"streetwise" poems
I guess I’m okay… What more can I say?
Forget it—never mind,
You wouldn’t understand anyway,
Would you even know what it's like?
Inside a scattered disconnected mind,
Employed to go on strike?
Where indirect misdirect
The sincerity at play,
When sinusoidal chaos spikes
And past meets the future present day?
As paranoid points outlandishly connect
At intervals of broken lines,
Memory lost in recollect,
An array of misshaped bells
Internally infect the eternal confines
Of infinite distributional decay,
Parallels with no intersect,
Streetwise cells with empty signs,
Burned out lights, potholes, and landmines,
Littered all the way.
How am I to convey that all those times
You let your mind wander away
That I was reading, thinking, dreaming,
Teeming, never idle, never strayed,
Seeing, being, so far and away,
Even the brightest intellect beaming,
Could not grasp the feeling
In the slightest of highest orders reeling,
Wound unbound, or as it would be seeming,
Imperfect, even to the disarray
Of the tamest prefect, whose verdict
Could not predict the reflect,
For in this world, seeing is deceiving,
As the lamest reject, defect,
Increasingly decreasing,
In simplistic bliss obey
Crowned unsound fallacies
That contradict all meaning,
Hiding behind reality, the actualities
Lest, protect the thoughtlessness perceiving,
Let me stop you if I may...
I must interject for I digress,
What nonsense was I weaving?
Forget it—I've lost my mind,
I best be leaving,
What more can I say?
It's periodic I must confess,
You probably don't care anyway,
Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay,
Until next time I guess,
I wouldn't want to be misleading.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
It's been a long time since I've been to church
My horns are starting to grow back again
I'm back, *******
Well, well...
Missed me?
Relax. There's plenty of me to go around
Enough to keep you coming back for seconds
That's all I ever do.
The thing about a Jezebel is that she's been through stuff
So she's more streetwise and seasoned
With fault and reasoning
To make you keep coming back for more
Ruths are plain and bland
Uncooked meat
Raw and salmonella-inducing
Makes you puke on the spot and swear off meat forever
Turning vegan
Swearing off the word
Turning heathen
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 5:41 AM UTC
A thistle is just enough
to encumber a ruff
rider through the hills
never mind the flour mills
to process and possess
and gain interest
on fervent capital gains
which are not worth the pains
for glory be told
for those who'd rather be old
and grey without headfeathers
and times naught but better
have then the vanity
to spew chicanery
to delve into the society
of anti-sobriety
and them then who lost
streetwise cost
but for the depreciated stock
which will be bought up by the flock
will credit its debits
to gangs that met its
match to the makers
and the tough men shakers
who make it possible to move
product without anything else to prove
than to their mothers
dead fathers and brothers
that one can make a living
off of ******* soul ******* and killing.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 6:38 AM UTC
Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis
June 13th, 2021
Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds,
Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement.
We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love.
Tizzop
GANGSTAPOETS
**** 13.8 * MIKEY DA STREETWISE * EAZY LEGS * ADORABLE GREGGIE * MONICA MATADORA * SLY BOOTYGIRL * COLLAPSIN CHAOT * THE LADY REVENANT * BEEN * WOOZY WIZARD * TELLY * CRATERSKATER * CHEYENNE IS STARVIN * CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST
GANGSTAPOETS
DESERT SAMURAI * PRESTON * ALBOW * SNOWBLADE MUTANT * SAMBA *
UNKLE OF DOOM * PLAY * ANTWONE *
BOBBY BUTCHAH * TINA * JOEY * DREAM SEEKER * TRANCE DISCIPLE *
* MOTH * DR. **** * KOBA COBRATONGUE
GANGSTAPOETS
SVETLANA * GUNJAHTOOL * LOUIS ORTGIES * MISHU BRAVE BEAR * GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP * DESOCIALIZED KID * WIND DIGGER * SABIÇ * JUAN * DEAL * LUCY TARANTULA * TEXAS HOLD ME * SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN * SHAWN * JAMMED JAY
GANGSTAPOETS
THCO * TIMMY ROTTEN * PLATIN ZIPPO * WORLDWIDE WAGGING * ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR * BUTCH * KWAME'S LOST SON * TRANCE24/7 * JIMMY * JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE * LAST OPTION PHIL * KIAN * MAX NEWMAN * MAGIC GOON
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
Her fingertips loosed the glass
bottle, which had
of late
gathered rain like the
hands of paupers.
Glitter in a heartbeat.
to be collected by old battered shoes
or car tyres
and streetwise magpies.
it joins a city evensong
this oceanic roar of nothing
fusing chords of cars and smoke
and lonely dogs
with hacks
and throngs
of perambulating suits
and suitors
trampling athwart broads of concrete
As swifts in summer.
We swim in it
through open atriums
and barren rooms of
magnolia and magnolia and magnolia.
All the while if you look harder
you see through chinks a sepulchre
in each greying tower
ranging higher and higher still.
Machines and machinations
stacking life upon life to
build pyramids
to gaudy kings
in pinstripe or herringbone.
Flumes of fumes ***** like floods
Into and out of train stops
and bus stands.
Circling lungs like hungry crows.
Crows which haunt
Bombed out chapels made new
resuscitated with waxen ivy
and ivory lilies.
And the leaves of saintly oak trees
chatter in shrinking crevices of green
story telling
Of how people and things grow old.
And you can walk these streets
And dive too like cormorants into
The platitudes of city living.
Soaked to the skin in sound
to tell your story
like the shards
of a broken bottle.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
we shook hands
tell-all flashes flared up
this man's shame
I had vowed to curb this curse--
to stop spying on anyone's history;
to not stall long enough,
with streetwise small talk,
until I absorbed every gory secret
fair play denied,
my lips dished out a long enough topic
and by the time we parted,
I knew all
~~
..Sunday, Jan. 13, 2013..(C)2013 Spiros Zafiris
~~
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
A roses desire with a street cars name.
It doesn't matter the direction
Cause we're all the same.
Knock three times, to get inside.
Darlings of the night and shady cabbies are your ride.
A streetwise junkies philosophy sounds good while your high.
Wisdom of truth, while smoked in a lie.
Sometimes coming down isn't the hardest part.
Sometimes it's reaching the end, for another start.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
Like that classic hit by Marvin Gaye
I have a story for you guys and gals today
One question you can ask, is how do you mend a broken heart?
How can you fix it when the world you two have created is falling apart
Anyway lemme finish with my tale
It was over a warm summer, the bane of the pale
I was young, wilder, and very streetwise
Little did I know I was dating a snake in disguise
We walked in the park, happy arm in arm
I kissed her cheek softly, like she was my good luck charm,
I said to her "babe I'm gonna be doing the show for flattes and sharpes,
It's a music store that's very very close to my heart
So I threw myself into rehearsals, playing guitar and contributing vocals to another man
Little did I know all the while she was giving something else to another man
I kept in touch with her the best that I could
But she always kept hanging around with the boys in the hood
Show night arrives and I'm nervous naturally
I texted her and she calmed me down actually
I didn't feel a change in her attitude, at least not drastically
I turned off my phone and played both sets
The Show ends and I wake up to an amazing text!
A picture of my girl laying on top of another guy,
I couldn't help it when I got home i just broke down and cried
But thru that betrayal, from the womb of that pain
Came my list for befriending vowels and blending words now lodged in my brain
Essentially the reason that I write poetry,
Is because a girl cheated on me
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:11 AM UTC
Half hearted
At least it keeps a beat
I miss your mannerisms and streetwise feet
Thankful to be thankful at least we have a lead
Pointing north or nowhere it's our choice to perceive
Walk on sand turning to rock
Rock to land a grass to frolick in
Thankful for the chance to have this dance I'd let you go if you promise to come back
Don't define yourself with your own mind let the season persuade you to keep god on your side
Sit with me in this undulating sea of concret and center of the continent tides
Roll with me in the green grass of waves that splash us by
never get us wet Say thanks to the Sidewalks and their separation from the street
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
The prince and the pauper.
The princess and peasant.
Perpetuating old cliches,
because aren't the differences pleasant?
Romance needs some room to play.
Fill in those gaps of mystery
with grandoise schemes and complex games.
Everyone's a winner.
The beauty and the beast.
The ******* and the tease.
The sheltered ones who live in dreams,
and the streetwise kids who do as they please.
Everyone loves a mystery,
but old cliches only capture so much.
Why do we need a conflict of different world views
to pluck the strings of our hearts?
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
it was 12 below in Rukatunturi
you were feeding reindeers in the snow
i was drawn to you, like a magnet, not knowing why
pixie hair, porcelain skin, button nose
your doe eyes, midnight black, called, drew me in, like a siren’s
you played it cool, distant, aloof, like a filly, wary of my attention
i had no idea, i was a fly and you, a spider
more than a girl, not yet a woman, you were a precocious, streetwise
oozing *** sensuality, craving daddy’s attention
seeking my gaze, locking eyes, so intensely, i had to look away
daring me, to kiss, your baby girl lips
wrap you up, hold you tight, in my arms, tap into your passion
you hungered to love, be loved
the eagerness of your kisses, combing the hair on my chest
pulling me down, on top, to penetrate you
christening you from a girl to a woman
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 4:26 AM UTC
Traffic light refraction , glass store fronts pan
the main avenue
***** , bluesy , defeated people in line for liquor ,
beer , milk and lottery tickets
Navy skies grow red to the West , streetwise
pigeons work overfilled dumpsters and city cans
Bus stops return workers from Atlanta , the-
local grocery methodically stripped of its inventory ,
children playing games on side streets beneath working-
yellow lamplight ..
Fire trucks fly by , no one even bothers to look up or wonder why
Porch lights irradiate the Westside , amber hues build -
over the interstate , cars travel South , bottlenecked in the race for home ..
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
I'm fighting Victorians, Edwardians thinking they're Georgians.
Does Cameron think he's a battlestar?
He may shoot from the lips but does he take things too far?
and where are we in all this?
The kiss me quick, vote for me slick brigade come
on a hunting raid and
bang the **** out of my door.
Whatya knocking me up from my bed for?
Votes just confuse me and you lot just
use me.
I'm still fighting, streetwise, keeping tight in
the clinch
at a pinch I could compromise, might let
them see the light that shines but
when I open my eyes
I think
Nah,
I'll not bother.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
Step up eye to eye and tell me what's on your mind
A word of warning it's all or nothing so lay it on the line
Does that look mean what it's sayin? I believe it's talkin to me
It's sayin "sit right down," sayin "let's be friends," sayin "coffee,tea or me?"
Streetwise she's just what I need, a package wrapped up tight
She walks soft and she carries a stick
A stick of dynamite
She's startin fires tonight, all over town
She's playin with fire and hearts, and burnin em down
She'll pull you close for a bit, you think the party's on
But one dance is all you get
And then she's gone
She's startin fires
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
You wake and scratch your nuts because
you've squirrelled in the night
yawn a while
while making tea
pull some faces
have a ***
It's Wednesday and nowhere near
the first beer of the first of lots and
your tongue's got spots on it
so you rub it with your teeth
a bit.
Off to work,
the daily grind,
can't find your shoes,
you must be blind but they're
right there sat on your feet,
you say sheeeeeeeeeit which is
streetwise talk and then you close the
door and off you walk
to work.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
One day
My man, a gentle knight,
Will know the pain in my eyes
Hidden by my streetwise style
He’ll detect the buttoned down toned tight tremble in my chest
the chill of my breath
And he will lay every piece of armour down
To come bravely
Tenderly
With silence to listen to the words and feelings turning the rhythm of my sobs
Into a partner dance
Ears and eyes, heart and soul
Moving our bare bones
to the wisdom presented by hearts that are
Truth faced
And with this presence and kindness
I will surrender knowing finally I am safe.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
THE ROBOT SAYS GO
The robot says STOP!
And the chromed steeds align, champing, their reeking tails
caked in ferrous reminders of asphalt and steam.
Still that bright ruby glares.
White-knuckled jockeys, feigning repose, swap dat ol’ faux decorum.
But nobody’s fooling anybody.
Halogen eyes framing high cursive grilles.
Round rubber hooves hugging silvery seals.
Glass-encased egos, too streetwise to dream,
jack shoulders to lobes for a shared primal scream…
Veins race across foreheads, eyes tear up the road.
And just when it looks like those veins will explode—
The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go!
The Emerald looms, the frenzy resumes:
Alpha males ****** the old and infirm,
their eight-banger fumes blurring laggers in plumes.
Jocks in jalopies thread rivals and worm
their misshapen monsters round planters in flumes.
Past loads wide and listing—and back in the fray!
Harrowing, narrowing, the pack makes its way,
to one more agenda, two downshifts away, where nearing,
where rearing…appearing like some kind of god in the flow,
this robot says…
slow.
Brief as bliss, blind as bluff,
that amber eye opens, (not quickly enough).
The lead runners race, redoubling their pace!
—rolling dem bones, refusing to place,
hurling their monoliths all but atop
pedestrian puppets who, horrified, hop,
leaping like bugs till the robot says
STOP!
And thus realigned, still fuming in kind,
the new leaders gnaw on their dashes and wheels.
Damning the wire, their backsides on fire,
nerves shooting pins through their palms and their heels,
the gentleman’s juggernaut takes aim and steels.
Eyeballs near bursting revile the stop—
And just when it looks like those eyeballs will pop…
The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go! The robot says go!
Copyright 2019
contact Ron Sanders at:
ronsandersartofprose(at)yahoo(dot)com
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 8:02 PM UTC
It's an alright guise
It helped me win a prize
Pay no attention to my size
Just ask if I am wise
So quick of you to advise
Before I can apprise
You stand to watch me rise
After I have been abscised
Perhaps you will baptize
And hope to capsize
All that I chastise
And all that I cognize
This poem I comprised
Of all that you demised
All that you despised
And all that you devised
Why do you always demonize
Just to get a word in edgewise
If you truly wish to excise me
Why not just Graecize me
I Watch the moon rise
I reprise and revise
I get streetwise
And I stylize
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 8:21 PM UTC
to picture him in I would say
he is **** and pusher womanizer
comedian streetwise
strong genius parachute 1st Airborne
Korea and Vietnam
black and white and all religions
player extraordinaire
but, if he likes you he has your back
he is like the Devil the Saint
the best **** man I ever knew.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC