of glowing weeds a subtle flower blooms through the breeze And to thee, it kisses the gentle mist Oh! what a Morning Oh! what a day When trees glistens from beams of never ending sun rays made me so gay so yes, it can be. Sometimes (Just like these days) Like Diamonds & Gold upon barren land and rubies worn by a maiden’s hand Oh! what an Evening Oh! what a way When monarchs flew from voluptuous crooks dodging witches and evil dukes Callous, Treacherous "A Foolish Irony" might I say but yes, it can be. Sometimes (Just like these days)

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I'm a prisoner of love, in this unguarded cell, The warden whistles my name you'd think it hell, but she knows my case all too well, Her piercing eyes as resolute as the Bastille, Dodging Cupids arrows at will, Across this broom is forever, I'm gone for a life long spell, With Joy as my bars and happiness the rubber shower mats, Blissful ecstasy is its escape deterrent traps, I pass the time a whittling hearts and sharpening this rap. See those chalk lines on the wall of my heart? They record the memories of my days since the start, Her smiles are more prized than jailhouse art. At inspection and roll call in the morning, The smirk under the cap then a whispering, Keep careful watch on our "Prisoner Prince Charming",

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Sep 22, 2014

Sep 22, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC

I'm a prisoner of love, in this unguarded cell, The warden whistles my name you'd think it hell, but she knows my case all too well, Her piercing eyes as resolute as the Bastille, Dodging Cupids arrows at will, Across this broom is forever, I'm gone for a life long spell, With Joy as my bars and happiness the rubber shower mats, Blissful ecstasy is its escape deterrent traps, I pass the time a whittling hearts and sharpening this rap. See those chalk lines on the wall of my heart? They record the memories of my days since the start, Her smiles are more prized than jailhouse art. At inspection and roll call in the morning, The smirk under the cap then a whispering, Keep careful watch on our "Prisoner Prince Charming",

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The caterpillar looks like a wiggly worm... With stripes of color, she makes me squirm... She has patience while sitting upon a stem... Dodging the animals, and legs of man... Her color is vivid, of black, yellow and green... She'll turn into a butterfly, her beauty to be seen... by ~ Judy

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Apr 10, 2015

Apr 10, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC

THE CATERPILLAR

The caterpillar looks like a wiggly worm... With stripes of color, she makes me squirm... She has patience while sitting upon a stem... Dodging the animals, and legs of man... Her color is vivid, of black, yellow and green... She'll turn into a butterfly, her beauty to be seen... by ~ Judy

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