"glans" poems
Gebroken
verslonden
kapot
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
het is ingestort
buiten
en van binnen
Elke steen ooit gelegd is gevormd door jouw handen
neergelegd met een precisie als geen ander
het cement zo sterk, dat het elk blok omarmde
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen
Alles omarmende warmte wat eruit raasde
alsof het nooit zo is geweest, zoekend als dwazen
hetgeen wat we ooit als een rots in de branding voorzagen
de muren zijn weggeblazen
de vloer onder mijn voeten weggevaagd
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen
Oorverdovende herrie dat het maakte
toen één voor één de stenen vielen
de hemel brak open
evenals het geluid van binnen, nu buiten, schreeuwend en krakend
geen muren
geen vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen
Wat ooit geborgen was, staat nu vrij om te raken
zo geschiedt, het lag immers open voor de gevaren
tot de blik op de edelen haar ***** verraadde
het werd zichtbaar, de klok tegen het geheime wapen
geen muren
geen vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan stenen
buiten
en van binnen
Als gegeven lagen ze er voor het oprapen
een voor een tot aan de daken
met eigen handen gebouwen om te bewaken
opende het de deuren tot alle ramen
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan stenen
buiten
en van binnen
Het haard inmiddels geladen
wat koud en kil was, is met volle vuren nu rustig aan het garen
tot in elke hoek weer een keer de zachte adem heeft geblazen
lege ruimtes langzaam gehuld in verhalen
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan stenen
buiten
en van binnen
Stap bij stap is elk blok aangeraakt, vormend in lagen
van buiten naar binnen en van binnen naar buiten, het is omgeslagen
met stenen, hand gesmeden
opnieuw de warmte in gekneden
van jou overgedragen op mij, een thuis door gekregen
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
alleen maar juwelen
buiten
en van binnen.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
I scratched lyrics into the walls of this dump they call joint
finally became a tree with branches, wrote new raps every night
working out like crazy, punched my hands into walls
just like oldboy, then i became steel, endlessly tough
as my lucky number, this eight
tizzops became more popular, but never an other
sticking out my chest, ******* away all stress
albanians against serbs, greeks against turks
everything broken, everything in shards
but then comes Marissa, and she's calming me
i'm getting calm, getting calm, become
the old tizzop again, a ******* and thief
but everybody likes me, I remain --
tizzops, spreading fistfights like the Klitschko's
and I'm the most faithful, when I really feel love
not just talking about females, all my brothers
get nuttin but respect, their souls are wit me
most peeps live rushing lives, in our rushing times
they talk briefly, cause they don't know their inner
i'm not ridiculing them, cause they simply lack the words
they are lost and questions are flowing out of their ears
since they have no brothers or sisters to lean on
lifestyle like a frantic slalom, but I'm not wit 'em
putting stickers on the franchise, just to get by
I dominate every day; like the magic of the night
my raps are mania for me, me, and for me
cause I love and I have *** with my lyrics
forever being a chaser: where is Jason, baby?
without him, I won't make it through the night
life is infinity like eight, I feed you a knuckle sandwich
can you hear my c**k whistling? dem are hardcore-songz
straight out of my ***** suddenly millions of fanz
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 4:03 PM UTC
So sing the spinners
Of lackrymint folly,
"The dew of the done is the 'Laid'."
But savor the grace-knots,
Of thoughtsal Sir Kno-Heed,
"Your stay here is shorter, now paid."
My wack-grin is bolder,
With knowledge of twisties,
With fervorent type-glans so splayed.
Though sit them each shoulder,
Me drawn so, and quartered,
I'm happily split,
and well played.
well played,
well played.
Adorncraft doth leave me,
Her ***** done heaving,
This over is moving,
This over is moving.
this lover
and losing
is crossed.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 11:48 PM UTC
*Roses, soft and cold roses
Like her ringed lips around his ********
Creamy scale excrement over your *****
Fine cut jagged legs with stems inside his meatus
Roses*
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
det kilder i min rygsøjle,
små dråber af farven kirsebærrød
rammer gulvet ved mine fødder
de former fine, perfekte cirkler
hvor er det typisk ironi
unik, enestående blev der hvisket
af en ukendt stemme i skyggen
lys på højde med solens stråler
var placeret med retning mod mig
stilheden laver en klapsalve,
som fylder salen
jeg bliver ført rundt i manegen
af hvem, tja, hvem ved
sårene uden skorpe bliver revet op
de fine, perfekte cirkler bliver til et
vandfald af varm, rød væske
det tunge gardin falder ned,
lyset mister sin ***** der mindede
en om den smukke sommerdag
og
det sidste syn er gråhvide, bløde
tabte fjer
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Gaiting out of the prescient of
the stable with pride.
Galloping for space on the polo course.
Hooves trotting on the footmark
of strength.
Now cantering for span with the
shield of victory.
White tail of strength flapping
the cognomen of success.
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Immaculate white mane arrays
against the ants of winds,
Absorbing the residuum of the
hardened breeze with relish.
Whitening coloured cresty neck,
White head, brown eyes,
White legs, blackened hooves,
Colourless long shaft holding the
glans of procreation.
Swinging like pendulum of nature.
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo.
Submissive strength clocked under
the apron of the stableman.
Cantering with honour.
Galloping in royalty.
Head collar rope ordering the
pace of strength.
Hostler tightly chained on the
tray of stableman.
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 11:15 PM UTC
teenager dreams, my friend's last sentences
we spraypainted the buildings in our hood
we lived this live, tryin to talk like legends
we didn't see an end anywhere, first we invaded streets
and then we gobbled down the city, if they were comin'
we beat em up, every baba that i construct
creates memories like the dawn of my childhood
fakers, jason warriors, half a kid, investment banker,
tremendous windows, art nouveau, and statues
statutes and club guidelines, rich business men
who bled to death in the rain, in front of their mansions
but i just took pictures, afterwards i chilled
there was no future for me, merely rappin provided a shelter
so i chained up my rage, but now i don't have to hide
i'm a giant-sized male and i endure feminists
as long as they never try to convince me of "values"
i'm a giant-sized male, mostly wicked and rotten
you got the palm in the back, catch 500 rocks, jason
into the p***y of queshaana, my name be tizzop
i am so true, find my face on dollar bills
and in downtown miami, where i'm shining with the sun
in order to negate a female's approach, just a pun?
i am macho like the rhymes, take you to the cinema
that much fun and a few nachos are enuff
to baste you with s***m, i got a hammer *****
and hammer nails like a banger, kiddo: set sail
everything been done, and we're flying to venice
fortunately, the beard is gone, gonna meet perla
straight into the face, always for the big splash,
they are just basslines, when i'm stressed out and
hand out codeine like jason to strangers
why you stressed out? i am styling myself walking
smoke during the videocall, like a chimney
fly over the curb, one hundred miles
hunting down the traitor, his name be freddy
but i scented that liar, ****** him good like a big daddy
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 8:16 PM UTC
Two men from the city are lost
In the northern woods,
on Christmas Eve.
Fear has not set in yet
and they wonder at
the paper-thin trees,
that seem painted on parchment
in the mist and moonlight.
One absorbs it in silence
while the other sings as he walks:
“Jul, jul strålande jul.”
"It's a Christmas song,"
he tells his companion,
who tries to shut him up.
How differently two people can react
to magic and moonlight,
to loneliness and mist.
One sings on in silence:
***** över vita skogar,”
While the other’s head is filled
With numbers and plans
and dreams of saving of the world!
But little does the singer know
how much the redeemer wants
to know that streaming light,
that unfettered joy.
That comes with a struggle,
Not just to survive,
But to right the world for all.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
The forest must have been colorful,
peeling off greenish yellow towards rusty brown
The ground is soggy, paths unclear
branches and wind-blown vegetation.
There must have been walkers huddled
or full with their face in the watery sun,
who was perhaps there. They must have looked disapproving
or agreeing. There were also solid beech nuts,
chestnuts or a single ***** fall in November
as you know it, from before and pictures. I don't remember.
You were there.
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 11:42 AM UTC
So deep that it didn't even really hit me
I know my heart is the most deceiving
My snarls jesters I never knew it wasn't a smile my culture and what I entertained for a while now
Like blood pumping threw this crowd
PPP on shafts covered in mouths
I'm good at taking a problem but who am I when I can't solve them
***** on skin thoughts electric ***** flows calm down it's metaphorical inception.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 3:37 AM UTC