"obsoleted" poems
Kickin' all the way the Live Coolio
deep in ya Culo/
it's that Boy Yosef comin' with major Flavas/
with so Many Styles more than a Hair Doo Voodoo/
got ya eyes on ya know Who?/
so many ****** wanna Smoke me
Cuz im the New Joint/
puttin' sparks to ya Head ****** Red/
if u thinkin' about Frontin'' Me/
ill make u Crossover like EPMD/
Rap Fanatic since i was Swimmin' in the Nut Sack the Mack Attack/
hittin' all your perspectives
im takin' out all the Primitives/
in the Rap Game Shoot ya Stick
try again my- Flows erected as a ****
in between ***** *****
so take Chance it ya Want/
Watch the gun taunt
in ya Face a sad Disgrace/
Slappin' a new taste
in ya Mouth i Dropped it
my Style can't be Competed
you Obsoleted
i'm Makin Profits the Funk Baby!!!!
Many Emcees sweet as a KitKats
so cut the Chit Chat/
cuz im bout to Splatter their careers into pieces
Gotthem Envisionin' Doubles
like Noah i Told ya
the Tru Soldier Rollin' Dogia/
marchin' to the Beat with my Vocal
a Tru Loco/
when i'm sippin E & J **** an Airplay pinin' Indo/
playin' suckas close like who's holdin' the most/
weight? Pushin' rhymes like weights
Loots stay Connected like freight Train Crates/i Dominate from all states
that's why they Call Me All-State/
but ya Ain't in Good Hands
-tryna Step to the Big Man
keep u heated galore like Afghanistan gettin' in that *** like Sand/
so take Stand and a Bow cuz im the Prowl/
for that Number One Slot
ya rhymes loose as Jar Jelly
**** what the critics tell me
"Mr Big Stuff" girls call me "Heavy D"
From then shaft that lays between me
the Funk Baby!!!
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
Bane of gasping gentle breath,
Wide eyed searching for car crashed trees,
Crying over mountain peaking,
Peaking out over life times of achieve,
Timid rabbit darting emoticons,
That aren't disguised as suits,
Emailing faults of profiled skin,
Obsoleted by obsessivenessly,
Picking at unreachable kills,
Wasting away from sunny sleep,
While in the background,
The TV play that one movie,
Where everyone dies,
On repeat.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
My Titanic’s slowly sinking
The mighty horns are blowing danger danger
And the iceberg’s in my soul
No way now to read the charts
That might have found a safer route
Launched with golden expectations
To set new records on the wires
Steady progress, ever forward
Mindful of the precious cargo
Forging through the troubled waters
Then a squall blew from the north
All the maps were obsoleted
Other captains took the helm
Said they’d be sailing by the stars
But only they had eyes to see them
Battered by the winds of evil
Banners flapping in the gale
Sent a message of confusion
Warning help to stay away
Praying that it still would come
As the ocean laps my ankles
All the lifeboats are long gone
Every hope has washed away
And I must learn to love the water
That will be my final home.
LJM
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
All the feelings including good and bad, panic or scenic,
Divisible by poetry are called the realistic poetry .
Poetry may be illusive! poetry may
not be fantastic!
But we always prefer our nose to
buried into the book of anthology,
Because confusion illusion we
believe in perfection
21st century generation.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 3:13 PM UTC
1
Surely poetry is a thing of hope,
Loaded with future and surrounded by the past!
And that is why certainly related to this fact-
I had nothing to lose but something to gain,
And likewise eventually -
I was born to be warrior
Against the world of narrow mindset.
2
Actually if you mind it
I have not been achieved anything special yet now.
Right now only I have the power of observation to form
Rather than apprehension.
3
With poetry I am always looking to achieve more
Than I did today
Because Poetry can never be obsoleted.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 5:36 AM UTC
First is to be accepted by the elite
When you're greeted
Your soul and mind will be obsoleted
They give you powers that you couldn've imagined
Esoteric knowledge of the occult
Once your in the ritual assigments will begin
To push a confusing agenda to the masses
And keep them unaware
This is to shy from truth and keep open dare
So if you desire power and fire
Don't shame us or consequenc will be dire
Next up a green room
Where a screen let's down
They show you a convertible ride
Down elm street
Where the last assassination of imposters head was greeted
By a sweet sound of howling round
From a a rifle
Then cut off the screen then give you a selection
To which parties you be in
And then say to you "Any Questions "?
Once you answer yes your conquests
Will begin destination
Travel around nationwide then international
And remember don't tell the truth
Or you'll get John Wilkes Booth'd
Watch you step because we have everything in set
Imperials and forcing democracy
To little countries that we bully
Then hold a conference
And sign a peace treaty
Which is merely
A contract to extract natural resources
We also have militias set up
From army navy air force and marines
We take by force and all means
If the job is to hard you can dearly depart
But if you stay and accept the challenge
You will be marked
Rfid chipping is required
Sign your name in blood
If you want all desires for a delight empire
Die!!!
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
Seeking refuge from the deafening salvoes,
Apathy, anger, anxiety overran the haven created,
The haven constructed for the remnants,
The remnants of joy, excitement, and gratitude.
As the last bit of hope begins to diminish,
A sudden silence looms in the air,
When that anxiety, that anger, that apathy is clear within view,
The obsoleted notion of their danger becomes clear as day,
Destructive they are not; but desperate,
Desperate to be acknowledged and accepted.
The danger that once besets the haven,
Was an extreme measure of desperation,
Only when silence is imposed,
Only when they have gained the attention they seek so direly,
Only then will the feud for the psyche ends,
And a common ground can be found.
All it took was silence and understanding;
That spectacular quiet.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Broken Biro on the street
(That’s an English ball point pen.)
Crushed by cars’ uncaring wheels
It’s ink a useless smear.
What words could that ink
Have produced on sheets
Of clean white paper
Guided by a poet’s hand.
Visions of fantastic lands
That beckon with their beauty.
Invitations to explore
Another way of thinking.
Broken Biro on the street
Was it thrown out on purpose-
Obsoleted by a phone
That puts its words into the clouds.
ljm
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 8:24 AM UTC