Any style of poetry

My friend Charlie


He claimed
he'd been plucked out of the womb
then savaged by the system

which one, might be a good ponder

but he plays the part so well now
it'd be hard to tell who savaged who
unless you've the eyes
to see through all the layers of hood

the price, it seems, is endless
and less about extravagance
more about existing

and there's the thing
if I'd a gun for it, I'd easily shoot him
bury his corpse in the lowly bog-lands
beside thousands of others left there to rot
for crimes against families

it's anybodies guess who's next
he's like a limit mine
that orbits first, then just sticks
'til it explodes
god knows, the lengths he'd go to

here's some stuff I thought of
{Extreme Content}


kiss my girl goodnight
like puffin on this mary jane you know ima sleep tight
the god father
of ganja
gone like the song
dried out burnt in the bong
like three hits
sunshine in the bag like a motherfuckin E-clipse
shit so small yall you gonna need clips
so resonated is these lips
I need sips
of cold water
coughin couldnt get much hotter
cool up from those sips of water move up to the vodka
might need a doctor
shit might need a casket
before I go just acknowledge that my flow is fantastic
elaborite
sarcastic tactics
my vehemence is enacted  
and I will not stop until my vengeance is exacted
until the entire generation is impacted
meanwhile all yall other artists need to practice
messin with my efforts call this the last ditch
callin all the shots like fast pitch
thats it
ive had it
knew about the two liter grabbed it
bitches in the two seater we smash it trash it
hear the music blast it
till this shits a smash hit
ax me who am i mad'it?
Go on get your ass kicked
said I go so slow melt you like plastic
shit might get dramatic
I might snap back and crack you like elastic
might go pick up the four four hop out the four door blast it
might guillotine ya with ya head in a basket
isnt that soap opera tragic?
just give me the money straight brown paper bag it
pay for my bad habit
like a dog gone coursing go chasin on these rabbits,
with this 12 gauge I take it and I half it
with this filed off clean sporting that semi automatic
I grab it with a look that look ecstatic
end it quite tragic afta I blast it spit out the old clip re rack it
keepin up the noise keepin up the racket
in the black market racket
fuck a ball bat I beat your ass with a tennis racquet
cuz what the fuck do I care when I am the cosa nostra with the horse head in your bed like my gift to you have it
who the fuck are you I already know you cant hack it
keep up with my flow you might need a GPS just to track it
see me and my sibling we two brother OGS actin brotherly blessed with our family we all act erratic,
mess with our tactics
our vocabulary is scary call it syntactic magic
take you back to school back to conjunction junction call it synaptic
im rappin on acid
im feelin quite plastered im feeling quite placid
crunch time time to crunch a line like Vlasic
old school stylin shit im jurassic
like the south's king headed to the classic
cuz when I go you know my flow go so hard that yall go flaccid

   'My Muse'  



my dearest Muse, your whispers carry stardust across my universe

every morsel tempting my soul's plateau to shift its course  

evening dusk falls naked upon my dreams

too many shadows claimed unto me



melding tight in the waxen game

exciting my flesh against the tender flames



anointed, we are by pleasure's caress

twisting beneath the starkly carved tree



my Muse and me make a wish upon every leaf

Internal rings reveal the time we long to touch

digging deeper the roots hide their depth from us

nothing compares to the nights we dare to share

Indigo skies tints the rainbow eyes to see

go past the moon lit path, enchant me delicately

hide me far away from the prying minds

touch me, psychologically, I cry.




Note: {Acrostic poem}Solve the message and you're a winner, it's easy

The Indifferent and the Dead.

They're not ready    
to leave the tree.    
The little birds    
chirping merrily.      
They're too far    
into bliss,    
into life and its repetitive cycles.    
   
I'd equate them to pigeons    
lining their pockets in profitable seed.    
   
Their trunks,    
their branches    
and their leaves decay.    
   
Take their debts    
their sins,    
their Gods    
and set them adrift.    
   
In losing everything    
to death,    
and to despair    
I've detached from these pigeons    
their frantic fluttering    
for profitable seed    
matters not.    
   
To be the richest    
man in the world    
is to gather decay    
in the grave.    
You'll be buried    
in the soil with me    
and rot all the same.    
   
The decay prolonged    
in grieving.    
Taking hold    
in doubt    
and thriving    
in fear.    
   
They'll tear    
into the bark    
and feel    
its disease.    
They'll inhale the poisonous,    
colourless sickness    
corroding their souls.    
 
And when it's all said and done    
it'll be left to the two breeds of men - the Indifferent and the Dead.

Anonymous said:<< post removed >>

You should write your own original works. This nursery rhyme is all over the internet and Google.[/quote]

(thank you!)

And this is the one warning that will be given on this topic. DUP is a place for your own original writings, not cut/pastes off the Internet and/or the work of others, being passed off as your own.

Oops! Did I say That Out Loud?

Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty booty
If it don't fit, don't force it
You can lubricate it, so you can appreciate it

Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre is a bitch when you make a glitch

Suck this gun like a cool chick
It's barrel isn't that hot or that thick
And when it comes, blow your brains while still in cuffs
Elvis offended while doing those pelvic thrusts
But he was merely having fun and being so gyrating futuristic
While your parents were secretly playing with vibrating plastic

I used to call myself at that time, "The Magnificent One"
Hell, I don't call myself that now, but I still believe it to be true
At the time, the frigid white kids would only spectate from the balcony
With the horny white kinds leaping over with jealous gallantry to get downstairs
Because that's where the black dudes were always performing their sexual affairs

Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty booty
Protect yourself with a little soap bubble
If you want help, I can go pop, without getting into too much trouble

Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre can mean defeat when others hear your beat

How can I put down the creeps when I've been creeping from afar?
I'm another mother fuckin' world pop star
They called me a Hip-Hop Bipolar Southpaw
Always left swinging up and down like an outlaw
They warned you that I would drive the kids insane
So don't blame me for the way your kids now reign

Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty booty
Thanking you for being so sweet and cute
Next time remind me to always switch it to mute

Oops, did I say that out loud?

Once hidden visions of your faith
Howling in the bones of your face

Are the once hidden visions of your faith

And like a ghost who doesn’t know who he is, I am lost

Memories of Catalina Island are always near,

In deep rooted throws of your passion again was the fall

With nothing on but a silver cross placed carefully across your chest

In the night

The sound of a single Saxophone,

Came rushing in,

hitting like a freight train, in the hotel that we stayed,  

In flickering light, we danced nude and slow,

with the window open wide, where I first gave you my ring,

A kiss, like electric ghosts tingled to the bone and was entwined;

Its a restless spirit that haunts, in simple twists of fate it was gone,  

The once hidden visions of your faith  

With memories of Catalina Island always near

I am a little boy that is lost,  

Grace. This really caught my attention. It is a good poem. I have a question though. Are you or were you a catholic?