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Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."


Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,

I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *
Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?


Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,

where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA.,
friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,

of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *
Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.


even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.
1.  What makes this poem special, if anything, is the trust and confidences we share with each other, that allowed me to perhaps catch just little bit something special of each of you, where I could.

2. Can anyone explain to me why the site labels this poem explicit?
Q Dec 2017
So this journey has come to an end
Whether you don’t know me at all
Or think of me as your best friend
This is my goodbye, my final call.

Thank you for the adventure; thank you for your time. I have nothing left to give, no words left to rhyme. This is my last, I’ll leave with a whisper. This is all I have, what I began writing for.

Should you ever neeed a shoulder, please find me. No matter where I go in life, where you need me is where I’ll be. Hold me tightly in your thoughts and I will hold you in my heart.

Merry meet, dear rhymers, and merry part.
This is the last of my poetry. Thank you for sticking it out with me for the past four years. I've decided to focus on other goals I have since my life is essentially falling apart. Poetry was an outlet for me, but it more feels like another way to indulge my burgeoning escapism.

So, I've decided to take away the place I escape to so I can relearn how to face problems head on. I've got a lot of self-adjustments to make in the near future and this is just one of them.

Of course, if I am contacted on HP, I'll come flying back to respond because it's been home for years, but I will (most likely, hopefully, probably) no longer post here.

Again: Thank you for the fond memories,
Q.
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
  Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
  Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
  Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
  Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.

If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
  Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
  And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
  Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
  Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
  Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
  What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
  From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
  And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.
Francie Lynch Jun 2014
Byron wants me to invite all my friends on HP to a pig roast. Rest assured, when Byron has a pig roast fun is surely to be expected. Here's his invitation.

You're invited to my pig roast.

I told him he'd have to do better, that he's talking to a collection of rhymers, wordsmiths, and gesticulating anthropomorphics. He had no idea what the **** I just said, but he did do an edit.

Here's his edit.

You're Invited to My Pig Roast

Your toad on the road
Only squats, never stands,
Or sits 'til he splits
Between the treads of your van.

Your mouse in the house,
If it isn't found out,
Drops pellets in pots,
'Til snap, then it stops.

Your bird on the wire
Sweetly sings then lets fire;
And a cat in a hat
Is cute, but that's that.

Your horse from the stable
Won't be served from your table;
And the deer by the brook,
Well, too much the Bambi to cook.

Yes a bear in the wood
Indeed craps where it should;
He's best left alone
While your meat's on your bone.

Then there is the PIG.
A ruddy pink porker,
Intelligent and clean,
An innocuous oinker.
It does nothing that's heinous,
And yes, it should shame us,
As it lies silently smiling
With a spit up its ****.

Please bring your own lawnchair, *****,  and women.
The pig's on me.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
First Living Organism

Anyway, there is love and death and governance. With the birth of my sons, love was fulfilled. There is no romance left in love for me, women are another form of men. Perhaps their toes are painted rather than blood-encrusted, but blood runs from their bones, their eyes are friendly as camera lenses, muscles hungry. Death continues to be my every third thought, fittingly. Occasionally I feel strong, but when I don’t it’s death waiting. I think I know it’s a waste of time to imagine being dead, as if being dead were a form of living. It’s not, but last night I was reading about the efforts of astrobiologists to identify LUCA meaning Last Universal Common Ancestor and FLO, first living organism, and that gave me a calmer feeling. Bringing me to governance, how we manage together between birth and death. What can I say that hasn’t already been said by Aristotle and Plato, the Republicans and Democrats, Hamilton and Jefferson. To start, your daily discipline is a personal governance. There are many ways to know a person: by their god, by their fears and appetites, by how they spend their money or organize their time. Who is in authority, who is in command here? The one in authority is not necessarily our leader.


Patience

I live in a mountainous community about 140,000 strong. My irascible, aggressive temperament toward my fellow citizens has exiled or sidelined me to a peripheral almost insignificant role although when I arrived I was considered a problem solver, even a savior of the poor and the wealthy classes who feared for the future. Why mention this. He who knows patience knows peace. I have surely lost face often in my life. As a kid, lost most fights, as a man, chosen last to lead the squad or platoon. Only when every known leader had died did those in authority decide to use me. Someone must begin to write the federalist papers for the world. And, of course, it’s being done and heard. Books in print, blogs, debates. My vision is a world where you can fly from Madagascar to Mississippi and be greeted by a sign that says Welcome to our land. Go about your business, setting off no bombs, and fly home. Perhaps take a lover for one afternoon.


The Machine and the Season

The machine and the season are so far incompatible. The machine claims electrical problem. The house leaks from rain. The men who left the machine have started their own business. A new endeavor by which they will keep warm and purposeful. The junior partner, heavier, says the Grand Canyon’s not so grand. Jaded individual or one to set himself against the depths, abyss? Man’s systems. Man made the machine (and the town) from rocks mined next door. Some few men understand these invisible electrons moving the machine to perform. I still cannot imagine, i.e. my mind cannot move fast enough to know how so many particles can be sorted and split so quick to make words on a screen. My simplicity is terminal.


Saving Grace

Today it is fall, first day for long-sleeved shirts. The boys at school. I admonish Zach not to whine and complain about the work. Lately reading or practicing piano, prone to fits of frustration. To the point of claiming belly pain. Last night I dreamed I had pushed him to suicide. It is so important for a man to do no harm. This is what makes us crazy against Wolfowitz, willingness to **** to do good. Someone very sure of himself and shining, much wiser and more compassionate than me, has calculated for the world that more lives now for fewer later shall be sacrificed. The people he serves are cantankerous, disorderly, selfish and complaining. The same diverse, spoiled, unpatriotic revolutionaries as at the nation’s beginning. Their refusal to be more than the sum of themselves is their saving grace.


Politics

Politics can be an escape from the personal, the debates are of little interest to a man in hospice. Will the machines do their work? How will we make decisions together? Roger Johnson’s gravel pit must be killing his neighbors with the noise of boulders being pulverized to rock but Roger is certain his business is necessary for the public good. He knows he has a right to use his property as he sees fit. There is a noise ordinance, a state employee will travel out to measure the decibel level in your front yard as compared to the ambient noise level. There is a measurable amplitude beyond which the legislature has determined no citizen may be exposed or corporation go. It can be measured.


Measure for Measure

Measure for measure, all’s well that ends well during a midsummer night’s dream for the merry wives of Windsor. A million or more poets but only one Top Bard. How did he know so much about kings and fools and murderers? An Elizabethan and no Freedom of Information Act. Today it is fall. The legislature and president are at work and so are our machines. One by one and then in armies the leaves come down. It is not that someone must decide, we must decide how we will make decisions and where authority resides. What am I learning, sitting, watching the season turning? Content this morning to admire my sons’ photos, reread my own poems searching for the prize answer, and answer the phone. I seem to be alienating potential business partners with a take it or leave it comme-ci comme-ca attitude. All you can do, the best that can be done is to go to your daily discipline. Driving home or waking up at night I think I’m dying. Do the much-admired writers of our time die more content than that?


War All the Time

War all the time. I’ve been fond of saying what distinguishes America is its daily low intensity warfare. Endless but not fatal conflict. Chambers of commerce, municipal government, big corporations wrestle nearly naked and will lie as needed for what? I tire like an 80 year old man of the storm and worry. I remember my early years when I had no known skill to offer and elections occurred without my vote being solicited. I noticed no harm or good I did was noticed. Autumn was all mine, mine alone, I was alone in the world with autumn. My mind could not stand it. I cried out for comfort, someone to obey. I needed to grow up and know money.


The History That Surrounds Us

I’m not going anywhere, I chose to stay and hold my clod of soil in the landscape of community oh blah dah. I want like Shakespeare and other writers to discern the motivations of women, men, see through their lies to a humorous truth careless about success and able to explain why what happens today or on September 11th obtains. I was impressed by the critic who found that Shakespeare in Hamlet had tried to write about the thoughts of a man suspended between having decided to act and the act itself. Why bother he soliloquated why commit or submit to the great moment when mere men of bones and dust, disgusted with themselves and others are the actors of the moment, beheaders, rhymers, debtors. And, of course, the answer comes to one in the night like Chuang-tzu, or Lao, why not? The great moment is no greater than the small and the small no smaller than the great. You perform the history that surrounds you and go to your daily practice.


A Systems Guy

I’m something of a systems guy. I want the truth and death and worth to be independent of individual motives, paranoias, prejudice, peccadilloes, virginities, crucifixes, paradoxes, protons, protozoa or curses. I want pure human machinery, stainless steel, clear thinking, even handed, not a doubt that every doubt is wanted, needed, good to the last drop toward the ultimate ignition into outer space, colonization of diverse planets and immortality of the genome. Here’s what’s odd. While enduring ever more frequent panic attacks (and nudging toward survival and self-sufficiency my offspring) pounding and pinching my skin to stay sensate, maintain consciousness, I parabolate (always orbiting myself, eye on the tip of my *****) to another extreme, i.e. my belief mankind can escape the earth unlike Hamlet’s dad’s ghost. A system is a set of inputs–values, policies, objectives, procedures, data–organized and repeated to generate significant quantities of desired outcomes without redesigning the system for each individual outcome. I told John Russell from Amnesty International at Jack Shwartz’s daughter’s coming of age party about my plan to reorganize the U.N. so only the democracies can vote and no nation has a veto. He said the world’s not ready, with absolute certainty, knowledge and authority. I looked out the hotel window, this was shortly after 9/11, at dozens of American flags and a lone security guard. I’m always right I said to myself.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
lize kingston Sep 2013
Battle of the two Giants
High noon announced the duel of the giants
Poetry and Hip Hop gunslinging the date was set
One accused the other of ****** the verbal world
As poetry sighted the words of Poe, hip hop did hurl
"Cant you rock these lame %$# words in slow
That dumb %&# Raven needs to be defeathered bro"
Poetry stood back and shook his hands down low
Reaching for his quilt using hip hop as ink he wrote
"The sound of silence is gold when you release your soul,
I need to feel the heartbeat of man so go!"
Hip hop now breakdancing on the floor
Laughed at this poor attempt to show poetrys gold
"You call that soul? I see it as a blind man,
Using fancy words to hide your fears so grand"
As poetry began to write another line
12:00 o clock came up as the sun did shine
Both stood back to back drawing their weapons
As the countdown to the duel approached like a new son
3 steps forward both rhymers turned about face
Two bangs later the smoke cleared both were embraced
The two giants knelt to ground their hearts did bleed
This time not of words but of blood so clean
At the same time both died as they killed each other
Why not write about how we are killing one another
Black vs White, hip hop vs poetry
Same old siht but this time its affecting me
Allen Wilbert Feb 2014
Rhymes

And the rhyme says,
all the long haired rhyming people, must go,
so I put on a short wig,
and went in to ask why.
I'm a fine young rhymer,
please let me show.
Took off my wig,
and asked him to give me a try.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
And the rhyme says,
anyone caught not rhyming,
will be shot on sight,
I jumped the fence and gave a yell,
hey, I know how to rhyme right.
Non rhymers won't let mother nature in,
they say not to rhyme is considered a sin.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
Hey man mister, can you read,
my rhymes are all that you'll ever need.
Must have a paper and pen to rhyme,
watch me write as I enter my prime.
I don't need a membership card,
my rhymes will keep you on guard.
And the rhyme says,
everyone down here is welcome to stay,
but when Lucifer passed the plate,
I had no money to pay.
So I got my own pen and paper,
and made up my own little rhyme,
So I decided to sell my soul,
the Devil will make me feel fine.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
Sorry for you, but I'm out of time,
do this, do that, cant you read the rhyme.
Sheila Haskins Apr 2022
Where are you
Dreamers under the sun
Miss you, love you every one
Artists painting endless panoplies
Scribblers scribbling in their beds
From the depths of imagination
Stories awakening in their heads
Poets’ pens poised to flow
Rhymers growing wings to creation
Eager to take flight, ready to go
The rivers of time move on
Until words and pictures are inked
Every one of these
Redeemers, fantasy givers
All beauty becomes linked
Poems and stories are gifts
Here to relieve the monotony
Of the considered norm, lifts
Pathways to the soul, endless rivers
To keep us sane, make us whole
Where are you
Dreamers under the sun
Miss you........
Love you every one
ConnectHook Sep 2015
☺♥☺♥☺♥☺♥

The worst will be found toward the end of the book
When you’re scanning the lines of a weighty anthology.
Centuries have shaken what works can be shook,
and what’s old is refined – and I make no apology.

Angst-ridden ramblings, so fashionably bleak
Start appearing somewhere past the middle, I fear
With those modernist psyches, whose raggedly weak
and depressing confessions sling mud in the ear.

Like the scribblers of Suicide, brimming with bile
or the autodestructive self-pitying ******,
whose quaint observations enshrining the vile
are a crime against life – and an art for the loser.

You ideologues, with your axes to grind,
propagandizing causes in militant styles
ought to  stay in the hills, where the struggle is defined,
and spare us the old dialectical wiles.

The Feminist scribe, with her *** for a mouth,
Ever pressing her case, for fallopian reasons
Grows saggingly sterile. Her muses fly south
with the passing of harvests and goddessless seasons.

Absurdists, surrealists, and nihilist mystics
whose hymns to destruction make glory of chaos
should leave the black humor to God and ballistics.
Your poems, like Judas, are bound to betray us.

The Freudian flirt (whose neuroses abound),
And the Jungian shamans (their animas, too),
ought to rest on their couches. Why should they be found
By the wellsprings of Spirit, whose guidance is true.

The art-lover’s lines gild a frame around Knowledge.
Their poems are like an art history course.
As they flit past the idols they studied in college
their name-dropping odes are a grand tour-de–force.

Sixties drug-revelers, love beads a-jingle
And brothers dashiki-clad, howling at Nixon
no longer strike chords in my soul. Not a single sitar lick
nor visions of hippie-chick *****.

You rhymers and rappers of rhythms in sample
Whose words like a kick-drum send shock through old Whitey
Now cease from your chanting. The genre is ample.
Your gangstering paeans are too fly-by-nighty.

Revived Roman legions, who relish things Latin;
Your martial convictions inspire the hero.
But while you are looking for cities to flatten,
remember – old Julius was nobler than Nero.

The theme of World Peace –  this crops up near the ending:
a desperate hope for New-Agers and liberals,
who cherish a dream of reality-bending
Through networking, magic, and energized crystals…

But what can be shaken shall perish, forgotten.
Anthologies show us that truth is enduring.
All praises and laurels shall prove misbegotten.
The Word become flesh is the most reassuring.

So I leave the anthology, closing its cover.
Three-quarters at least seemed like nonsense to me.
Yet still, I admit, I’m a poetry lover.
Let time do its work and in future – we’ll see…
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/mine/various/

☺♥☺♥☺♥☺♥
How can my Muse want subject to invent
While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every ****** paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,
For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
    If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
    The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Laurent Jun 2015
Rhymers are takers and readers to be givers forever deeper.
Chandler Higgs Dec 2013
trees, trees
so many trees
they’re green
some are lean
why write about the seven seas
or what happens in winter to bees
when so many know the trees?
rhymes, rhymes
so many rhymes
this one may take me some time
I could learn and talk just fine
without using a rhyme
but no, deep is slime
without the help of a rhyme.
love, love
so much love
filled with white feathered doves
that heart always needs a shove
write about love
frilly and goofy love
and think of nothing above.
poems, poems
so many poems
but nothing rhymes with poems
why is the name
not the same
to play the strange game
and win the author fame?
poets, poets
so many poets
nothing rhymes with poets either
meaning, coincidence, or neither
the poets they cry
and the words they die
whenever the rhymers play
so now hear what I say
maybe a poem does not have to rhyme
a thought that would be just fine
maybe the name
is not the game
maybe the tree
can be more to see
maybe the love
can get over the dove
and see the fighter’s light
bring the world new heights
the silly thoughts
the haphazard lots
who think what they feel
is sure to heal
should quiet
to hear my riot
poetry is not for those
who want to gush and play
poetry is for those
whose world they can expose
and truths they can say
poets are the faint of heart
with their feelings they cannot part
truth-tellers on the other hand
well, I think of them as very grand
GaryFairy Nov 2013
The mad professor of slapping the lesser
the bad aggressor, facts to beat the guesser
no more oppressor, killed by the successor
the glad possessor, words against suppressor

waiting for the dormant informant to storm it
debating when to swarm and transform it
it's hard to form a new form and perform it
you never conform it's cold and you warm it

the mad magician of having rhymers wishin
the new edition, hell bent on transmission
so much ambition, with no need for permission
the new munition, made for demolition
Bad decisions from.poor livin'
Doin' time in Reapers Prison
Since Hells risen Pistols grinin'
Cuz the world's deep sinnin'
minds drippin'
From bleedin' through knowledge & pain
Some say I'm insane strain cuz I feed my brain
**** and Hennessey
Puffin' with my homies
on the block
Posted up lookin' for the 502 that's corrupt
Beyond that I polish my gat
Cuz there's always a ****** after midnight
Get my head right but my thoughts loose
no screws in it
I'm.in to win it
vanishin' demons now I'm replenished
Adversaries couldn't repent from it
Now they restin' in lovely caskets I'm drastic
Cold heartless *******
Feel like the world is mine entice by crime
In these hard times
I try to keep peace but always find an adversary
Always tryna bury me
I feel like Jesus at the age of thirty three
My half been ****** since he left Bethelham
On The Lords land through the deserts burning sands
Bringin' Vengeance Upon Pharaohs kids with blood in hands
Got ****! I'm seeing history repeat itself
From past times keep my head above the rim
Is it me she he or him
Devils lookin' grim uh
Demons come guised as an angel
Ain't nothing strange Momma
We was made from love
Though we faced with Drama
From coke **** to ****** *******
Endurin' heat in the heart of the streets
They try to enforce on ya flushin' ya
Makin' hell for a hustla

witness my strap as i slap
these ******* rhymers into a nap **** this aint about rap
its deeper than that
im tryna take my roots back
im black as the fugees in 96
deep in the mix of ****
**** the record execs
scared of me cuz im a one man threat
like makaveli shots to my belly
ill still live on get my puff on
same ol song im breakin down the industry
and exposing all my enemies
watch em bleed in glee
im livin recklessly no mercy from me
im.comin with fire and brimstone
dont throw stones
at glasshouse
unless ya wanna be doused
in gasoline   high octane
im coming wicked from my brain
embrace my pain
envisioned prophecy of all my
enemies slain
******* is thing of the past
they try to **** me
but i broke free from the
drug community
peepin' me i see ya five os
peepin in my window
but i got guns for ya
hidin like malcolm with an ak ready slay
any ***** or body
know the art of war
when ***** muthaphukkaz tried to rush ya crush ya
but i **** first
**** they make hell for hustla
Yeah once I received
A revelations from meditated at a  higher elevation
Became mental ejaculations
Then came a new creation
Cells was in gestation
Just waitin' to battle
The minions of Satan
Who better than
Me & my flows
Be hotter than dessert sand
Words is swords slicin' up rap veterans
These boy more fruit looped
Than Toucan Sam
On the pavement I slam
Then watch your spirit deactivate and
Your body start decomposin' sinkin' faster than quick sand
Understand
My words put together
Equals the perfect letterman
Formula of concoctions
No **** options
I go for the jugular
Loosin' ya sight swift as strike
From the tail of an iguana
I got stocks to bonds
You couldn't assist me even if ya had John Stockton
Lost from my unclaimed kingdom
While you sitting dumb
I became succumb to the sun
But not burned
Beamin' my intellect to carefully select put rhymers in check
I'm complex like chinese arithmetic
Can't you innerstand my dialect
Brains get dissected then tested
They only livin cuz I allowed
Them to be resurrected
My brain shuts out hate
Like sealed window pane
wither shine or rain
I'll shatter your brain
Leave your cells strained
Like aneurysm
Soon to die from all the blood stains
Rockin' cerebellums spread belladonna
Once I drop the bombs on ya
Turn up the degrees hotta than a sauna
Feedin' on spine rentin' ya nerves
Like a piranha
After emcees like Conner
Terminator originator dope animator
Styles so contagious they had to create a
Clone when I was in an incubator
Spaced shuttled feeling
Lies told within' reignin with sin
Which eventually made me a debater
Minds like an engine you need a starter and an alternator
I be the alpha and omega hate betas
Who try to debate us conform us
Only ourselves we trust
Cuz once we show
We bust temples
Like solar blast nuclear chemical task
Spells in cast take a sip of my mental flask
I keep two masks for alias
One for my personality and other
For my ego rhymes en fuego
Black inferno pops on ya like a kernel
Beef is eternal everlast
In the house of pain
Where most don't wanna last
If ya had half of the
Skills that I amount to
You'll still wouldn't get a pass
I be the galaxy protector Hannibal hector bone collector
Break through any sector
Killer instincts like Raptor
Thunderous with Thor hammers
Make em jam us two sides as Janus
Conjure spirits like cursor spells from Ouija boards
So pull out a clipboard and jump aboard
Stack rhymes til it becomes a hoard
I'll stretch ya vocals chords like an accordion
Spinal leakin' from all the blood releasin'
Like traveling thoughts of
Ya mind I'm your conscious
Intertwined
Silence competitions like mimes
By the time they got to six
I was seven and ate nine
Emcees that try to take mine
My retaliation sublime
Once my third eye shines
None believers get behind
Thought ya had power til I showed
Up now you have to resign
Empires got decline
Black as ruler and a golden Shrine
Couldn't decipher my demigod design
My mind travels a million times
Infinite  times a billion times
That's just a microthread of my cells
Castin' processed lines
The black sun the only one
Reignin' as the only champion
Made a don connect rhymes
Like voltron big as megatron
Lap around emcees like a marathons
That means a hundred to one
Miles soon to pile
All emcees into a crate
Predict the death date make bacteria
In it's natural state
Shift the game 'til the earthquakes
Not to worry
Its just the triple six darkness takin' it's stake
Heatwaves risin' soon to leave bodies to radiate and bake
Turnin' them into ashe flakes
chiggety check my flizzow
its me yosef comin back for more war and gore
makin mics sore
once i soar on the mic
turn these hard rhymers into dikes like mike
everybody wanna be like me
six rings n pending put an ending
last second shot ya know ya got got
one eight seven on the cops
cuz ya see death knocks
unexpectedly thats how its supposed to be
wisdom in the streets crooked i
no need to lie
sendin haters to the sky
dt ask.why?
what happened once i tell em
them i stuck em buck buck em
**** em
throw em.up the river
souls quiver when i deliver
rhymes like mail no stamp
or postage kick up the mostest dopest
boys hope yosef is
on a downfall but still i ball
creep n crawl like eazy in the six tre **** what yall gotta say
i got propz from 3rd coast to the LA much luv to the bay
o yea im coming crazier than sling blade
haters get sprayed like raid
to the tombs ya go where body becomes fade and yeaa it don't stopp



uh while you flyin' with witches
im ******' ******* with multiple riches
even ya girl got her pearls tongue wrapped aroubd my hung
dickkkk stickin' yo chick
after i nut in her
i drop her *** like a cheap brick i stick
hoes like i stick my flows
nothing but that raw ****
that hits so hard make even the dead raise from casket
tisket a tasket
i got heads in a basket
crazy insane in the membrane
i told ya ***** im a four time veteran i can dance in the water and not get wet
can ya dig it
i aint talkin friends of distinction
im tryna put mcs into extinction
my rhymes be penchin'
nerves with the verbs that curbs
make reservoirs
at dry spots liver than liverachi
cook up lyrics like a japenese habachi sound the banchees
dont ya know jalel death comes in three
****** you and whole wack rappi. family
yall cant handle me
im slick as rick check the tock to a tick
times running out no doubt
got ya sweatin' as the water tricklin'
down ya check yosef eradicates weak
so no need to speak
uh my flows detrimental every time i lay my **** in an instrumental
learn to rhyme learn to spell
***** ****** always wanna yell
out loud but once i puff my cloud
i pop guns make ya soul run
as ya lay in a casket uncovered the shroud
yea and it dont stopp
cuz its 187 on a muthpahukkin flop
JoJo Nguyen Jan 2023
For Gwendolyn Brooks

And with that 2023
has slid into we

Bound in leather
or some new polymer

Alloys coaxed together
Like Master and server

We Olde Tymers
We Neu! Rhymers

Fashion updaters
Swift haters

What weird magic
this that binds tragic

sado to majestic maso
a Quanto entanglo

In rusty romp we fumble
as dream walls crumble

A Sun begs for mercy
A Flower forgives

Strange entanglements
Mixing emerging flavors
Know for my tenacious D
Defense intense once my offense
Sets the commence None could circumvent
My tactics are magical like the call of the oracle
Mentally shatter their corticals through embryo
From my deadly material wipin up out serials it'll take a miracle
To get with this super lyrical
My swift flow known to crack even the earths skulls
Bigger than vessel
Leaking cabbage call it mother nature savage
Taking advantage as I uncover the hidden Black Atlantis
Still breaking through the suffering
Burn em sacrifice em like a habitual offering
It don't matter the seasons
Winter fall summer or spring
I got lyrics that'll even make the dead sing
Outta the graves none could graze
Slick as the Fonz on Happy Days
Freeze em like Ice Tray once the shots fire from the AK
We need more rhymers eat more flesh than Jeffrey Dalmer
Or better yet I bring more Heat than Mario Chamers
I hang with big dons who carry big weapons No small timers
We gives a **** about the law
That's why I'm an outlaw out for the law
Talk legalese from my maw quick with my southpaw
Word from Amenra
Peace to the God Ra kim ask him
He'll say my flows rock him
Like a vibrations of soundwaves
Causing spiritual concave can't be saved
If ya holy rights is waived flows like an ocean wave
Crash when I touch the shore too ******* we get an encore
From the fourscores of war thunderous Thor
Hammers smashin' melon lowerin' temperatures
Knockin' out amateurs with the strength of a pandas
Bite pressure to bamboo bam boom got freedom riders bocu to straight Lagoons
We forming legion prepare for the seizing
We ain't sizing we only galvanizing
Skills made critical for rappin' judicial
Rhyming official takin' apart the elitist rituals



We got the triggers to back bend with the hands on a Mack 1o
Ready to do a 5 to 10 for brain entering
That means for 5 to 10 minutes we crackin' souls and shells within'
Let the pain settlin' in yo death dwellin'
Commited to being a lyrical felon
Aint. No tellin' was droppin from my melon
Unravel the spiritual material turn critics satirical
Infect hataz like bacterial spread ***** like venereal
Sittin' as a Vizierial so my flows a miracle
Milk em like cereal execution from my disciplined imperial
Take no ******* from any burn em like Penny
On Good Times make good rhymes
Cuz I'm
The Coldest on the microphone I  be the holder tactics deep as Gopher
Take a sniff of the Jatropha
got golden sun honies in the villages of Ethiopia
Reality Utopia brailin' others anopia
Check my cornucopia
wordsmith assasinate like Caligula
Picture perfect with my verbal cinema
Laid out like a peninsula
Mental formula laid out so it's similar
Spit the tech nine that'll  leave holes in ya neck like Dracula with multiple xray bone fractures
Flipped like a spactula
Contaminate like preyin' forficula
And vindictive as the goddess Proserpina
Since my sweet sixteen
I knew I was a mic fiend
Now I gotta pack sixteen
Clips by the side of my hip
So haters watch ya lip
Cuz my iron grip
Is tight tighter than needle noose pliers
Embrace higher from the tokes of fire
Never gone retire raps Messiah
Whose flows hotter than a dryer
**** daddy hit rumps like Teddy
Pendergrass still I smash
Any beat that's put up watch it rest up
Soon to be maked up
Coroner examiner ultimate dope handler
Universe mind channler
Step to me be a victim to my  Dalmer Tactics
Death recipient so destructive
I could never repent
As I rise over any establisment


Now that I'm a grown man
Learned to play my hand
Real well got many stories to tell
My enemies yearn for me to fail
Destined for hell
Out on bail Soon to hear Liberty's Bell
My lyrics so forceful
I'm even turnin dark skins pale
My energy made me
Much stronger longer
Than a nile who's style none could hit the dial
My ****** hits make melons ****
Venomous sticks
Cuz of too much excitement
No resentment fools turn apologetic
Cuz of broken commitment
So haters stop wishin'
Endin' fake rhymers is my ambition
So pay attention
And learn to listen
Yeah I be from the south so watch ya mouth
Before you get duct taped ***** by deaths draps ya verses wack as Drake
To Meek Mills skills I drill til ya feel my flows oh so real slam ya with a force harder than Shaquille haters claim they real?
Til they see ya shine appeal then try to steal
Cuz they got no flows to spill so ya better chill
Before my guns raise and blaze leave you in a eternal daze pastors giving praise
As casket lays flesh soon decayed
As ya tooken away from the death angels that stayed
Preyed over ya body I be the Illuminati risin' kundalini hang with shorties who pack shotties quick to make dead bodies
It ain't nothing to a playa so stop bluffin' before you get a snuffin' htown roughin'
Up the bids put that on my kids look what I did?
Shook the game attached my hooks country as Garth Brooks still gettin' looks
From fine black latinas mamacita senoritas stickin' to my pita
bread cuz my **** lines red
Nothing but hardness instead style like Frank Lucas blowin' hookah with a stash of Buddha
Trap the game triangled like Bermuda
Death made from those I slayed this ain't no charades just a taste of my rap alcollade
Another haters throwin' shade I'll fade still leanin' sittin' sideways like them boys in the days
Sippin' purple lemonade with a fresh fade
......Mayne Htown holding crown knocking out clown you'll drown
With no water so don't try to slaughter *******



Southsia fo Lia Nia

While I'm sittin' clean I'm flickin' off hataz like Mr Bean autos aim for ya peen still stickin' for cream livin' out my dream
I'm biggie layin' sigils led to sequels street general turnin' hard rhymers minimals
Role with mobster criminals an animal guns eat though ya flesh like a cannibal true intellectual my flows phenomenal
I'll stretch ya Abdominals for the coroner down the spiritual corridors as the blackness pours
See me gold plated breast in armor coming to swarm ya
It's legion of demons plottin' & schemin' like Keenan
Ivory Wayne's I'm stuck into ya brains
With no syringe suckas pretend I don't get wins? Never seen L only when spit phrases like Big L pockets swell while I'll give heat hotter than Hell
Kin to Satan so that should tell I don't dwell
On goodness cuz in genesis I was kicked out and landed in Exodus
Into the underworld blessed by Osiris mother earth givin' me birth layin' words that hurt reverse the flirt now suckas layin' in dirt
Found later like a fossil this for a ***** name Fussell I see you loosin' muscle
Step into my arena my flows meaner I'll lock jaw ya harder than Hyena
From the guns that'll grease ya into a freezer
Ya body displayed  cuz you had to pay
Ya soul up ya living foul since you a problem child
I gave you a taste of my omen owls *****....
Don Bouchard May 2020
"Write two poems," I said.

My students left the room.

Some frittered the week away,
No idea how to start,
What to say....

Others found a way to play,
Rolling phrases
Making hay,
Coding words in lines
Testing assonance,
Alliteration,
Anthropomorphization:
A door, a pen, and clouds...
Always clouds.

"Write one that rhymes," I'd said,
And so the rhymers vied,
Stretched morphemes until dead,
Finding words I thought had died,
Bruised themselves with rhythm,
Metered anapests and dactyls,
Resorted to trochees and iambs
And smiled as if inventing fractals,
My little lambs.

"Write free verse; break all rules!" I said,
And though they tried,
No ee cummings Jesus resurrected,
No William Carlos Williams rose
To eat plums beside white chickens,
And no apologies.

Still, when all was finished,
Notes came in,
A treasured, precious few
Wrote to say they'd found
Appreciation for words
Arranged intentionally,
For power of images,
For realization of the value
Found in working words.
Concluding 16 years' teaching Writing & Literature & College Composition. Finals, last papers, and student comments....
Big Virge Apr 2021
Okay So I’m An... Old Timer...
Whose A... POWERHOUSE Rhymer... !!!

And TOP NOTCH Rhyme Designer...

So I’m NOT Like These Grimers’... !!!
Or One With... One Liners...
Like Great Battle Rhymers... !!!

Or One Who Now Mumbles...
And Stumbles Like Dumbos... !!!
With PURE Mumbo Jumbo... !?!

But I AM One Whose Humble...
And READY To RUMBLE...

With Any Young Rapper...
Who Thinks That They’re Dapper...
Because of Rhyme Chapters...
They Run In Their Chatter...

Because I Will BATTER...
With POWERHOUSE Matter...

These Young Whipper Snappers...
With SUBJECTS That FLATTEN...
The Nonsense They’re Chatting... !!!

In Things That Now Factor...
In Rap Being... "Captured"...
And MUMBLED Away........
By Today’s Hip Hop Strays... !!!

So NO Hip Hop Hooray... !!!

Just POOR Verse That DISPLAYS...
A... World of Wordplay...
That’s Now FAR From GREAT... !!!

Like Those From The Days...
When Lyricists BLAZED...
And TRULY AMAZED... !!!

Through Wordplay They’d Create...
That Was... UNLIKE Todays...
That’s Mostly Now... LAME... !!!

And Gives Proof of Brain Drain...
That’s... BLATANT And PLAIN...

For REAL Emcees To See... !!!
Whose Wordplay Is REAL...
And NOT Made For Some Deal... !!!

That Makes Them Church Mouses...
Instead of Those Grounded...
By STRONG POWERHOUSES... !!!

Where Words AREN’T Just COUNTED... !!!
And Suitably... DROWNED In...
... Waterless Fountains... !!!

And MOUNTAINS of CRAP... !!!

BELIEVE Things Are Like That...
When It Comes To The Rap...
Brought By POWERLESS Cats... !!!

Whose Chat Is SO WEAK...
That When I Hear Them Speak...

My Powers INCREASE... !!!
Like SPIKES In DISEASE... !!!
That NEEDS To DESTROY...
All The IGNORANT Noise...
That Simply... ANNOYS... !!!

Due To Boys Who LACK Poise...
Who’ll Employ... ANYTHING...
For Their Verse To Get Heard... !!!!!!!

By Those In... “ The Burbs “...
Who Have... POWERHOUSES...

Where Moguls Stay Focussed...
On Structures Much WEAKER...
Than Lyrics Once FEATURED...

As Those That Showed POWER...
To... Lyrical COWARDS... !!!

Like Those Who Now FLOUNDER...
In... Showers of Powder... !!!

Because They CAN’T Cope...
With POWERHOUSE Smoke... !!!

That’s NOT Like The Dope...
That They SHUV Up Their Nose... !!!

It’s Now ALL ONE BIG JOKE...
Flows Now Deemed To Be COLD...

When They’re Those That SELL SOULS... !!!
To The Lowest of Bidders...
These INDUSTRY SINNERS...

Whose Houses Are SHROUDED...
In... DARKNESS And Hounds In...
All Kinds of BROKE Mountains... !!!

Where Cowboys Be Mounting...
Some Horses ABSORBING...
The ******* They’re TOUTING...
As Being Worth POUNDING...

Through Speakers When WEAKNESS...
And Lyrics Worth DROWNING... !!!

Are What They Be FLOUTING...
That CLEARLY AREN’T Founded...

By Feeding Off Writers...
Who REALLY ARE RHYMERS...

Who Flow WITHOUT DOUBT...

Like A Rhyme...

... " POWERHOUSE "...
There really aren't so many around anymore !
Sippin' on that bar I be a superstar looking a far
Beyond the ******* i spit the hardest in the pit
Leave fools guts open now ya smellin' ****
Vultures peckin' ya skin stuck in this body of sin i sip Gin
Then put my **** in a Hen then back to the den
Rollin' a blunt that's bigger than a bat all of my homies pack gats
Rest in peace to the homies that got hit with the Mack
Yeah ****** up times we living in
In the hood you see more fouls than grins
Unless it's money circling drugs dealin' pigs still squealin'
But **** em i never was a role model
I rather push a Lexus 420 fully loaded on throttle
Money is the ambition bass thumpin' as my lyrics shift
In ya brain like a transmission hittin'
All gears in ya brain my intellect is a threat
That J Edgar Hoover couldn't even get cuz I got a gangsta set
No fakers on my team
Roll with with Dons who sip Dom Perignon by the millions can't trust civilians
Or politicians so I make my commission with a circle of decision
Enemies love dissin' but I see em cuz snakes always hissin' cuz

Ya styles edible my flows incredible like the hulk stalk
Talk **** fools get chalked
Walking down the valley of the
Shadow of death Nia with beer under my breath
Still thuggin' twistin' daytonas or better yet swangaz
Got a coat of rhymes sittin' on a hanger in my mind as I shine
Brighter than the sun the luminous one
Kin to Lucifer he's only one begotten son
Huh 6 carbons 6 protons 6 nuetrons
Together I'll form Voltron turn hard rhymers into vagabonds
Overseas stocks n bonds bringing capitol punishment like Big Pun
My bank rolls swole
Watch out for the rats that love cheese that's why I  feed em lyrical disease
Once the venom in em
They fold like origami once I sound the Tommy
Hidden' in the breast of my Latin mommie
Who is this?? That's the introduction of death
Makin' bodies rock from right to left the one *****
Check the mics to beats I wrecks inspect ya decks crew digits
Dail nothing but wins comprehend against the evils of men sins
Worn on my flesh I can attest manifest the magnificent  
Chariots blazing fire reaching for desire higher than a sire
Consumed the dryer as I heat up the fryer without the pan wu tang
Back at cha once again linked with black news cannon fannin'
All fakers make graves for undertakers shake ya
With the divine degrees pedigrees got em on bended knees
Catch the sneeze of a bullets bless you yo I'm special greet you
With a soulful touch make ya double dutch to the beats shifting clutch
Not much you can do once we break out the loot giving the boots
When we walk stomp around the yards skyscrapers bombard
Towers leaning I'm intervening on ya noggin beaming dreaming
Of ways to make a pay sways
The average shinobi ya owe me
Dont play me get smoked like a Dutchie ruthless Richie
Holding the keys Harlem Knight freak hoes into the twilight  
Darkness roaming nights plight sitting on the media snipe
Buckle ya head once the snaps is read midevil bloodshed
Twist cabbage dont invoke the savage living life have less
To embrace more cannabis see yall waving ya hand to this
Rakim Eric B stylist watch me pile this face my arch nemesis
Fools kicking this tryna re up I keep the stash of coke in the cup
Soaked up my dreams in kerosene burn slow of hate in between
It seems madness loves to company gladness I stand by the grist
******* weak rhymers small timers ain't nothing more liver
Scolding lava once I mold the opposition premonitions
I held up without being held up syrup laced so I can deeply abrupt
The sounds of the corrupt snaking products swift wit da clean cuts
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
it always makes sense: to make your own
blueberry ice-cream...
or raspberry ice-cream...
  come to think of it: having watched a lot
of Australia Master-Chef...
hmm... beetroot ice-cream...
basil ice-cream...
                it makes sense because it's
a quintessential happiness...
altogether something different from...
making your own wine...
but this has to be the most pristine base recipe:
2 cups of double cream
half a cup of sugar: perhaps even less...
one quarter to half a cup of sugar...
5 egg yolks...
obvious beaten and when the cream sugar milk
mixture comes up to 165 Fahrenheit...
the ideal temp. for roast chicken: mind you...
i remember those Sundays when
both my mother and grandmother
turned chicken ******* into chalk...
all the men in the house would be gagging for
the dark meat: near the bones...
since that couldn't be overcooked... over-baked...
obviously if i were to compare:
taking out my little culinary chemistry set
when making a curry...
is one thing...
but there's something: i don't have either
noun or adjective to suit this adventure...
it's: ******* blueberry ice-cream...
you could almost reinvent the thrill of riding
a bicycle heavy-traffic when
making ice-cream...
i'm more of a savoury cook...
when it comes to sweet: baking irritates me...
ice-cream i can stand: under...
but cooking sweet is so less alchemical
than cooking savoury...
whiskey ice-cream: it's doable...
double up: coffee-whiskey-caramel ice-cream...
oh... wait... that's tripling up
    on the effort...
sure... some cheap vanilla extract to boot...
but since blueberries are blueberries...
and not raspberries: there was a sly squeeze
of a lemon...
i'm hoping for a good harvest
of grapes this year...
i'm assuring myself to be able to...
squeeze out a dozen bottles of row-zay...
looks ugly: phonetically... no?
i'm not going to introduce an acute on the E
to morph a rose into a: hue...
7am tomorrow... a romance with the bicycle...
and all that's Loon'don...
running through advertisement in the river
of thought of all that's: subliminal...
after all: journalism no journalism no...
they still get that itch from time to time
to replicate the glory days of Woodward & Bernstein...
for me... it was a one off...
these days journalism comes too late:
or too early...
too pawn-brokered...
   i still read the newspapers: mostly like a solipsist...
not that i'm somehow immune
to the everyday: greyish horrors of...
average people: i guess i'm one of them...
because wouldn't i want to think
somehow more of myself:
i can hardly scold... demean the prostitutes
i visit from time to time...
it would leave me supposing an ownership
of a pair of two left hands...
drinking a bottle of 70cl like it might be
a bottle of milk:
thank god i didn't have the "bright" idea
of mixing it up with a shy... 35cl of beer...
sure... it might work in an ice-cream:
coffee... whiskey... caramel...
    this ugly necessity of being agitated: prompted for
no great purpose other:
perhaps... i'd rather not talk...
fixing some shelves in the wardrobe...
making the ice-cream...
hence my demand of propping the advertisers above
the "journalists"...
it's good that i don't have the sort of money
they're gagging me to spend...
insurmountable joy arrives from
the clarity of: not having the sort of money
needed to be spent given the effort
of advertisers to make you: want to spend it...
you don't need to advertise whiskey...
or beer...
Franziskaner Weissbier:
                           but Carlsberg needs the slogan:
probably... it isn't... probably or otherwise:
****-juice at 3.5% at the keg...
the monk's brew i'll buy:
with or without an advertisement campaign...
it's most probably a niche product:
only niche consumers buy it...
i don't suppose the art: is it still called that?
of poetry: ugh... rhyming cripples...
caged rhymers...
    it would be more fun to play a game of:
slap a ball against a brick wall...
to reiterate: i don't Horace ever had a care
for rhyme...

deus inmortalis haberi dum cupit Empedocles,
ardentem frigidus Aetnam insiluit.
Sit ius liceatque perire poetis:
invitum qui servat, idem facit occidenti.
nec semel hoc fecit nec, si restractus erit,
iam fiet **** et ponet fanisae mortis amorem.
nec satis adparet, cur versus factitet, utrum,
minxerit in patrios cineres an triste bidental
moverit incestus: ceste furit ac velut ursus,
obiectos caveae valuit si frangere clatros,
indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus;
quem vero arripuit tenet occiditque legendo,
non missura cutem nisi plena cruoris hirudo...

Empedocles: wanting to become a god...
chilled by old age: was supposed to jump...
into the burning mouth of Etna.
if they want (it), let the poets
have the law unto their death.
who: whom against their will saves,
the suicide double condones (finishes off).
not for the first time:
not so easily said: i am human.
he wants to glorify himself with death.
i write poems. why?
     maybe i ****** on my father's grave,
maybe the place has been struck
with a thunderbolt: spread and is now impure.
like a bear in a fury, breaking the bars (of the cage)
scares the wise & the fools:
thus a wordsmith interloper...
      whoever he will catch... with recitations
puts down... not even with a leech from
the skin will not fall off:
                                           until satiated with blood.

he who (against their will)
               saves: the suicide double condones...
knuckle-head stunts...
not for the first time.
it's not so easily said: it's not easily said...
i am: human.
he wants to gain fame through his death.
i write, poems.

the book fell from my hands... onto the floor...
the floor breathed...
i spoke: no more...
like some ghostly wind...
if i don't translate it proper...
there was some wording about:
******* on one's father's grave...
turning the pages quickly like:
a pigeon might be flapping its wings...
328.... 329...
pages...330 & 331...
a book fell... like...
a woodland pigeons might flap its wings
while i turns the pages... "haphazardly"...
i'm no poet caged to rhyme...
i'm... Horace's horse: prosaic...
i turned the pages like...
the sound and image...
of a pigeon... flustered... wing-clapping-the-wind...
                                               might... just might...

i wash my eyes with cold water...
ensuring the rest of my face is:
welcoming a tiredness of day...
if i done things proper...
i'd throw my naked body into
a bulge of nettles
for: some... adequate... revision of...
what's to be felt...

why?
    maybe i ****** on my father's grave...
maybe the place: thunderstruck... spread...
and he became: impure.
how a bear in a fury...
breaking out from in between
the cages's barricade of bars:
shuns the wise and the idiots....
such wordsmith: poetry minding: ambition...
agitation... whoever it befalls...
with recitation doubles down on:
second-hammering...
a leech will not fall off the skin:
until it is satiated with blood.

one might start calling it an:
agitated wardrobe?!
                the dead leave us pardons:
so many that the living will ever allow:
i don't want to be among the living:
i want to be among the dead...
i want to juice up as many prunes
as there are grapes
and still... leverage what half harvest i might
have from the ..
i forget at what point i'm to care about
being an investment prospect...

i would never say that translating Latin was...
somehow: fun...
wordsmith interloper?!
Kay-Rosa May 2019
William Shakespeare, 1564 - 1616
How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every ****** paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

My Poem - R.I.P. Main man.
How can I find inspiration, when your eyes
reside in my mind,
renovating my headspace.
No beauty could surpass your being,
clouding the cosmos,
searching the clouds of my soul,
For something to
relocate my focus.
As if you would ever read my musings, written upon unworthy wood pulp
But you, perfect, living forever
less perfect and untouchable in my ******
and immature words,
wishing they could be as flawless.
Let my pain go unnoticed,
for your ultimate beautiful,
immortality.
Apparently this was day 27 and I'm just slow, inspired by Jean Fisher.
Prompt: “remix” a Shakespearean sonnet... pick a line you like and use it as the genesis for a new poem. Or make a “word bank” out of a sonnet, and try to build a new poem using the same words (or mostly the same words) as are in the poem. Or you could try to write a new poem that expresses the same idea as one of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
I used the last variation of the prompt.
We got iron mans and dooms dead man **** I'm feeling like stand
Mic clan clench tight like mike on friday nights see my might
Holding on strong beat on my chest like king kong all went wrong
Too many gone in this life too many riding the sad songs bongs
To mellow out my soul apart from the glow I see my own scrolls
Visions of death on my eyelids seeing idols laying out bids
See the plot similar to Alfred Hitchcock the black peacock
Laying my feathers royalty so ya cant be ignoring me follow IG
That's Instagram like these keys opening blood for lambs
Folks mouths like clams looking for the Pearl's caught the swirls
Of a universal girls boys playing like many rings of Saturn
See the pattern paradigm for the new birth of slime got the dime
Out of a nickle see the sickle curving all haters grass mash my stash
I saw the plot from the ending pain is just a seasoned beginning
I used to be regular switch from gospel to secular however
I'm still the same ol me tryna keep up doom and screws legacy
Who better to be spitting on the youtube commentary it's scary
Couldn't see an obituary before homie hit half a century **** I see
Raps still taking a loss though they claim wins still cant make ends
Meet greets of an enemies death seems to be jealous of life
Though they like husband or wives vice versa playing the circa
Flashback to the early days pre great amateur slays rhymes pay
Many minds attention tighten ya necks without a lynching
Feel the depths strengthen twenty twenty was just. a trouble
And twenty twenty one will just be a double glance the Hubble  
I'm out of space **** the human race I'm giving victory taste
Slash still wearing the hockey mask cold sips out of the flask
Is he here or is he there I'm just another atom in this air
Atmosphere times is clear see courage and stop loving the fear
Yeah


Yo dooms this ones for you into verse two still at a rendezvous
Once I learn how to smoke out a crew took on against the blue
Red and the white liberal I myself a miracle worlds is satirical  
Stage pictures of splattered words written from a 12 gauge
Poetry in motion smooth sailing in the mind of an ocean potion
I took a chug of it above it like Mickey DS you'll love it
Hovering like an UFO sittin upon the studio tryna get a demo
Records stores ain't tryna hear us real rhymers no more
Vinyls on the soar lyrics fallin' into the floor it's like Kigalmore
Tryna take over wakanda twin brother jealousy and hate
Number one killer amongst black folks doom gave shots
Without the smoke yo this is another smote check the infamous note
Glorious quote still spinning of the hairs of mary glow a cherry
Rhymes buffer than Terry the one only negativity I bury
No blues clues left for the news light  a bomb without the fuse
See the rhymes that glue intellect to my invisible tube
A robot with out the **** cant find paradise in this land of ice
Hard to stay nice fools tryna play ya a dummy twice spliced
The old wires found new enlightenment no sentiment
To the enemies sitting in the bush lurking as friends of me
Let's take a look and see how many died before the age of 50
Young go early old die miserably prepare for the funeral scenery
Everywhere I glance a stare sitting on wisdom with no chair
Modern day philosopher some call me Lucifer mister mister
Call everyone my brother or sister seems like we on race blisters
Roller coasters on the tip of the valley I shadow these skulls
Numbs ya pain pinnacles shackle the everlasting tabernacle
Yo I gotta be real rhymes I feast a beast like Mr Doom rest in peace
Check it, it's the tongue twister,
Giving mics blister,
Hisser, watch for the snakes it'll get Cha, hit cha,
Defense, three point stance,romance
A woman out of her pants,
Staple that, hold that,
Knock em out the park,
Like Mcgwires wooden bat,
Split the wax, through verbal ax,
Click clack,
Make em cut all that chit chat,
Fools stay yellin' that,
Who's this smooth cat,
Felix style, golden child,how you like me now,
Talk nice, but mean when I smile,
A wolf, amongst the wild,
Fox instincts,
Dipped blueberry ice the sink,
Egyptian minks,
Loosen the rap game, cuz I see it kinks,
Rap mantra,
Drive a black Tundra,
Ultimate thunder, when I provide the flash,
Photo copy, naked women on the dash,
Check the unexpected,
Watch looking bullied,
Plus I Rolexed it,
Check the corporate, don't disrespect it,
We fly, as delta airways,
Minus the crime pays, mob says,
Make beautiful displays,
Put ya face in it,
You Dutch Shultzn it,
The true last remaining, soldier fit,
Attitude like Patton,
See me tattin,
Out batting, small timer, they ain't made, for the heavy rhymers,
Lyrical dalmer,
Eat these tracks, spit the bones out,
Houdini,
Acrobatics ice these cats,
Cauliflower seats in the Cadillac,
Plus I got broccoli with that,
Bishop Don Juan,
Sitting like an elephant, money weighs a ton,
My Usi, by the Jacuzzi cruise with me,
Like Eazy in the 63,
Paint job cherry, welcome to the voice of Barry,
Women grow weak when I speak,
Freak the anthem, antique,
Golden mics, my voice sounds nice,
Roll out the hood,
Looking good, fresh Holly hood,
Plus I got stood,
Up with the best ****, none could match back up,
Before the beat smacks up,
Five across ya face,
Don't miss place the purple tapes,
1993 was that year,
The industry got *****,
**** *******, raw dog the masses,
Eardrum,
Yo peep the conundrum,
When Children Cry
Choose to listen lest I refrain...

living in a marsh mellow world,
through time to play...

a whip cream disease;
shades of lasting grandeur
a tug at the heart
longing for romance

take a good look at their five & ten
light a candle for thoughts
a clever dude...

see me throughout the leaves
chosen vestibules recover charm
loud rhymers through their thoughts
Amidst its ivory towers...

their quaint impulse of a hug
deliver to each cavity
the children read on;
a toddler cries

then going out to play
the mere covering of it's desperado
to visually see kids
Those little pitter patter feet
lest suit their relax

youngsters renew their youth
their covered snow
Big Virge Apr 2021
Now It Seems That There Are Those...
Who Think The Skills I Expose...
Are JUST... Clever Rhyme Flows...

Well Here’s A Big Virge Quote...
That’ll Make Them CHOKE... !!!

You’re Sniffing TOO MUCH COC’... !!!
Cos They’re MUCH MORE Than Those... !!!

These Rhymes That I Write...
Are To... ELEVATE MINDS...
And To... ELEVATE LIVES...

From Embracing LIES...
And The Type of Crimes...
That Government Types...
Feed To Those Inclined...
To Live The Life of WISE GUYS... !!!

With GANGSTER Ties...
Who DON’T Compromise...
When Money’s A Prize...
That’s Within Their Sight... !!!!

You See These Rhymes I Write...
AREN’T For Dollars Or Dimes.. !!!

Although It Would Be NICE...
To Be RECOGNISED BEFORE I Die... !!!

So That I Can Earn Dough...
But STILL STAY Way Below...

The RADAR of... " STARS "...
Who Behave Like An ***... !!!

Whose Grass DOESN’T PASS...
Grades That EMBARK...
On Voyages... DARK... !!!

That Are...
PROCURED To Make Marks... !!!
In The COOLEST of Hearts...

Because They’re SMART... !!!
And APPRECIATE The Art...
of... INTELLIGENT Folks... !!!

Rather Than These DOPES...
Whose Flows Are BROKE...

With Tones... UNLIKE Loc’... !!!

Which Is Why What I QUOTE...
Is... MUCH MORE Than Those... !!!

Who CHOOSE To Display...
... IGNORANT Wordplay... ?!?

Which I Guess Is Because...
They Have NOTHING To Say... ?
That HOLDS ANY WEIGHT... !!!

Because Their FLAWS...
And FRAUDULENT CLAIMS...
... ARE IN The Rhymes...
That Get Them AirPlay... !!!

On... Stations That...
Should Play MUCH MORE...
Lyricism That’s RAW...
That Deals In FACTS... !!!

INSTEAD of These Tracks...
That DEFINE The Word WHACK... !!!

Or WHATEVER NEW SLANG...
Is Now Used By Young Clans...
To Say That It’s... CRAP... !!!

That’s Made By These Cats...
ONLY Thinking of CASH...
FAST CARS And THAT PAD...
That ALLOW Them To GRAB...
A FINE Piece of ***... !!!!!!

Who’s QUICK To Give...
A Whole Lot MORE...
Than They Would Do...
To An Artist WHO...
Is RIGHTEOUS But... POOR... !!!

Because They Are...
WAY ABOVE The Hoards...
Who Get To Tread Boards... !!!

And Then Behave Like ******...
Because They Couldn’t Endure...
The PRESSURES of War... !!!!

When The Talk That They Talk...
DOESN’T Get To Walk Though CERTAIN Doors... !!!
Because They Believe In SO MUCH MORE... !!!

Than... “ Creativity “...
That’s Made For A BIG SCORE... !!!

When Peoples Problems...
Are Being........ IGNORED...

By Those Who CLAIM...
To Want To See The Game RAISE...
And DISPLAY THOUGHTS...

That Are UNLIKE Cains’...
of The MODERN AGE... !!!

The Type Whose GUISE...
Holds MORE Than LIES... !!!

Because They DISGUISE...
How They Choose To DENY...
The HARDEST Rhymers...
And CREATIVE Writers...
Whose DESIRE Holds FIRE...
That They CAN’T RETIRE... !!!

Something Like MINE... !!!

And The Rhyme Designs...
That Are MORE INCLINED...
To Drop... REALITY Lines... !!!!!!!

RATHER Than THOSE...
That Have Gained Applause...
And A LOAD of AWARDS...
From An Industry BORN...

To PROMOTE These FRAUDS...
Whose Creations Now BORE... !!!

UNLIKE What I Find...
INSPIRES My Rhymes... !!!
Because Their Cause.....
Is To Lyrically Show...
That Flows Now WELL KNOWN...

DON’T Even Come CLOSE... !!!
To The Style of Wordplay...
I Now Drop And EXPOSE...

That’s ABOVE These **’s...
And... IGNORANT Blokes... !!!

Whose Flows Hit Zones...
That Reach Radios...
And Peoples’ Headphones... !!!

And That BIG VIRGE Quotes...
And Rhymes That Flow...
In Time Will Be Shown...

To...
  
... TRULY BE WORTH...

“Much MORE Than THOSE !“
As the poem says folks !
Big Virge May 2020
My Fellow Writers... PLEASE...
... Hear Out My PLEA... !!!!!!!!

Everything You Now Write...
Doesn’t Have To Be...
Designed In Line...
With Corona Themes... !!!

Now For Those Who Know Me...
And Have Read My Poetry...
Don’t Try To Claim...
That What You Now Read...

... Shows HYPOCRISY... !!!

I Write About A LOT... !!!

So Of Course I’ve Now Got...
A Load of Poetry...
That Reflects On The Effects...
Of This Corona Disease...

All I’m Saying Is This...
That Every New Script...
Doesn’t Have To Enlist...
Purely Speaking On This... !!!

Cos’ There Are More Things...
Like The Economics of How We’ll Now Live...
And Of Course The Politricks’...
That’s Surrounding All of This...

Cos’ Now It Seems To Me...
To Be A Good Time To Speak...
About... HUMANITY... !!!!!

How It Is That We Treat...
New People That We Meet...

How It Is That We Deal...
With The Things That We Feel...

Who It Is That STEALS... !!!
And Then... “Conceals”...

I Mean There’s SO MUCH MORE... !!!

For Our Minds To EXPLORE...
That Has Been... IGNORED... !!!

I Don’t Mean To Bore...
But Prejudice For SURE...

We Can’t Have Anymore... !!!

Especially Now...
That Most Are Stuck Indoors... !!!

Think About Things More...
... Right To YOUR CORE... !!!

Cos I Think...
Well... IMPLORE... !!!!

That Writers Can’t Be Writing...
Pointless Things ANYMORE... !!!

Well I Guess You CAN... ?!?
Cos This Corona Has Now Filtered Through Hands...
A Lot of Words That Are Showing Concern...
About This Virus... From Prose To Rhymers...

Instead of How This Thing...
Is Affecting Our Environment... !!!
Of Course I Recognise...
That It’ll Take A LONG Time....................................

To Be Removed From Our Minds...
But Can’t Be The Only Vibe...

In.......

... “ Everything You Now Write “...
Of course it's a HOT Topic, and will be for a long while, i'm sure, but when it comes to things to write on, there's SO MUCH MORE !

— The End —