"uppercuts" poems
I.
AM.
A.
Piece of ****
Here's how i roll.
I plop the excrement, directly in the pool.
I **** on chairs,
This is where i place stool.
Plip plob drop loads,
Crenated blood cells and lymphatic drool.
Hurt my kidneys in a fight with truth the other night.
7 brutal, flooring uppercuts to the Latisimus dorsi....
I am > "this girl"
That one that's taken more hits in the face than Tyson.
The one that makes Jenna and Sunni Leone look like pre-school dropouts of ****
Guys say.
"She"
"got the,"
"best head."
She has nothing in it though.
Her brain's finished by the time words leave her lips whole.
thats as far as it gets
the words pass her **** then she falls, grab her hips.
Prepare the sword for the stone.
The one with the baby whole in her dome.
She's not good, much else.
Her black hair and wisdom lines go bout as deep as her shirt.
Depending on the day.
Pervert.
Lets do ANOTHER line.
"Oh My GOD!" "We did so much *******
Coke in cans.
Filled with whiskey flask-hand.
"This night's gunna be one to remember",
if his member is inside, that's my gender,
Blend it with all the worst intentions,
Use the worst intentions.
Stab the heart of conviction.
Tear it to tethers with tension.
Rip the strings of friendship.
Tease the knots of frayed linen,
Like its the only thing ya got.
"I am so high right now."
I forgot what earth looks like.
Probably like my town.
Only place I've been.
I'm 17 ya see.
Its the only thing you got.
You don't deserve roses, flowers, Laurels.
No trees.
No dime bags, no speed, no crying hag.
I can sure **** 25 yearolds.
Saying your better never sounded more like a lie.
Worst thing is you have that prevarication internalized.
I have a god complex...
Wanna save em all...
Can't save a ******* one...
I did lie once...
It was...
When I told you that you weren't...
A piece of ****
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
rehearsing...
in the mind
he rehearses
a sequence of blows
lefts and rights
uppercuts
the jabbing low
whilst dancing and skipping
on spry feet
insides...
butterflies start to flutter
around in his insides
yet knowing the opponent
must not see any nerves
he's got to be
cool
and
assertive
the glove's punch
deliveries
being
a
bout
winner
dreaming...
it's fight night
at the Las Vegas
Grand Garden Arena
he'll slog it out
for the welter weight title
muscles
poised
his package
ready
to wear the crowning
belt buckle
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
The epitome of greatness, a mark in history
Of discipline remarkable, a stellar victory
Defeating the unbeaten, knock and break the mould
International heavyweight of Olympic Gold
Strike in quick succession, opponents retreat
Delivery duration, a knockout of defeat
Tactical ability, step into the range
Catalyst created, set for further change
Of the highest calibre, man who beat the man
Delivery on target, a humble champion
Of opponents outclassed, discontinued bout
Dominant performance, within and without
With athletic excellence, distance travelled far
Gym of daily training, cardio and spar
Professional perspective, stood to set the pace
Dedication, boldness, motivate, embrace
Influencing globally, rank of the elite
Rapid combinations, uppercuts repeat
Powerful formation, readiness of stance
Daily preparation, practice over chance
An honourable service, magnificence abound
Celebrating victory, crowding to surround
Continuing the greatness, strength and stamina
The world is truly grateful, Anthony Joshua
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
A crystal vision
that fortune tells,
like sparrots in my spirit,
but rather, bought a ticket for God to pay me visit,
I hope he answers
no phones by his thrones,
above outer space
but lives within our inner
with open ears,
that answer prayer
the unseen near ,
I hope my feather glisten,
when I fly and shine,
broken wings holding on to parachutes
that skydive up the winds,
Tell gravity
Im jonesin to climb.
Been distant from home sweet home..
Left eating a Sour patchs,
and packed my bags ( beneath you eyes) ,
Long roads with no sleep,
Extra steps in paps broken shoes
that I got to outfit wearing a travel packed outfit..
All Smiles but sunny days are dead,
Like who worries about the storms ahead,
Seen some with cigarettes for stress
knowing theyll only blacken my breath
Lungs in cemetaries,
Air attached to inhalors not enough for this journey,
perhaps instill Mayweather stamina,
to box out a circle of squares when they box me in,
hardships float on my uppercuts
let God and money band aid my wins.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
Bobbing and weaving,
Slipping and jabbing.
The fighting stance against a thousand opponents,
All of whom, look like me,
Is a stance I can only articulate,
In a mirror,
Shadow boxing that guy,
Strangely looking like me.
Pop-Pop BANG,
I throw punches at the air in front of me,
This bull can rage like Cinderella in a cage,
A square, roped cage,
Where life’s uppercuts put me in a daze.
The fighter in me,
One stubborn little *******
Iron-jawed and iron-clawed,
Always taking one to the gut,
I fall down and so ruthlessly get back up.
24 and 0,
I’m the undefeated world champion,
My opponent remains consistent,
But I’m not afraid,
I got this far,
You think I can’t go a few more rounds?
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 10:53 PM UTC
You sink my heart down the ocean floors
underwater it breathes, yet its lungs are sore
you try syncing beats, hearts too torn to ever be restored
I see grays of its gravestone floating along the shore
You make my moods cloud in sorrow
no lighting could brighten up this smile
like roars of thunder you watch me rolling deep
no tickles could uppercuts these weeps
You tear the smoothness in my skin away
from those rabbit glares and the silly tricks you play
our spirits were once willing now refuse to mesh
oh carnivorous woman just eat my rotten flesh
Your beginnings made this person drenched in laundry
with heated arms that sheltered warmly
now I am nothing less of a battered igloo
with a runny nose too slow to catch a tissue.
-Shahrukh Zamir c)2013
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
My grandfather was not a boxer
but he loved to fight, throwing
punches at the faces of hard men,
left and right hooks, uppercuts
in barroom brawls and alleyways,
with hands the size of iron trivets,
forearms cut with ropes of muscle.
Eventually, after decades of stitches
and bruised knuckles, after his hair
turned white and his eyes clouded,
he would shadowbox in the garden
behind the dilapidated potting shed,
swinging slower, less light on his feet,
but safe in that manicured square
ringed by boxwoods and evergreens,
the bees in spring buzzing applause.
My grandmother would watch
him from the kitchen window,
in a sweater she always wore
regardless of the weather,
and wonder what he was fighting
against, or, perhaps, fighting for.
And that’s how my grandfather died:
throwing a final right cross in the air
before dropping to his knees at last,
knocked out on a mat of green grass,
washed by an unexpected downpour,
water collecting in opened red tulips,
loving cups in full bloom, the first
ten drops of rain counting him out.
Standing in that garden decades later,
I know I am no fighter.
Approaching old age, hands in pockets,
I watch for signs of unexpected weather,
worry about things beyond my control:
car crashes, cancer, electromagnetic pulses,
the minutiae of a thousand apocalypses.
Is the future drawing back
a left hook I will never see
coming? Will a haymaker
hit me like a hammer,
unmaking my family
before the final bell?
And suddenly I realize:
maybe I should have
learned to throw
a ******* punch.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
Dear friend, lover ex or whatever
I'm writing you to let you know I hope you feel better
I know that things are hard, the stress is so much
And when you reach out, all there are is uppercuts
And they are the cause for the ones on your wrist
The reason why you cry, make a ball of your fists
I understand that you have a lot you go through
The fact that they yell and your brother would hit you
And no one gets you, the plastered on fake smile
The real one has been gone now for quite a while
So your arms bleed, but the blood tells you you're living
It takes a way the numb feeling these people were giving
That razor blade has become your closest companion
It relieves all the pain you want to abandon
Your arms are scared so you think you're unlovable
But honestly I just want you to feel comfortable
So please don't cut, please don't cut
I promise you you're loved, so please don't cut
Right now I see thaht you're stuck in a rut
But please don't cut, please don't cut
And if you feel the need to say you're all out of luck
I'm just a call away when things get rough
The fact of the matter is I know you're enough
So please don't cut, please don't cut
Put the blade down, it really isn't worth it
No good will come from a slit up and bruised wrist
And you cover it, long sleeves so they won't see
But you can't hide all the hurt and pain from me
You say you're miserable and there are times you want to die
But then you pull out a razor and cut while you cry
It makes you feel human, and like you are still alive
But don't you understand that the feeling is all a lie
You put your self in danger when you're slicing up your skin
You're only letting self-hate find it's way in
I promise you'll get better, but just meet me halfway
And please throw the razor and pins all away
I swear that you'll make it, there's no doubt in my mind
And if you look around, I know it's what you'll find
You're gonna feel better once this door has been shut
Please make me a promise that tonight you won't cut
They label you, but not a single word is true
Who cares what the world is saying about you ?
They don't know, they just assume
They're not with you when you're lonely up in your room
They not with you when you're begging to up above
They're not with you when you need a little love
They don't care when you have nothing to give
So who's to say than you even would want to live ?
Every life is precious, and that is what I promise
If we never speak again, I hope you know I'm honest
You deserve to be happy, and clean from the cutting
You deserve to be a person who's surrounded with loving
Every life is precious, and it's something that I promise
If we never speak again, I hope you know I'm honest
You deserve to be happy, and clean from the cutting
You deserve to be a person who's surrounded with loving
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
Who can hang with the flow
None so suckas don't wanna go toe to toe
Blow for blow we shuttin' down any shows
Yo I be rippin'and then dippin'
Tearin' up emcees
Like slams of Scottie Pippen my clips in
Begins mad *********** static the stations
Once I step to the nation makin' innovations
My team's basically waiting invoking Satan
Many not Makin? Their moves ya vital signs leakin' homes
I'mma keep rappin' til in a funeral home
I'm makin' rap mortuaries to every body who get buried
And married into the afterworld it varies
Scenarios carry easily we hurry hotter than jamacian curry
Lookin' at my right hand my pistol grip pumpin'
Increase hearts ya jumpin' ivs dumping
Tryna keep you alive bumpin' all jive yo we always into something.....
My ****** rate dominate in all states undercover I'll annihilate
And humiliate to those that wanna test thier fates
I'm makin' casket crates three in a row seven each
That means twenty one bodies leach I preach
What I teach never a leech ya contracts breach
Eulogy given flows hit like Julius Jackson stickin'
Uppercuts from ya head to gut ya know what
We bout to do **** ya crew like soundview
Feel the blast spin around adversaries like Taz
Leave a destructive path death gets the last laugh
Powerful paragraphs that entice blood baths
Master the craft still layin' my grande shaft
A **** ero sick with the turntable beatin' labels
She feelin' on my cables my necklace ain't no checkin' this
Yo this ****** Ludacris number one spot I keep locked
Like an Alcatraz prison spiritually risen
Ya mentals genuflected from the music that christens
Who can hang with the flow
None so suckas don't wanna go toe to toe
Blow for blow we shuttin' down any shows
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC