"spitting" poems
You have been with me from the start soft
Hard, never bothered which one you were
When I was young at heart.
I used to pull you my second brain, little soft
Then long and hard,as I grew, you grew with
Me a friend that never left. Only in the cold I
Wondered where you are.
The years did pass and hair you grew, where
Once I had pulled, now you just went hard.
Embarrassed I was as always hard around
The girls, some laughed while others played
With it spitting at them when excitedly hard.
Age moved on my friend for life still with me
Still getting hard but when I wanted you no
More embarrassment on my face at random hard.
My second brain, getting wasted each day, never
Unclean as cheesy smell I do not want as girls would
Run a far.
We played in the wetness we have come so far letting
The children out in the damp park. My wife screamed
Harder deeper my god your big I love your hardness
Up me and the children were excited out of the umbrella
They went a bit to far.
You have been with me through the soft and the
Hard, got me in trouble, now three children later
I must end your spitting but you can still go hard.
***** your my friend to the end when we had no
One a palm and a video was are night in, then softly
You went as to sleep in my palm, from the beginning
Through the soft and the hard.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
Strange malaise,
One I can't place.
Struggling of late.
Discomforting state.
Persistent lethargy.
Sloth-like and heavy.
Burning internals.
Frequent intervals.
No temperature.
No warning lever.
Don't know what's wrong.
Been rather long.
Medicine trough
Can't rid me this cough.
Expulsion so violent,
Incessantly recurrent.
Over a fortnight
This ailment I fight.
Still hasn't eased.
Can't be appeased.
Development is seen.
Now spitting green.
Not just all
That joined this brawl.
It's just the coughing.
No injury I'm suffering,
I haven't bled...
But I see red...
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
you were shrieking about your problems
your teeth were all about this material world
everything was all about you
because that's how you wanted it
you loved yourself
and only yourself
you were spitting money of all currencies and kind
you adore them like how i adore humankind
you boast loudly about the material things you own
you loved your things so much, you turned into one
and you think people would actually love you
boisterous laughs were hidden behind the old brick wall
the you i used to know were a pigment of the past
you are now pitch-black, self centered and selfish
the pit can simply be covered with mud or a beautiful plant
but you dig deeper and fall and ask for succor
because that's what you crave for after all
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:52 AM UTC
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
saw a tasty treat
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
thought the taste so sweet
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
licked his sticky lips
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
spitting out the pips
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
looked around for more
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
ate an apple core
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
rolled into a ball
Harry hedgehog in the hedgerow
loved the fruits of fall
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
Little Tiger, burning bright
With a subtle Blakeish light,
Tell what visions have their home
In those eyes of flame and chrome!
Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay -
Holding when thou wouldst away:
What dark lore is that which thou,
Spitting, mixest with thy meow?
14.3k
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind
Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels
In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface
Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light
Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain
What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?
Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions
Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
Breathing fire, from below,
Spitting a molten soul skywards,
Flinging pumice, ash, and fear,
The angry Vulcan casts,
His ever darkening shadow cross,
As the timely reminder , of
The fragility of this existence.
© Nick Strong 2014
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Unconscious of facts
Stomach fibers dig holes
Searching for lost memories
Of natural order
What dignity is found here
Head between knees
Squatting naked at the far end of the shower
Gulping air
Spitting, tasting, burning, drowning
Striving for cleanliness
Yet ***** with buttered bread and sugar
Afterwards
I fasten my grin too tightly
pinching
I wish they were deaf
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
It been a while now I'm back,
playing the beat on a track,
Lyrically I attack,
I'm an M C,
So naturally,
That's how I react,
You might not get my psych,
goin ape shyte crazy,
chasin these monkeys of my back,
I guess opposites still attract.
Rapidly rapping raps,
spitting facts,
I'm what these other cats lack,
cut from another cloth,
Can't cut'em no slack,
This rifts, rat,
I'm way better than that
I master my craft
Like captain kirk taking a bath
higher than an aircraft
Plotting my path
like a hovercraft
Fully prepared for the crash.
These other guys, think they fly,
I just laugh. They get puff up,
While I pass by, getting
Roughed up, crossing my path
Iooking like ironman with this mic in my hand,
Feels like I'm hold a staff.
Like a titan, I clash.
I am the better man,
check my clasp,
I got a better plan,
Better lyrical grasp,
I'm so smooth,
These other rappers, rap sound like ***
I land minds, no gymnastic class
my geographic quadgraphics better than a veteran
with a can of V8 in his hand
Still crazy from the war,
tasted the blood of a warrior,
Now I'm thirsty for more.
I'm dropping bombs like the army core in 94
With more confidence than Al b sure on tour
Finding common sense scattered all over the floor
Picking up feed back on channel 4
Turning the microphones up,
Then slam it to the floor,
Cause I don't want to rap anymore,
Back and forth I go,
It's all a part of the flow,
I'm just putting on a show,
rhythm book, pinned up,
It's a wrap, flow after flow,
Pulling up, getting my spins up,
The treble and bass doing chin ups,
While I'm spitting rhythms galore,
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Silly little *********
spitting up her heart
Wishing she was talented
Wishing she was smart
Slice and bite and beat yourself
all above the knee
Never swim and never cry
then nobody will see
Stupid little *********
tearing out her eyes
Punishment doth bring success
Perfection carries lies
Tell them all it was the cat
Conjure up some cheer
Fill your life with silent screams
then nobody will hear
Crazy little *********
cutting up her wrists
Pushing down with all her might
as hands turn into fists
Blood is pouring out your veins
and you stop to stare
Knowing if you died tonight
then nobody would care
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record
of all the times i have been left,
all the times i have been unable to leave.
i wonder if he thinks to himself,
"when will she learn?"
as if he feels my heartache too.
i picture god with a furrowed brow,
hunched over a typewriter,
beginning me again and again,
a mountain of crumpled paper at his feet.
but somehow -
he always ends up at the same point in the story
where i am all ****** palms
and half-hearted hallelujahs
propped up on bruised knees.
spitting up blood & teeth at his feet screaming,
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?"
but he doesn't answer.
and i catch myself wondering if the silence
is his way of punishing me for making a deity out of you.
after all, the bible says he is a jealous god.
i could've sworn there was a verse somewhere
that said you weren't allowed to love anyone other than me.
but now that i think about it,
i probably took it out of context.
if i could add a parable to those already existing,
it would be how your chest
felt like church under my head,
and how i thought to myself,
"this is how it would be if he loved me back."
or how you fled my bedroom like a crime scene.
i am still bleeding.
i won't tell you how many times
i cracked my heart in half
trying to be what you wanted.
how my lips on your skin felt judas.
now i am waiting for god to begin me once more,
hoping he'll leave you out of the plot this time
because i don't think i could stand to lose you again.
see, rumor has it he knew you'd leave
and has been trying to make it up to me
since before we'd even met.
my song is one of repentance.
the wood finish from abandoned pews
rotting under my fingernails.
i made sacrifices you didn't ask for.
i have never known
whether my inability to abandon people
is more a strength or a weakness
but so far everyone i've ever loved
has turned into an exit wound,
and myself into a flickering no vacancy sign.
- m.f.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
Droplets tap the dusty windows
Tipping pleasure on the pane
Dribbles every time the wind blows
Prophesize a hurricane
Kisses linger on the backseat
Desperate to delight in more
Suffocated by the heat, but
When it rains, it starts to pour
Panic storm that quickly closes
Smashing waves upon the sand
Tension tearing up the roses
Stuttered poems, shaking hands
Though the pressure keeps you floating
And the ocean licks its shore
There's no way of sugarcoating
Once it rains, it has to pour
Stick a finger in your ceiling
Let the plants hang onto youth
Sunday jazz, petrichor feeling
Hear it tripping on the roof
Smell it shifting all around you
Leaking through your drying veins
Leave your stagnant dragonfly blue
Open up into the rain
When it rains, it pours
I'll blossom being yours
Downpour cleans the ***** traffic
Rippling madly down the drain
Paints the artist something graphic
While he's waiting for the train
Laughter echoes in the morning
Licking soil and clouds to raw
From the vision that's been dawning
Once you rain, it has to pour
Spitting bombshells pelt your raincoat
Tears in quiet pools of green
Holes inside your getaway boat
Water's sweet but can be mean
You've avoided all the warfare
But the stars rampage for more
Douse the thin comfort you still wear
Once it rains, it starts to pour
Stick a finger in your ceiling
Give the plants a thirsty truth
Fairy lights and freedom feeling
Tunes of our torrential youth
Smell it changing all around you
Bursting through the shrivelled veins
Leave your crippled summertime hue
Open up into the rain
When it rains, it pours,
I'll bloom so much being yours
We're a perfect storm, I guess
Fire has been stopped with less
When it rains it has to pour.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Nobody clams up over the right things
Flecks of dirt won't make beautiful ever
But those enormous irritations you take with a grain of sand
I tuck those things away
For a long while
It is against my nature to do so
It is awkward to keep salty things on the tip of one's tongue
Without spitting them out
Oh, I long to swallow
How much longer must I be closed up, love?
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
Vines crawling
on the old mottled wall
fog bypassing
the fence
enveloping the entire
chalet
the mystic sky over the castle
a lightning awakening
the gloomy valley
ghosts and goblins floating
around
extinguishing white candles
a witch with a broom
the silver haired wizard in a black hat
standing in the darkness of spells
the enchanted princess sleeping
in the black chalet
prince charming leading a team of
knights
sinister roses blooming quietly
spitting murky fog
tongues of flames light up the dark tunnel
the prince kills the bloodthirsty bats witches and
a clan of phantoms
the prince kisses to wake the princess who’s been asleep
for a millenium.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Letter, letter born to return to sender--
extra-marital, maritime, marine, mercy, mercy mine--
two drinks in; four from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
.38 special, sexless, spiteful, spitting, spitting rites--
three drinks in; three from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
double-decker, drugged, dangerous, daggers, daggers dried--
four drinks in; two from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
clusterfucked, fancy-free, foreign, fine, fine unwind,
five drinks in; one from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
ether cloud, Evelyn, earthware, everyday, everyday signs--
six drinks in; on the carpeted floor,
letter, letter born to return to sender,
whitewashed, weakly, wounded, wishing, wishing for home.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 3:24 AM UTC
From the cultured hood of Beverly Hills
Young rich white kid rapping
Blonde hair perfectly combed and trimmed
Blue eyes shaded from California sun
Spitting ghetto slang about unfair pain,
Affirmative action, cultural injustices
Daddy’s allowance, racial profiling
Pimp[le] mobile and spinning rims
Gold plated teeth over pearly whites
Slinging 401k’s and time shares
Baggy pants sagging down past his ***
Tugging at his crotch
His hand permanently attached
To his little white flaccid ****
Trying to keep from tripping
While he’s running from the police
Wanted for questioning
On insider trading
And insurance scams
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
Gender ******
truth pretender
parents send her
life defender
he's a ******
slimy maggot
feeling ragged
bag and tag it
hurting words
spitting herds
cheezy curds
stupid nerds
mental case
dizzy space
ugly face
**** my race
Time to kneel
grab a feel
scary tweel
innocence steal
Eat a steak
garden rake
veggie snake
life forsake
Not pretend
we defend
savior send
the end
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
This is me apologizing. This is me finally coming up for air and coughing up apologizes instead of swallowing them down with gulps of water. This is me looking at your face and seeing the bags under your eyes because you stayed up all night trying to call me and apologizing. Looking at your nails and seeing the skin around them ****** and scabbed and the beds unevenly bitten down to nothing and apologizing. Looking at your eyes and seeing the way you bought colored contacts to cover the fact you spent days unmoving from a mirror trying to love yourself and apologizing. This is me seeing the needle points on your lips from where you injected your own blood to attempt to regain that color I claimed to be in love with and apologizing. As I'm looking at your arms and seeing where you scrubbed your skin with chemicals trying to erase the essence of me and when you smile I can see that you chugged a bottle of bleach to try and whiten your teeth bright enough so that you could be accepted by God himself into the pearly gates all I can do is apologize. I'm sorry that you spent hours carving my name into his back with your fingernails and biting your own tongue so hard it bled when he told you he loved you. When his flesh connected with yours causing the world to stop for a second and listen to your shrieking I know it was me you were screaming for and I'm sorry. As I'm standing here staring at you and watching them put brush stroke after brush stroke of blush onto your lovely pale cheeks trying to restore the life you lost so many years ago I'm finally realizing it's too late to apologize yet all I can think about is how this isn't even close to the eulogy you deserved. I should be talking about the way you danced and how your voice made my own falter momentarily and how you were more alive when you were dying than I ever will be when I'm living rather than apologizing but all I can seem to rationalize is how I spent years dry swallowing your love and spitting up knives to use to carve my initials into your thigh so you would always remember me and how I never even had the common decency to count to three before destroying you and I'm sorry. I'm afraid to look up now that I've finished apologizing because I know your empty eyes filled with nothingness will be staring back so horribly confused because I doubt you ever continued listening after I used the world eulogy and I'm sure you're going to wonder why I'm talking as if I'm sitting at your funeral rather than on the end of your bed but I don't know how else to make you grasp the concept of what you're doing to yourself by loving me in a better way than this and I'm sorry. C.a.l
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
We’d sit on the back porch
On the Fourth of July
Spitting watermelon seeds
Into the tall grass,
Which glimmered in the midday sun.
The competition of who could spit the farthest
Never really with a winner,
It was mostly about the feeling of the sun,
Glimmering on our pudgy cheeks,
And the opportunity to abandon our napkins,
Letting that cool watery juice spill
Down our white shirts, leaving pink stains
And permanent reminders of summer
Of course a tattoo is only as permanent
As the body that wears it:
I outgrew the shirts around the same time
As the world outgrew those little black seeds
This year on the Fourth of July
We sat inside making small talk
Because there weren’t any black seeds
In the watermelon we ate:
Just dehydrated flesh, the color a little
Farther from pink and closer
To the off-white color of those flakey little seeds,
Which were miraculously allowed to remain
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
It would seem the world has quietly fit the puzzle pieces into place over night ,
Like wet washing , crispy and dry from the radiators humming warmth , a satisfactory feeling , a job well done.
There is much beauty to be found on this journey home , moments where the heart is plummeting at a million miles a second , descending from the upper troposphere hurtling down , through clouds whipped up by a storm of ages – waiting for the conclusion – perpetual motion catches me
Elegant design,
Crooked lines make curves,
Spitting at the throat, holding those words,
vision of confusion eats up at the temple of love , bodies are walking shrines.
Taste my karma on sticky fingers.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
Yo soy *****
**** immigration and the racist white tèjanõs, please tell me how the hell would they ever know what I know, shout out to my Mexicans Hondurans and black Cubanos shut the border down call it the no fly zone. Adios Americanos me and my amigos are stealing ya women and playin em like pianos, vocal terrorist this lyrical revolt should be your primary interest. Public enemy number one the domestic hectic terrorist I'm influencing your white son, right to bear these nuts I'm taking the tea parties guns stealing your freedom from right up under you, all your jobs, and way of life, your point of view. I'm the original black power ranger hide your right winged minds if not I swear they'll be in danger. I am the broken brick the stone left unturned the rhythm of the wind the willingness to learn and the desire to fight and get what you earn. I am the individual placed on the no fly list with my hand balled into a fist cause my turbin is too tight and my beards to thick. I am the man choked to death by nypd for selling cigarettes now I'm rioting with my words doing lyrical pirouettes. Yo soy ***** spitting jive like lingo I want a Pam Grier keep your Marilyn Monroe, from the 6th borough buckin like bronco they said finish em I'm educated and black had to hit em with the combo. I'm non fictions Huey Freeman battling congress and their demons catch me flexing on the law lookin like the black He-Man Standing up for what I believe in writing in my notepad I stay steady schemin with my head up in the clouds I stay steady dreamin. Yo soy ***** freeze em like sub zero not concerned with dolores or the dinero yen or bills yo, I'm still waiting for marvel to make a Mexican superhero.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
A VISIT TO THE DENTIST
The Green Mile to
The Chair
The snap of hygienist’s latex gloves, then
Scraping, scritching, spitting blood
“Only one” gaping hole
no matter how much chocolate I eschewed
in favor of chewing Trident
(I’m *******
The Dentist
My personal Olivier, and I, his Dustin.
Needle. Lets it set in.
The drill, the smile of the sadist
squealing torture, my mouth on the rack
I CAN FEEL PAIN
but it comes out, “owiusmmorsoss”
(“ow, I want some more shots!”)
Another shot.
I press on: “LA. The 70s. I did more than this for fun.”
Reluctantly, another shot. And another.
As the drill grinds and keens
I pull out my secret weapon – how could I forget?
This is why God
invented the IPod
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
Jealous Again
I put Black Flag, Jealous Again on the turntable
It spins and I spin
I hold my hands to my face like I have a mic
I feel like spitting as I pump my fist
MAYBE I AM JEALOUS
Jealous of the guy who has two kids
Jealous of the guy with a job
Jealous of the guy with a car
I put Black Flag, Jealous Again on the turntable
It spins and I spin
I make faces and show my teeth
My grill needs work
MAYBE I AM JEALOUS
Jealous of the guy who has nice teeth
Jealous of the guy with six pack abs
Jealous of the guy with a full head of hair
I shouldn't be jealous
I have me
My values
My family
My friends
I even have Black Flag, Jealous Again on vinyl
I have everything I need
I shouldn't be jealous
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
Freedom At Kannyakumari
“The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms”
Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion-
of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision,
“The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”.
As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning
we Indians imbibe the Western Culture;
or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato
Indians are produced, transmuted
destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth.
Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now !
Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants,
by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour-
in every other respects-Europeans
(using imperialist - capitalist media);
poor sycophants ,for a visa,
the Indians: now , turn to the West for light,
leaving the bright light under the Urn;
cry for a way of progress, safety and food;
and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body
No retrospection or introspection,
only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection.
On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me,
a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep;
I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night:
the surging sea spitting frothing snow
upon the black rocky *******
protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair ,
ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha.
Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death,
I walked and walked searching shelter,
but no room for a single son with meagre wealth.
The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes
hummed around me with highly rented room offer-
source of tourism exploitation- I bargained,
till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon
cleaving the vapours of the sea,
when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri;
then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore;
somebody among them, staring blear eyed
as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed
“O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed.
The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze
that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
Clayton
How I know you
Paternal parenting
DNA infused
Carbon contribution, to my physique
Father
In everything
My skin, eyes toes,
Unfortunately; inside my mouth
Spitting plaster-walled
Copy-paste personality
The same
Intimately
Close-dangerously
Different
Me a bold-faced fraction of ill abated love
Something that didn't work out
Photocopy
Blond-blasphemy of useless flesh
Reminder of her
Mom
Enough!
Teeter tottering
Tip-Toe tangling opinion
Excuses
Words fermented
Rotting-rigor
I know you.
Slit-eyed palefaced ****** of bigot ideas
Bearing pronged poker
Clicking glinting-clawed finger fondling fake religion
Suppressing supplement thought
********
God's love the good life
Living a life to be proud of
Excuse me!
For not being as I am "supposed" to be
Eatting rancid lies
Your reality relative
To kiss-ass preferred siblings
Who like the taste of ****
What you shovel
Hung on lipsucking harlot, hinged hip hung-over
Descending oppressidly upon willing wanton will of man
Letting cracked-cackled toothed
Field Gap-smile
Decide your next move
I know you
I see what you push into hidden corners
The bias, nasty film of your character
Under whitecollar shirttails
Citizen, Patriot
Americas American
I know you
Your oppression
Not new
As underhanded and seedy as it was
And still is
I know you
As much as I'd like not too.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC