"primitives" 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
Who cares who's dating who, or the ring that's on a star's hand.
This country's egocentric,
Who cares about a far land?
Puppet master is a harsh man,
We're stuck like cats in tar traps,
They are the elite,
We are primitives like Tarzan.
Tell me, what is the cause and,
What is the effect?
This situation makes me wanna scream out **** it!, like tourettes,let your thoughts be heard for they'll live long after you're dead,
Speak like you are deaf, ignore oppressive tongues.
The second we refuse to fight,
They've already won.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
My demure doe,
-disguised,
gunpowder keg,
effect of your kiss: more is less;
-not satisfied,
let us roll
on the bed,
two primitives,
in need to meld
and get over the desire, primordial,
at the earliest,
your fuse, in this regard
is as short as mine,
*let's ask,
each other
for more:
explode.*
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
When we had first crash landed,
The island was a Godsend.
a refuge from the maelstrom
with fish and fruits to eat..
When a rogue wave swamped Electra
our lives were forfeit., I’d have swore
We latched onto a piece of driftwood
We paddled towards the shore
Past endurance and exhausted
We wound up in an inlet.
We blest the waves that pushed us
Up upon that foreign shore
We learned to live like primitives
with water sweet not brackish,
the island helped sustain us
while we sought help from the sea.
Some months now I’ve been stranded
With my hope of rescue fading
I’ve had no need of language
since I prayed before your grave.
I am lonely past enduring
With no hope of rescue coming
With Noonan’s knife I slit my wrists
I will not see the morning.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
He was leaning against the wall, backed up
And staring through fumes of gin and whiskey,
Glaring at all the toffs, dressed up
And ravelling through his sordid history.
But never a sense of ‘us’ with him
He was more like a raging arcane animal,
Caught and caged, as they looked right in
To poke and pry at his painted trammel.
Oils and charcoals, water colours,
Pinned like an insect by their gazing,
Pointing fingers would **** his skin
Pick through his pockets, grinning, gaping.
What would they know of his woods and fields,
The towering oak, or the dew at dawning?
Only the light that a lamp post yields
In the mean streets when the world is yawning.
Theirs was a world of tile and brick
Of diesel fumes and the rail line snaking,
His were the hills of hay and rick
The tumbledown cot and the farmer, raking.
‘What did you bring me here to spill?’
He said to the shyster gallery owner,
‘There’s nothing you couldn’t print at will
With a Laser print, and a barrel of toner.’
‘They’re coming in hordes to see your myth,
You’re a breath of air in a jaded Autumn,
A genuine Primitive, Jordan Griff,
I lured them in, and your work has caught them.’
But Jordan scowled and he curled his lip
As the crowd milled using an unknown language,
‘I’d rather be down at the ‘Rope and Skip’
With a pint of ale and a cold meat sandwich!’
‘You’re really an artist?’ said the woman
Who stood at his shoulder, pale and shaking,
‘I like the one at the farmer’s gate
With the girl, head bowed, as her heart is breaking.’
Griff looked deep in the woman’s eyes
For the chord she’d struck was his secret mourning,
‘How did you know?’ He’d sobered up,
‘I was the girl your paint was born in!’
Jordan halted his glass, mid-sip,
He seized her hand as his heart was pacing,
‘Years have slipped between cup and lip,
I’d give them all for a second tasting!’
He led her into a lumber room
And she locked the door as they pulled apart,
Then found some cushions and in the gloom
They lay on the floor there, making art.
That’s how his Primitives came to start
With a joy not there at his god-rot dawning,
A horse and cart with his palette heart,
And a tousled woman each tumbledown morning!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
I was personally invited to be one of the Speakers and sit on a panel in Hong Kong on their keynote presentation of “SOCIAL MARKETING STRATEGY INNOVATION”
It’s all about having a precise plan using all of Technology to the fullest
The company’s voice being the cyber space waves
Before it was just digital designs and prints to convene the message of Social Marketing
Now it is communicating live One on One and into multitudes
Technology is a powerful tool if you know how to use it
Strategy being the component in how to formulate being competitive in Social Marketing
It is no longer speak and just spread the word
The idea is making your company the frontrunner in being heard
It takes courage and determination to ride the “SURF TECHNOLOGY BOARD” and maneuvering the high cyber space waves
The words are cyber and advance
The idea is think analysis, but don’t haste
Advertising must be on target
The sales pinch being the bull’s eye to a perspective client
SOCIAL MARKETING STRATEGY INNOVATION means being on the move to keep up with constant moving technology
Large audiences you want to reach mobility through out and bring awareness to what Social Marketing is all about
You must INCORPORATE, COLLABORATE AND ELEABORATE in being competitive in order for strategy to work
There must be productive objectives and an outline having primitives of sound solutions with defined analytical conclusions
Yes, that would have been my speech
I am a good communicator, and I would have taught and educate
However, I turned the summit down
I won’t be Hong Kong bound
Yet, I have Social Marketing Strategy Innovation knowledge, and I will always be around.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
What is it about life that's so unique
Life started from things like creeks
Mostley for our human beings
Messopitamia
The first civilization
First signs of humans gathering in cooperation
Not fully but close enough
Primitives and cavemen had it tough
But we evolved
Developning a massive frontal lobe what's the cost
Greed, sympathy, and other emotions
Things like Rationilization gets put into motion
Humans rule the earth above the dirt
Our world even in deserts
What we create puts other things lives at stake
This can be set by just a handshake
Deforestation for human creation for city's and things like weather stations
Each individual is what's inside or their skull
Our body's and flesh are like a bowl
Holding us in place keeping us safe
But each one of us has Our fate
Have faith people say till they're red in the face but death happens to all that's no mistake
Maybe one day electricity can keep us alive
Electrical waves shot through out brains keeping everything working alive when we should have died
Would it decompose slow over time or would the electricity keep it in line
I gues we will have to wait some time
The answers are somewhere
Maybe
Am I the only one who thinks it's amazing
Life's a miracle the way we are it's gotta be
We can walk talk preform labotomys
What other animals can do half of what we can do it's crazy nobody understands
Its crazy even down to our hands
Neurological pathways nerve endings
Like
****
We don't even understand what we are
Medical experiments have come far
From Icepick labotomys to controlled autopsys and mri's
There's a whole world out there past Our eyes
Life's a journey so buckle up for the ride
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
Dry Well
A Gift from Fort Apache Energy, Inc.
“We will be drilling with a fresh water mud system
which has no environmental impact.”
- Allan P. Bloxsom III, President
As woodland creatures shy until the dark
Drift as a silent blessing through the trees
At dusk some sad folk gather ‘round the wounds
Gored geometrically into the ground
A palisade of wood and water and earth
Now guarding nothing but pale desolation:
A pond of death whose hydrocarbon sheen
In corpselike stillness entertains no life
A sewerage ditch bedecked with human turds
A dumpster skip piled high with promises
Piles of unidentified white powder
An unattended garbage fire, a shirt
Some bolts, planks, screws, sandwich wraps, cigarette butts
A cargo cult of curiosities
Liturgically in statio around The Hole
That venerable new hole, that hole of hope
That fabled argosy laden with dreams
That fell into the depths, and never returned
At dawn a tower stood, adorned with lights
By dusk it was folded, and stolen away
Like the long-storied tents of Araby
Or a Roman camp in the Teutoburg
Abandoned among the darkening woods
For the curious primitives to poke
And **** about, chattering in their tongue
About the marvels of a superior race
Who make no environmental impact.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
Orange orb
silently rising
from the land
witness to eons
and ages
of human history
and so much, much more.
Primitives gazed in wonder
and awe
and some prayed.
Later men adored.
Later still, we walked
and will soon live
and work
and travel far.
It pulled us up,
taught respect,
and sent us to the stars.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
Deep inside the wrinkles
of the Blue Mountains
Cold air sits upon
the primitives' throne
Inky echoes stroll the alleys
No living essence have ever
trespassed these halls
Sun's breathe becomes pale
as it touches the gloomy
foothills and crests
Merely sprites wearing
mantles made of mist
dwell this mountainous region
Even rain seldom visits
to pierce the ghastly silence
Amidst the fog
forgotten tokens may hide
In riddles of old and
astral vague light
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
Europeans, deep culture,
Americans, neophytes, ape—
Picking up the scraps.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
I would find in my travels sometimes bones. one, in a brown paper bag on a bus bench. or another, floating beside a bellied fish in a pet store. as it was key the bones did not enter my thoughts, I began taking an online course about preservation. I hadn’t expected logging in to make me less of a transient. the stress of having to remember a password brought forth desperate visions of my daughter being broken by nothing and casted by men who for the sake of visitation had been made peripheral. the stuttering nature of her struggles wore on me and I had to abandon the bones for these representations of peopled hospital rooms your nostalgic primitives call photos.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
every-body was a blurred dot in the threshing ocean
as i washed away; every wavelet playing sunder.
once,
concrete was the sea and i
failed to differentiate, blind,
for the light between slender limbs. disguises,
trees called lovers. silt turned pavement.
we mill about for bits. hearts turn to sand.
by impact, to glass. one note sung, to shards.
the impossibilities of preservation:
anything that is real is fleeting. on crumbling precipice, daydreams spelled out on soft wish were then real, but now, like Siberian radio, waver through our bodies with little effect, and tail off, as time slips on.
but what hurt over concrete is a pale scar,
slurred over weeks, months,
towers spread news, but
-i'm not really listening.-
and footnotes tell tale of time & try & effervescent sentiments;
where we'd play seemingly meaningful games.
where we'd skin knees.
where we'd lie under seemingly meaningless stars, as foliage;
to freeze & bind,
some slower dance through
the corridors of our darkened days.
trembling hands, held at distance.
where water cuts a warm hole between sky & feet,
i set out on a separate path. at the root of
this tower, sitting and staring pure up, failing to
see the forest for one leaf, i tied strings to
my fingertips, and just watched autumn come on quick.
but, slowing of pace makes little match for the wind. lives wind like snakes under the soil, but disentangle just as quick. primes become primitives, this much is certain; but, still clueless to the fact, i shy away from ideals & search once more for concrete, or truth,
or at least evidence.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
Europeans, deep culture,
Americans, neophytes, ape—
Picking up the scraps.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 1:37 AM UTC
Altar.
Heads
bowed.
Down
through
the ages.
One to
the next,
gods.
Primitives,
eons past
created.
Worshiped.
Explained
many things.
Provided
sanctuary.
Helped
make
sense.
Eons
pass.
New gods
born,
created.
Millions,
heads
bowed.
Provided
scaffolding.
Build around.
One
after the
next.
Eon after
eon.
Names
changed.
Reason
to be,
same.
Answer the
unanswerable.
Comfort.
Modernity.
New god
created.
Head’s
bowed.
New altar,
built.
Alter of
technology.
All,
bow
to its
power!
Next world
awaits.
May 23, 2023
May 23, 2023 at 8:56 AM UTC
For Riley and His Friend Bailey
In the beginning -
we humans were primitives
Existing as crude hunter-gatherers
Quite unaware of any higher thought
And curiously unaware of love
But then we were discovered by The Dog
Who taught us the glorious mystery of play
And how to laze throughout sweet summer days
To contemplate, to cuddle, and to care -
To care about beings beyond ourselves
Because we were accepted by The Dog
Through God’s intended, love-barked dialogue
We pray we may be worthy of The Dog
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
Opal machinations barring
the primitives
magenta and
yellow
I stray through the hallway of
lapis, the ocean's abyss
Endless wandering beneath
The sky where no woolen cloud resides
A colour reserved
the calm, unheard
In the frigid times, it flounders as many
it
calms
me
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
I think I should make it public
How my love for compsci’s static
My hatred is a void
main(String args[]){
Where should I start?
Where DO {
I start?
BREAK; it down
To packages to classes
I might just need glasses
Primitives and variables
Freedom: Inevitable.
Step 1: Initialize
Step 2: Declare
Step 3: glare
Then pull out your hair.
Int and Strings
Those petty things
I’d rather float
Than write oop notes
IF my love for this
Was put digitally
boolean love = true;
You have no ******* clue!
Private or public?
A Return or a void?
Oh functions
Just send me to oblivion
Those red squiggly lines
I’d rather be blind
It’s only one sign:
There’s millions more of its kind!
Case 1:
The brackets that contain
everything.
There’s the round ones
The squiggly ones
The square ones
That come in a pair
Case 2:
Dots.
I’d rather be on ***
Case 3:
Capital
Letters.
Static
Behaviours.
Comp-sci, my saviour
I love shedding tears.
G
U
I.
More like **** you goodbye
Grid layout my ***
Only way it’d look nice
If it was FOR Windows95
I should just make an arraylist of MyLove[];
Because my love for compsci
cannot be bound by numbers
Oh! OP -
Don’t forget the getters
And the ****** setters
I’ll set this straight.
I don’t get
your
traits.
}
}
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC