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Classy J Nov 2018
Intro: You know, I don’t care what you’re saying about me.
For I’m not an insecure ***** like you but I do got to thank thee.
For if it weren’t for thy vile venom spitting I wouldn’t have a reason to enact my lyrical terrorism!
So, you only have yourself to blame for this ****, so don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Verse 1
Uh, yeah let’s talk about it!
Can’t contemplate, the vicious state that contrary to popular belief I’m not a basket case!
Can’t misuse the time I got so here I go to vanquish these fraudulent thots!
Started an unfocused freight train that charged towards the lucid dream because I couldn’t assimilate!
In that time, I was so focused on changing everyone’s snot ridden hypocrisy about reality being Camelot.
I know I’ve also ****** up a lot but that’s something I had to face!
It’s not any of your business so stop ripping off my skin then rubbing in the salt!
I still have a goal in mind to destroy discrimination that incriminates my people,
by putting em on the hot seat.
So now that every one is up in arms I got my chance to aim at the sweet spot!
Everyone is hungry to be the fittest but not everyone has time to think how to be the smartest.
To strike will the fire’s hot or wait for the embers to spark and settle is the true test for an artist.
Who cares about the lines when it was never rightfully drawn in the first place?
Who cares about what spot or space is for you when it’s all been delegated to the privilege of a certain race?
I can only undergo so much disgrace So, sorry but I’m not willing to have my people’s history erased!
Free speech is going to be a ***** for some and a tool for others, I guess it all depends on that person’s poker face.
Inequality is frequent not just in Canada or The United States but every country, province, and common place.

Verse 2
You want the real, raw, unfiltered Classy J well here you go!
Uh, Tell Trudeau to kiss my *** and stop ******* Trump’s ****!
While you’re at it can you tell your father that he’s a ******* stupid *****!
Also, totally forgot but can you tell Kim Jon un when he’s shafting you that he’s a ******* Buffoon!
But’s that’s enough about ******* politics let’s talk about ******* rap artist’s who think they’re hot but really, they so tacky and obsolete like the Zune.
To mister bi-racial we get it you’re into being superficial but’s honestly with you being so focused on being a ****** your delivery showcases the truth that you’re really a cringy ******.
Just face the fact dude that people will only see ya as a juggaloed Dolph Ziggler.
Uh, Now on to the next!
Dear mister Young moolah imma be front, you look like diseased uvula with the lyrical skill comparative to that of an elementary grade schooler.
Now to address the biggest flacky ***** in the game the not so slim shady.  
Here’s the matter Mr. Mather’s you look like a hobo who ***** guys off around the corner,
maybe that’s why you always diss homos.
Because youse a **** trapped in your mommas’ closet,
and if wasn’t for Dre’s hand up so far up your *** you wouldn’t be as popular of a puppet.
Oh ****, Shady you so focused on Doctor Dre and acclaim to fame that you forgot about Hallie.
****, and speaking of Hallie, I feel for you girl because just like you I also didn’t have a dad there for me.
I’m a man of war so every rapper got to get their **** together and better be prepared to me seriously.
For Imma slit their throats and turn em inside out rigorously, and I make sure those tardy cats will rule the day they ever had curiosity.

Verse 3
Just remember my people were here before you, and will be here after you!
And I’ll be here to destroy any of you who dare to pursue native issues!
Or if I’m just bored and feeling like killing you!
However, if I forget about dealing with you, I’m just to busy to properly give a **** about you!
It’s not just revenge, I see it as using justice by retorting with my wordplay to cleanse ya like shampoo!
But I’ve spent enough time dissing freeloaders, for it gives their ego’s too must **** exposure!
I won’t coaster to these composers, for a chauffeur can’t gain an advantage over a soldier!
I wont lower myself to these grouchy Oscar’s, who hunt for Grammy’s;
or as I refer to these events as pedantic half ***’d statements for excepting grandiose toasters.
Why bother, for it’s so annoyingly stupid that I would rather waste my time watching a movie featuring Adam *******.
So, **** this glass ceiling that defines and dictates what makes up a talented rapper.
I may not be a ******* goat but at least I’m confident enough to go out in my birthday suit and retain my composure for being dapper.
That’s the synopsis of my classy brain, and though it may be insane I’m willing to ride this hurricane!
To make sure you know my name, but yet not let myself get engulfed in the flames.
Michael R Burch Mar 2023
These are poems for the victims and survivors of the Nashville Covenant School shootings.



Nashville Covenant Call to Love
by Michael R. Burch

Our hearts are broken today
for our children's small bodies lie broken;
let us gather them up, as we may,
that the truth of our Love may be spoken;
then, when we have put them away
to nevermore dream, or be woken,
let us think of the living, and pray
for true Love, not some miserable token,
to command us, for strength to obey.



For a Nashville Covenant Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails, when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream while winter scowls
and nights compound dark frosts with snow?
Where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?

And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?



Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live nine artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...


Epitaph for a Nashville Covenant Student
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.



As springs’ budding blossoms emerge
the raptors glide mercilessly.
—Michael R. Burch

I wrote this haiku-like poem on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school shooting massacre.



This poem is for mothers who lost children at Nashville Covenant and in other similar tragedies...

Childless
by Michael R. Burch

How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
Of one fallen star.



I Pray Tonight
by Michael R. Burch

for the Nashville Covenant survivors

I pray tonight
the starry light
might
surround you.

I pray
each day
that, come what may,
no dark thing confound you.

I pray ere the morrow
an end to your sorrow.
May angels' white chorales
sing, and astound you.



Nashville Covenant Call to Action
by Michael R. Burch

We see their small coffins
and our hearts break,
so we ask the NRA—
"Did you make a mistake?"

And we vow to save the next child
for sweet love's sake,
but also to protect ourselves
from such heartache.

The lives, safety and happiness of our children depend on our ability to persuade the NRA and its political lackeys to stop exalting money and political gain above the life, liberty and happiness of innocents. What is the cost of banning assault weapons, compared to the ultimate price innocents pay when they are used by madmen playing Rambo in classrooms and theaters? Ironically, just hours before the Sandy Hook massacre, in a weekly column that I wrote for the Nashville City Paper, I pointed out that right-wing politicians are not just demanding the "right" of citizens to bear loaded handguns into restaurants that serve alcohol and bars — a combustible mix. No, people who call themselves "conservative Christians" in collusion with the NRA and its gun lobby are demanding the right to carry assault weapons everywhere ... which "logically" means into universities, high schools, grade schools, kindergartens, pre-schools, Sunday schools and maternity wards. When I wrote this, I was speaking ironically — I thought — but then a few hours later the NRA and its political minions made me seem like a prophet.



Sandy Hook Shooting Gallery
by Michael R. Burch

If we live by the rule of the gun
what can a child do,
but run?

Sixteen of the students who died at Sandy Hook were six years old; the other four students were seven. I wrote the poem below for another child gunned down by a madman. While we cannot legislate sanity, we can be sane enough to legislate away the "right" of serial killers to purchase assault weapons so easily. We can defend many small victims from such carnage, if "we the people" have the wisdom and the will to defend them.



Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch

a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at age nine,
shot to death ...

Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm — I hope you hear it.

Much love I bring — I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.

Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the brutal things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.

And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.

Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...

I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.

The Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings left 27 students and educators dead, and question our nation's sanity and resolve to put children's lives above money and politics.



This haiku makes me think of the students and teachers of Sandy Hook, who were trapped in a war zone:

War
stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
—Watanabe Hakusen, translation by Michael R. Burch



Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch

If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.

It seems to me that the NRA has declared a war — an open season — on our children, by insisting that assault weapons must be available to every Tom, **** and ***** Harry. But what will we, the people, say and do?


Whence Now?
by Michael R. Burch

Grown darkly accustomed to grief,
will we ever turn over a new leaf?



Something
by Michael R. Burch

Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.

The three students shot and killed in the Nashville Covenant School massacre were all nine-year-olds. They were identified as Evelyn Dieckhaus, Hallie Scruggs and William Kinney. Three adults were also killed in the shooting: Cynthia Peak, Mike Hill and Katherine Koonce. It is no longer good enough to talk about loving our children and praying for them to be safe. We have to protect them from mass murderers armed with assault weapons. The alleged serial killer, Audrey Hale, was reportedly armed with an AR-style rifle and an AR-style pistol. In more civilized nations citizens cannot legally purchase such military-grade weapons. The Nashville Covenant massacre marked the 19th shooting at an American school or university, so far in the first three months of 2023, according to CNN.

Keywords/Tags: Nashville, Nashville Covenant, Nashville Covenant Presbyterian School, school shooting, shootings, massacre, children, kids, students, child abuse, gun control, America, United States, USA, death, deaths, ******, serial ******, massacre, bereavement, class, classes
Fenix Flight May 2014
Pull me up
Drag me to the Bathroom

"Eat these or I will forse you"
Lunchables in my hand

"Don't you know someone cares?"
tears fall down my face

"Baby don't do this Don't waste away"
More Lunchables, more tears

Hallie baby I love you
you saved me from myself

Anerxia was taking over
its teeth firmly locked onto my body

But you took it and you shook it
and made it let go

Hallie baby I love you
you are my angel in this dark and crazy world
Cheyenne Majors Nov 2012
One day
i’ll stop stealing plastic diamond rings
that are too big
i’ll stop dreaming of pink sailboats
that sail in purple seas
i’ll stop thinking in third person
that confuses me
i’ll stop drinking v8
that’s “good” for me?
i’ll stop eating pumpkin pie
that’s “bad” for me?
i’ll stop dying my hair
those ugly colors
i’ll stop pronouncing Hallie’s name wrong
that makes her mad
i’ll stop writing  letters
that always end up unanswered
i’ll stop writing text posts
that no one will read
One day i’ll stop breathing
i’ll stop eating
i’ll stop drinking
i’ll stop waking up
One day i’ll go to sleep
and never see your face again.
Cedric McClester Dec 2019
By: Rapadamus

Something I’ve always hated
Is what needs to be stated
When the plot construction’s weighted
And the images are dated
Hollywood has black men fated
To wear dresses created
For us to be emasculated
Yet we’ve willingly participated
Think Tyler Perry’s Madea
Close your eyes and you can see her
From Good Times with its JJ
To Martin and his Shanaynay
They have always found a way way
To make buffoonery okay kay
And ***** are still on display
Up until this very day

Call it a judgment call
But when I think about Monster’s Ball
Staring Hallie Berry y’all
The whole race took a fall
Cos it left us all exhausted
Think of the stereotype it fostered
And the self-respect it lost her
Is what her Oscar cost her
When she said, “Make me feel gooood”
And that ******* pulled out his wood
Then plugged her where she stood
Cos she signaled to him he could
Her going crazy over getting’ his meat
Made me wanna throw-up in my seat
And to make the picture more complete
She put her body out there on Front Street

By now it’s plain to us she’s driven
But how she chooses to make her living
Doesn’t mean she has to be forgiven
Anymore than an Andre Piven
But enough on Hallie already
I don’t wanna make this thing too petty
There are others even more unsteady
Then a hot bowl of fresh spaghetti
I’m not a big fan of the Manns
I don’t like the way the camera pans
So when they’re on I make other plans
And my whole family understands
See I’ve had enough of those clowns
I don’t even need to meet the Browns
Which also probably explains
Why I haven’t reached out to the Paynes

Hollywood’s full of Harvey Weinsteins
In Gucci loafers and designer jeans
Creating havoc with off -camera scenes
While toying with some actor’s dreams
Now they’re falling like dominoes
But I guess that’s the way it goes
Like ******* up a producer’s nose
They feel invincible I suppose
But the actresses who feel embolden
No longer find themselves beholden
To the men who took advantage and sold ‘em
Everybody gets their turn to scold ‘em
In the wake of Kevin Spacey’s canards
A strong wind blew down his House of Cards
But isn’t that the way it always starts
Hollywood is full of broken hearts

So I’ve laid my indictment out
It’s hard to find even one Boy Scout
Among any of ‘em who wheel clout
The evidence? (Beyond a shadow of a doubt)
And now that the charges have been lodged
And the jury panel has been charged
Even though it’s one great big hodge podge
Soon the verdict gonna be dislodged
Before that - they’ll try to cop a plea
They’re in treatment don’t cha see
And while all that well may be
It’s not enough to let them off free
Once their expensive lawyers fail
And if they can’t stay out on bail
They’ll be going straight off to jail
Because their checks are in the mail



Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2019.  All rights reserved.
Rapadamus is the alter-ego of prolific poet/lyricist Cedric McClester who writes in a number of voices and a variety of genres.
Cedric McClester Aug 2020
By: Cedric McClester

Something I’ve always hated
Is what needs to be stated
When the plot construction’s weighted
And the images are dated
Hollywood has black men fated
To wear dresses created
For us to be emasculated
Yet we’ve willingly participated
Think Tyler Perry’s Madea
Close your eyes and you can see her
From Good Times with its JJ
To Martin and his Shanaynay
They have always found a way way
To make buffoonery okay kay
And ***** are still on display
Up until this very day

Call it a judgment call
But when I think about Monster’s Ball
Staring Hallie Berry y’all
The whole race took a fall
Cos it left us all exhausted
Think of the stereotype it fostered
And the self-respect it lost her
Is what her Oscar cost her
When she said, “Make me feel gooood”
And that ******* pulled out his wood
Then plugged her where she stood
Cos she signaled to him he could
Her going crazy over getting’ his meat
Made me wanna throw-up in my seat
And to make the picture more complete
She put her body out there on Front Street

By now it’s plain to us she’s driven
But how she chooses to make their living
Doesn’t mean she has to be forgiven
Anymore than an Andre Piven
But enough on Hallie already
I don’t wanna make this thing too petty
There are others even more unsteady
Then a hot bowl of fresh spaghetti
I’m not a big fan of the Manns
I don’t like the way the camera pans
So when they’re on I make other plans
And my whole family understands
See I’ve had enough of those clowns
I don’t even need to meet the Browns
Which also probably explains
Why I haven’t reached out to the Paynes

Hollywood’s full of Harvey Weinsteins
In Gucci loafers and designer jeans
Creating havoc with off -camera scenes
While toying with some actor’s dreams
Now they’re falling like dominoes
But I guess that’s the way it goes
Like ******* up a producer’s nose
They feel invincible I suppose
But the actresses who feel embolden
No longer find themselves beholden
To the men who took advantage and sold ‘em
Everybody gets their turn to scold ‘em
In the wake of Kevin Spacey’s canards
A strong wind blew down his House of Cards
But isn’t that the way it always starts
Hollywood is full of broken hearts


Cedric McClester, Copyright (C) 2020. All rights reserved.
And Jesus wept,
So why can't I?
My father told me,
'Hallie, it does you no good to cry.'
But I want to,

I want to let the tears spill from my eyes,
Feel the salt on my cheek as they dry,
Because living is a sad business sometimes,
And I feel better when I let it out,

I want to cry like I want to scream and shout,
Like I want to lay my heart out,
In the middle of a four lane highway,
Cause if I'm gonna go out I'm gonna go out my way,
Screaming, and crying,

I get so tired of trying,
But I haven't stopped yet,
And in a life where I find pleasure in crying,
I think that's the best I'm gonna get,

Jesus wept,
And so will I,
And so will you,
Sometimes,
It feels good to cry.
Delon Bayley Aug 2017
Many rappers are best
I can look up to them
But one greater than the rest
Is the man called Eminem
Born in October
Same month as me
Life open as a folder
Mom nearly died of labor long as three
Letters went back from dad
Not in a parcel
But he wasn't glad
Poor little Marshall
As a child he was happy
Like the Disney monster,Sully
But his life was often ******
With one bully named Bailey
Bailey did a move
That damaged Marshall's head
The mom almost sued
Bailey was glad he was still in bed
Debbie and Marshall were one in three whites
That grew up in the hood
In their house they had lights
That sometimes worked good
Mom and son fought
She was in depression
Even though Marshall thought
She could manage suppression
When he rose to fame
Debbie wasn't impressed
And the thought she tamed
Was she caused the success
Then back in his house
The lights would go dim
I think he saw a mouse
But one day he met Kim
At first they were soft
Like love at first sight
But it went on and off
Nonstop they would fight
Kim and Marshall vaguely
Acted like they were blessed
But then came Hallie
Born on Christmas
Marshall then wrote a song
On how Kim got on his nerves
At the end she was gone
Him saying that's what she deserves
Kim in/out was crying
Torn into bits
I'm also not lying
When I say she slit her wrists
So that's Marshall's Life
It truly is *******
I fell sorry for him and his wife
But now he's a rad dude
Juliana Oct 2019
Feliz Navidad we sing.
The Christmas show. A
Warning is said. "I'm
Leaving. New York."
Then Sydnie left.
Without our glue,
Joanna and I strayed
Away. I was five.

I found a new friend.
Lilly. We played. At the
Park, at school, art class.
She was gone, last day
Of school. "Who will see
Her this summer?" "I will."
Her magnet still hangs on
My fridge. I was six.

Girl Scouts. Bullying.
Hailey and Hannah were
There. We went to the
Zoo, on playdates. Friends
Came and left along the
Way, but they have always
Been there. I was seven.
She came up to me in gym.
A year older than me. I
Was running alone. Playing
A game I called homeless;
Basketball. Erica opened me up.
I talked to her and her friends
before school. Boys. Bagels.
One of them smoked. Last day
of school. She was moving.
I was eleven.

Summertime has ended. School is
Back, as is dance. I'm taking
A new class. Modern. Sophie just
Moved here. Over the year, we
Create Jimmothy Timmons and I
**** her snake, kind of.
I was twelve.

A boy sits next to me in Social
Studies. Ethan. He plays video
Games. I've always wanted to.
Another boy, Cormack looks
Over. He has a crush on me. The
Three of us talk at my locker
Every day. Cormack lies. They both
ask me to the dance. I was thirteen.
A girl runs up to me in gym.
Cindy. I talk to her. We play
Homeless, and talk about boys.
She has anxiety, like me.
I was thirteen.

I look over to my left one day
At lunch. It's Cindy, and...
Sophie? She goes to my school?
And it's Rebecca, and Maren, and
Sophia, and Grace, and Aillyana.
Over the year, I switch from
Facing Hailey and Hannah, to
them. I was thirteen.

Ethan and I text all the time.
We go to two dances. Cormack
Still tries to talk to me, still
Comes to my house, but I don't
Let him in. I was thirteen.

Ethan gives me a letter. It takes
A few days for me to read it. We
Never end up dating. I was thirteen.

I'm still friends with Hailey and
Hannah. With Cindy, Sophie, Rebecca,
Maren, Sophia, Grace, and Aillyana.
We all become friends with Joey,
And hang out all the time. I dance
With some of them. I have another
Family now, my Impulse girls. I
Will be rooming with Cindy next
Year. At school dances, we make
A salsa circle. We had around
Twenty people join us once.
I've made friends along the way.
Jośe, Aíne, Celia, Rose, Ananya,
Erin, Ginny, Abbey, Devon, Bella,
Three Emmas, Angelina, Claire,
Carley, Karina, Naomi, Riley, Oliva,
Abi, Sarah, Rachel, Allison, Tanu,
And many others. I've lost even more
Friends. Kennedy, Sonya, Brooke,
Cristopher, Aisa, Yusuf, Zoey, Emily,
Hallie, Chelsea, Gianna, Autumn, two
Jades, Donovan, Olive, Kaitlin, and
More. But I love the ones I've kept,
and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I am seventeen.
Inspired and In the Style of "Fifteen" by William Stafford

— The End —