Poetry competition CLOSED 31st May 2012 6:13pm
WINNER
braggman (Steve Bragg)
braggman (Steve Bragg)
Words words words
I Wrote This When I Wanted To Be A Rap Star
Where do I start?
How the hell I'm going to set myself apart?
Have to show all these people I'm not dumb that I'm smart
That I have an I.Q.
Unlike dudes
Who don't know what I might say or I might do
I want my rhymes to entice you
Enhance your senses
Crossover influence yes my words are bridges
That overlap over gaps in the nation now
Free to fucking speak my mind emancipated now
About to set it off grenade it now
Can't get shaken down
Dude like me about to break it down
Show you a demonstration how
How I weave my words?
No hesitation on my part I proceed with nerve
Emerge victorious
Through the stormiest
Of lyrical rain my slang is so glorious
But I'm torn because
My intelligence is irrelevant to people's way of thinking
People oblivious of me and my upbringing
Still stay afloat still rising no chance of sinking
What's going to be the next concept?
Should I collect
The respect
Of the streets with a little bit of depth
The blood and the sweat
And the tears and regret
So the people can connect
Only truth they'll accept
A little humor like a comedy sketch
You bet the demands have been met
Thank you it's overdue
Ready to pay my respects
To society's neglect
I'm trying to project
How my words have effects
On the human mind like congruent lines
Of dope and coke you know the drugs that ruined lives
People out there is strung out or doing time
Everytime I rhyme I have me and you in mind
Showing my consideration
Also my lyrical liberation
Which has no limitation whatsoever
Making that endeavor
To piece it all together
Make you wonder how a man can ever be so clever
Styles there are many
Try to stay with me
Try to keep up
As I get deeper and deeper
Into the convo the bomb flow
Get you high like Hydro
I'm psycho but still I'm tight though I know
I'm going hard like an interview
Still I present to you
A frame of logic in a different view
I'm a visionary
I'm having visions I can draw them out
Like I'm playing a good round of Pictionary
My vocab consist of more words than dictionaries
Feel it in my bones like the calcium in dairy
Lactose intolerant
Can't even swallow it
The fact that I stepped up my game I can't acknowledge it
To my astonishment
I never thought I would be able or capable
Of having this kind of accomplishment
No one can box me in
And break my confidence
And take my common sense
It's under my skin
It's all up in my system call it antioxidants
Doubt my ability again suffer the consequence
This is my monument
Dedicated to you dedicated to me
Dedication you see
Is the key to all prosperity
That's on this globe
That I continue to probe
So carefully
Where do I start?
How the hell I'm going to set myself apart?
Have to show all these people I'm not dumb that I'm smart
That I have an I.Q.
Unlike dudes
Who don't know what I might say or I might do
I want my rhymes to entice you
Enhance your senses
Crossover influence yes my words are bridges
That overlap over gaps in the nation now
Free to fucking speak my mind emancipated now
About to set it off grenade it now
Can't get shaken down
Dude like me about to break it down
Show you a demonstration how
How I weave my words?
No hesitation on my part I proceed with nerve
Emerge victorious
Through the stormiest
Of lyrical rain my slang is so glorious
But I'm torn because
My intelligence is irrelevant to people's way of thinking
People oblivious of me and my upbringing
Still stay afloat still rising no chance of sinking
What's going to be the next concept?
Should I collect
The respect
Of the streets with a little bit of depth
The blood and the sweat
And the tears and regret
So the people can connect
Only truth they'll accept
A little humor like a comedy sketch
You bet the demands have been met
Thank you it's overdue
Ready to pay my respects
To society's neglect
I'm trying to project
How my words have effects
On the human mind like congruent lines
Of dope and coke you know the drugs that ruined lives
People out there is strung out or doing time
Everytime I rhyme I have me and you in mind
Showing my consideration
Also my lyrical liberation
Which has no limitation whatsoever
Making that endeavor
To piece it all together
Make you wonder how a man can ever be so clever
Styles there are many
Try to stay with me
Try to keep up
As I get deeper and deeper
Into the convo the bomb flow
Get you high like Hydro
I'm psycho but still I'm tight though I know
I'm going hard like an interview
Still I present to you
A frame of logic in a different view
I'm a visionary
I'm having visions I can draw them out
Like I'm playing a good round of Pictionary
My vocab consist of more words than dictionaries
Feel it in my bones like the calcium in dairy
Lactose intolerant
Can't even swallow it
The fact that I stepped up my game I can't acknowledge it
To my astonishment
I never thought I would be able or capable
Of having this kind of accomplishment
No one can box me in
And break my confidence
And take my common sense
It's under my skin
It's all up in my system call it antioxidants
Doubt my ability again suffer the consequence
This is my monument
Dedicated to you dedicated to me
Dedication you see
Is the key to all prosperity
That's on this globe
That I continue to probe
So carefully
Unwritten
Writing, writing,
scribbling away at the page,
at your life, at your very being.
Tossing the page, and the seconds,
and starting again.
Trying to find that sound
that, when felt once, though another,
reminds you of you, and all that you stood for
when you stood for anything. You felt it once,
like keys to life waiting to be pulled from the page,
ink holding humanity like the gods only dreamed.
But that was a projection, and you were a project,
molded by yourself into the very latticework of self.
And you knew it, too.
Yet here you are, trying
to find the rhythm, the beat and the flow,
and everything that follows in four-four time
and a vivid painting splashed across your chest,
painted into the back of your memory, snapped
when it didn't matter (but now it's all that ever did),
in stonewashed sepia and brightest white, details
fading out to a caricature of perfection—of man
and of woman, and all that entails.
Perhaps
life seems simpler then because the details
have just washed away, leaving one and one,
and five thousand grinning faces, roaring
glassy-eyed in deepest mahogany,
stumbling back to earth together, and we
were all so innocent, so pure, arms interlaced,
haughty letters and status quo.
Trying to find
that sound, that, when felt once, through another,
reminds you of you, and all that you stood for
when you stood for anything. You felt it once,
and that's all that matters now, that and how
you're still trying to capture it. Etching
the statue of your youthful self, your golden idol,
but you'll never free yourself from the marble
because you're outside of it. You'll never know,
because all you ever needed was the silhouette,
the structure and the scaffolding,
then to leave it be.
Writing, writing,
scribbling away at the page,
at your life, at your very being.
Tossing the page, and the seconds,
and starting again.
Trying to find that sound
that, when felt once, though another,
reminds you of you, and all that you stood for
when you stood for anything. You felt it once,
like keys to life waiting to be pulled from the page,
ink holding humanity like the gods only dreamed.
But that was a projection, and you were a project,
molded by yourself into the very latticework of self.
And you knew it, too.
Yet here you are, trying
to find the rhythm, the beat and the flow,
and everything that follows in four-four time
and a vivid painting splashed across your chest,
painted into the back of your memory, snapped
when it didn't matter (but now it's all that ever did),
in stonewashed sepia and brightest white, details
fading out to a caricature of perfection—of man
and of woman, and all that entails.
Perhaps
life seems simpler then because the details
have just washed away, leaving one and one,
and five thousand grinning faces, roaring
glassy-eyed in deepest mahogany,
stumbling back to earth together, and we
were all so innocent, so pure, arms interlaced,
haughty letters and status quo.
Trying to find
that sound, that, when felt once, through another,
reminds you of you, and all that you stood for
when you stood for anything. You felt it once,
and that's all that matters now, that and how
you're still trying to capture it. Etching
the statue of your youthful self, your golden idol,
but you'll never free yourself from the marble
because you're outside of it. You'll never know,
because all you ever needed was the silhouette,
the structure and the scaffolding,
then to leave it be.
Anonymous
DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?
Do you know who you are?
Write it down,
Not an easy chore,
Why not try a list:
A mother
A worker
A lover
What more to say,
Do you think you may be a poet?
How would that change things?
Your audience you keep in mind,
How will they think of me,
What will they think of my poetry?
First slips in vanity,
Just the word “poet”,
Has a certain panache,
Now who are you writing for,
Other poets!
For the masses may acclaim you,
Cause you make them feel good,
Other poets deride you,
You are not up to par,
So you keep writing to the real people,
You want to seduce,
Other poets, with awards and trophies,
Not knowing how difficult a job it is,
To produce,
One single poem that is worthy,
Of praise,
By those who have “made it”,
By those who have a “name”.
A poet is like an artist,
You just do not pick up a brush one day,
Apply paint to canvas. and then announce,
“I am an artist” to everyone,
Why, being an artist took most of my life,
Are you kidding me, are you out of your mind?
Same with me, new to poetry,
Not realizing, the finer aspects of the craft,
Write poetry, that some will think is daft,
Still, trying to adhere, to a book full of knowledge,
Reading “how to write poetry” books, does not do it,
Writing many poems, may help you to it,
Taking a course, may teach you the rules,
Writing good poetry, means knowing,
What rules to use,
When to break them,
How to string words along,
How to fake them,
By being obscure,
Putting your audience, at a disadvantage,
For you know words,
That are not, even in their language,
So you write, correct, and write some more,
Until the powers that be, give you the nod,
You are “one of us” now,
Do not look behind you,
There is a line,
Of adolescents, who can compose,
Angels breath, out of prose,
Who can spin poems, out of air,
And so many more,
Who can write poems to heaven,
That are read by the angels,
Who nod to the muses,
Who then go to those,
Whom, are truly chosen to be,
The humble elite of poetry.
Do you know who you are?
Write it down,
Not an easy chore,
Why not try a list:
A mother
A worker
A lover
What more to say,
Do you think you may be a poet?
How would that change things?
Your audience you keep in mind,
How will they think of me,
What will they think of my poetry?
First slips in vanity,
Just the word “poet”,
Has a certain panache,
Now who are you writing for,
Other poets!
For the masses may acclaim you,
Cause you make them feel good,
Other poets deride you,
You are not up to par,
So you keep writing to the real people,
You want to seduce,
Other poets, with awards and trophies,
Not knowing how difficult a job it is,
To produce,
One single poem that is worthy,
Of praise,
By those who have “made it”,
By those who have a “name”.
A poet is like an artist,
You just do not pick up a brush one day,
Apply paint to canvas. and then announce,
“I am an artist” to everyone,
Why, being an artist took most of my life,
Are you kidding me, are you out of your mind?
Same with me, new to poetry,
Not realizing, the finer aspects of the craft,
Write poetry, that some will think is daft,
Still, trying to adhere, to a book full of knowledge,
Reading “how to write poetry” books, does not do it,
Writing many poems, may help you to it,
Taking a course, may teach you the rules,
Writing good poetry, means knowing,
What rules to use,
When to break them,
How to string words along,
How to fake them,
By being obscure,
Putting your audience, at a disadvantage,
For you know words,
That are not, even in their language,
So you write, correct, and write some more,
Until the powers that be, give you the nod,
You are “one of us” now,
Do not look behind you,
There is a line,
Of adolescents, who can compose,
Angels breath, out of prose,
Who can spin poems, out of air,
And so many more,
Who can write poems to heaven,
That are read by the angels,
Who nod to the muses,
Who then go to those,
Whom, are truly chosen to be,
The humble elite of poetry.
I wrote this one a long time ago, during a time when I thought no one cared about me or my poetry. It was an interesting little glimpse into what my creative thoughts were like in a very dark time in my life.
- The Solitary Bard -
Passing went the hours as I penned with heavy heart,
Words of rhyme to capture the imaginations of people.
Who hears my words now; am I merely a voice in the wind?
As it howls, are there none to hear the cry of a solitary bard!
So many storms beset this world, and so few stand fast.
So few voices dare to speak the truth, to do their part,
But my words rang forth like a bell in a chapel's steeple.
Loud the call, and quiet the caller, with a soul on the mend.
Passing: are the hours, and to face them alone is truly hard!
Yet I endure, and will not fade too quietly into the past.
Did I request the sorrows of my life, or the will I must bear?
Strong before the tempest that seeks to engulf all sunlight,
I bore the lamp of shining virtue even in the darkest abyss.
Who will see the light, and who will be warmed thereby...
I wonder oft, for I know that nothing ever stays the same.
Sometimes I ponder love, as toward the stars my eyes stare.
Am I hoping for too much, or is my hope like unto a blight,
Wanting for the water of life to bestow upon it a welcome kiss?
Until I know, I must continue to believe, even as I sigh...
And in belief there is comfort, and never is there shame.
Am I despised, who sought with loving heart a loving lass,
Speaking words both light and dark to show the depths...
For no soul is shallow, and no words wasted that are true?
Who will carry the light for me, when mine has gone dim...
Are there none left who value love enough in their souls!
I must accept that all things that are golden fair must pass,
And that some secrets that are treasured, must be kept...
Times change so quickly, yet above the sky is always blue.
So deceptive be that azure, and the light shining like tin...
Of the sun that watches all of us, as we play out our roles!
- The Solitary Bard -
Passing went the hours as I penned with heavy heart,
Words of rhyme to capture the imaginations of people.
Who hears my words now; am I merely a voice in the wind?
As it howls, are there none to hear the cry of a solitary bard!
So many storms beset this world, and so few stand fast.
So few voices dare to speak the truth, to do their part,
But my words rang forth like a bell in a chapel's steeple.
Loud the call, and quiet the caller, with a soul on the mend.
Passing: are the hours, and to face them alone is truly hard!
Yet I endure, and will not fade too quietly into the past.
Did I request the sorrows of my life, or the will I must bear?
Strong before the tempest that seeks to engulf all sunlight,
I bore the lamp of shining virtue even in the darkest abyss.
Who will see the light, and who will be warmed thereby...
I wonder oft, for I know that nothing ever stays the same.
Sometimes I ponder love, as toward the stars my eyes stare.
Am I hoping for too much, or is my hope like unto a blight,
Wanting for the water of life to bestow upon it a welcome kiss?
Until I know, I must continue to believe, even as I sigh...
And in belief there is comfort, and never is there shame.
Am I despised, who sought with loving heart a loving lass,
Speaking words both light and dark to show the depths...
For no soul is shallow, and no words wasted that are true?
Who will carry the light for me, when mine has gone dim...
Are there none left who value love enough in their souls!
I must accept that all things that are golden fair must pass,
And that some secrets that are treasured, must be kept...
Times change so quickly, yet above the sky is always blue.
So deceptive be that azure, and the light shining like tin...
Of the sun that watches all of us, as we play out our roles!
This is one of my favorite of my poems based on this theme, of writing about writing something. I call this one: Words of Fire!
- Words of Fire -
In recent sorrow, I had a mind to sing as if in heroic verse,
Of the wrath of gods and spirits in ancient wars embattled.
But so much the poorer, as one who has but an empty purse,
Is one given much to anger, and that truth within me rattled!
Fair Ishtar, goddess of love and war, herself: did laugh on high,
For it is human to be caught betwixt anger and love in turns...
Far more human than, to ever our inner emotions coldly deny,
And so was I moved to embrace passion, that eternally yearns.
None was it, dear reader, who of old made poets a mad breed,
But rather in all hearts lies madness and rationality together...
Which in the poetic soul are as two halves of one divine creed,
That of the Muses, who bind us to their spirit with gilded tether.
What could I sing, if of Ishtar I spoke only of her beauty alone,
As if she had not done mighty deeds before the count of time?
Far more are legends, than the stuff of mortal flesh and bone,
And far more is poetry, than the measure of each flowing line!
So great is the domain of gods and glory that words often fail,
But of love, it is an easy matter to comprehend the nature of.
And so I sing of passion, the fire of love, and its' power I hail,
For it is greater than all the powers of fate that govern above.
My lyre is not the gilded harp of Apollo, playing eternal strains,
But in my humble verse I aspire to Olympian levels of beauty.
If but one heart is delighted by my own art and all its' refrains,
Then I have served the Muses well, and done my poetic duty.
Hearing this, my thought, did Ishtar say unto me with grace...
Oh poet, thou art beloved of the Muses for all thy dedication!
And so on bended knee, I beheld the goddess's fairest face,
Thanking her for such patronage that did fill me with elation.
I had thought that words of fire were no longer thus beloved,
By a time that has changed much since first I raised my voice.
And yet, I came to see that a love for such poetry is not dead,
Thusly I remain to entertain, lyre in hand, by a blessed choice.
Let the contests of gods and giants rest for a time in slumber,
This poem is about remembering love, and all passion's glories.
Let love come to me, and be my muse so that I will remember,
Words of fire to light up the heavens, to craft my epic stories!
- Words of Fire -
In recent sorrow, I had a mind to sing as if in heroic verse,
Of the wrath of gods and spirits in ancient wars embattled.
But so much the poorer, as one who has but an empty purse,
Is one given much to anger, and that truth within me rattled!
Fair Ishtar, goddess of love and war, herself: did laugh on high,
For it is human to be caught betwixt anger and love in turns...
Far more human than, to ever our inner emotions coldly deny,
And so was I moved to embrace passion, that eternally yearns.
None was it, dear reader, who of old made poets a mad breed,
But rather in all hearts lies madness and rationality together...
Which in the poetic soul are as two halves of one divine creed,
That of the Muses, who bind us to their spirit with gilded tether.
What could I sing, if of Ishtar I spoke only of her beauty alone,
As if she had not done mighty deeds before the count of time?
Far more are legends, than the stuff of mortal flesh and bone,
And far more is poetry, than the measure of each flowing line!
So great is the domain of gods and glory that words often fail,
But of love, it is an easy matter to comprehend the nature of.
And so I sing of passion, the fire of love, and its' power I hail,
For it is greater than all the powers of fate that govern above.
My lyre is not the gilded harp of Apollo, playing eternal strains,
But in my humble verse I aspire to Olympian levels of beauty.
If but one heart is delighted by my own art and all its' refrains,
Then I have served the Muses well, and done my poetic duty.
Hearing this, my thought, did Ishtar say unto me with grace...
Oh poet, thou art beloved of the Muses for all thy dedication!
And so on bended knee, I beheld the goddess's fairest face,
Thanking her for such patronage that did fill me with elation.
I had thought that words of fire were no longer thus beloved,
By a time that has changed much since first I raised my voice.
And yet, I came to see that a love for such poetry is not dead,
Thusly I remain to entertain, lyre in hand, by a blessed choice.
Let the contests of gods and giants rest for a time in slumber,
This poem is about remembering love, and all passion's glories.
Let love come to me, and be my muse so that I will remember,
Words of fire to light up the heavens, to craft my epic stories!
This one was from Valentine's Day. *Sigh* I never did meet someone I could give it to on that day, but never say never... there is always next year! Anyhow, here is "To Make You Mine"
- To Make You Mine -
A Valentine’s Day Poem
I promised Heaven I would find a way to make you mine,
And so I pondered with my heart, for the very longest time.
I thought about all the things that people might call sublime,
But at last I decided that I would present you with a rhyme.
Flowers are so beautiful, but in time the petals might fade,
And that would leave you sad, and wanting for their shade.
I thought that might make you unhappy, and so I was afraid!
Then at last I created a poem that, just for you, was made.
Candies can be tasty, but when you eat them they are gone,
And that would leave you hungry, with a face sad and long.
I thought about how I’d cheer you, and it hit me very strong!
I realized a poem would last forever, and sing just like a song.
Jewelry can be lovely, but soon it tarnishes with aging glow,
And that would leave you gloomy, with nothing left to show.
I thought that would be a poor way to see how well I know,
That what you want is this poem, with words that ever flow.
I promised Heaven I would please you this Valentine’s Day,
And so I pondered with my heart, for the most special way.
I thought about all the gifts that such a girl might call sublime,
But at last I decided that I would present you with this rhyme.
- To Make You Mine -
A Valentine’s Day Poem
I promised Heaven I would find a way to make you mine,
And so I pondered with my heart, for the very longest time.
I thought about all the things that people might call sublime,
But at last I decided that I would present you with a rhyme.
Flowers are so beautiful, but in time the petals might fade,
And that would leave you sad, and wanting for their shade.
I thought that might make you unhappy, and so I was afraid!
Then at last I created a poem that, just for you, was made.
Candies can be tasty, but when you eat them they are gone,
And that would leave you hungry, with a face sad and long.
I thought about how I’d cheer you, and it hit me very strong!
I realized a poem would last forever, and sing just like a song.
Jewelry can be lovely, but soon it tarnishes with aging glow,
And that would leave you gloomy, with nothing left to show.
I thought that would be a poor way to see how well I know,
That what you want is this poem, with words that ever flow.
I promised Heaven I would please you this Valentine’s Day,
And so I pondered with my heart, for the most special way.
I thought about all the gifts that such a girl might call sublime,
But at last I decided that I would present you with this rhyme.
[font=Courier New][size=2]
< a few more words >
i gotta stop off
at the corner store
for a few more words
cause i'm just staring
just looking
with my mouth open
i need a re-fill
anything
just so it's big
and i can gulp it
and feel it slop out my mouth
and run down my neck
and soak my shirt
with meaning
- - -
< a few more words >
i gotta stop off
at the corner store
for a few more words
cause i'm just staring
just looking
with my mouth open
i need a re-fill
anything
just so it's big
and i can gulp it
and feel it slop out my mouth
and run down my neck
and soak my shirt
with meaning
- - -
Letting Of Words
Oh words, Oh thoughts, flying through my mind
like a vibrantly colored kite in a glorious
instant and the next traveling like a sloth,,,
I struggle some days to let you out,,,
I flourish other days spreading my words
freely about,,,
You make me happy and put enormous smiles
upon my face,,,
You make me sad streaming tears down my
cheeks,,,
You help strangers to come to grips with
their pain,,,
You help them at times to ease back into
the reality they lost,,,
You make those without hope find closure,,,
The sharing of words is my gift in life,,,
Never wanting to cause pain, fear or even an
ounce strife, only intending to make a difference
in someones life,,,
I love how I feel once the words hit the page,
at times they even leave me in a euphoric haze,,,
We all have words bouncing of the tendrils of
our minds, ringing like the sweetest of wooden
wind chimes,,,
There is a poet in us all, for that I have no doubt,,,
Some just have more trouble letting those words out,,,
Oh words, Oh thoughts, flying through my mind
like a vibrantly colored kite in a glorious
instant and the next traveling like a sloth,,,
I struggle some days to let you out,,,
I flourish other days spreading my words
freely about,,,
You make me happy and put enormous smiles
upon my face,,,
You make me sad streaming tears down my
cheeks,,,
You help strangers to come to grips with
their pain,,,
You help them at times to ease back into
the reality they lost,,,
You make those without hope find closure,,,
The sharing of words is my gift in life,,,
Never wanting to cause pain, fear or even an
ounce strife, only intending to make a difference
in someones life,,,
I love how I feel once the words hit the page,
at times they even leave me in a euphoric haze,,,
We all have words bouncing of the tendrils of
our minds, ringing like the sweetest of wooden
wind chimes,,,
There is a poet in us all, for that I have no doubt,,,
Some just have more trouble letting those words out,,,
http://www.nidcd.nih.gov/staticresources/images/News100610Words.jpg
~A Words Delight~
I’m in a reading frenzy I just can’t seem to stop,,,
Writing follows suit right down to the last ink drop,,,
If I don’t let this all out and take this all in, I feel as though
My head is going to explode like a ripened pimple pop,,,
It’s knowledge I readily crave that’s led me there, it’s knowledge
To share that’ll keep me here,,,
From a beautiful poem to a macabre love story, I’ll write until
My fingers cramp, blister and callus,,,
I’ve done this since age six and I don’t think I’ll ever stop,,,
If indeed I do, then you’ll know I’m six feet under or possibly
Even lost,,,
Words, words, words oh how I love them so,,,
The meanings are the delight of my brains chemical flow,,,
Verbs, nouns, adjectives, singular and plural they all tantalize my being
With such sweet and succulent delight,,,
I long to write day in and day out, and sometimes in my dreams
As well,,,
Words, words, words never let them go away, and if they ever did
Indeed I‘d surely be in an utter living hell~!!!
[/b][/color]
~A Words Delight~
I’m in a reading frenzy I just can’t seem to stop,,,
Writing follows suit right down to the last ink drop,,,
If I don’t let this all out and take this all in, I feel as though
My head is going to explode like a ripened pimple pop,,,
It’s knowledge I readily crave that’s led me there, it’s knowledge
To share that’ll keep me here,,,
From a beautiful poem to a macabre love story, I’ll write until
My fingers cramp, blister and callus,,,
I’ve done this since age six and I don’t think I’ll ever stop,,,
If indeed I do, then you’ll know I’m six feet under or possibly
Even lost,,,
Words, words, words oh how I love them so,,,
The meanings are the delight of my brains chemical flow,,,
Verbs, nouns, adjectives, singular and plural they all tantalize my being
With such sweet and succulent delight,,,
I long to write day in and day out, and sometimes in my dreams
As well,,,
Words, words, words never let them go away, and if they ever did
Indeed I‘d surely be in an utter living hell~!!!
[/b][/color]
The moment I play with my pen
There are a lot out there who feel my game
A lot who appreciate what I spell
And a lot who still reward me with hate.
I have been doing this for three years now
Danced all the odds to own this crown
They bow down to me as I make them proud
I believe poetry one day will give me pounds.
The other side is filled with dirty emotions
Hating me on everything,crossing their portions
Man you haven't read even my poem that’s hollow
But u got the nerve to insult me even tomorrow.
I use my pen to become bigger and better
To belong to some place like DUP,where I will feel greater
This is my investment,my pride and my best half
A place all will enjoy,I provide like nectar.
This is the road and I see the end
What I must do is work each and every step
Hell yeah im proud to be the best
The greatest who came thanks to my pen.
There are a lot out there who feel my game
A lot who appreciate what I spell
And a lot who still reward me with hate.
I have been doing this for three years now
Danced all the odds to own this crown
They bow down to me as I make them proud
I believe poetry one day will give me pounds.
The other side is filled with dirty emotions
Hating me on everything,crossing their portions
Man you haven't read even my poem that’s hollow
But u got the nerve to insult me even tomorrow.
I use my pen to become bigger and better
To belong to some place like DUP,where I will feel greater
This is my investment,my pride and my best half
A place all will enjoy,I provide like nectar.
This is the road and I see the end
What I must do is work each and every step
Hell yeah im proud to be the best
The greatest who came thanks to my pen.
They talk hurtful words to my heart
Some people comments to me are just bad
I will fail huh? Because im just mad
I bet if they shall ever talk any good words.
I have been writing,writing and writing
Not giving a damn,they don’t fright me
All I want to feel is thunder and lighting
Poetry gives me the reason for smiling.
Raters have labelled me as the best
What I am waiting for is more sales
I am a poetry king,so I don’t care on your hate
As long as I win,I wont play haters games.
Powerful and strong and just getting bigger
I say anything am a renegade like Eminem and Jigga
Its a matter of time I will play with m,y figures
Bow down because im the new millennium Sin-bad.
Memoirs Of A Pen Killer
Pen I know I abused you for the better good
Drained you of your blood
Whatever the color black, blue, or red
Squeezed you dead
Your blood rushed out of your head
Onto the page
As I write in a rage
Just like your kin
Your family of pens
My murder spree begins
Once again
Paper is a witness
To the crime I've committed
Paper saw how I gripped your body
An iron clad grip not once was I sorry
Unapologetic, pathetic, poetic passion I guess
Took it out on you and blamed it on stress
Used you up till it was nothing left
I plead insanity for the cause of your death
I'm viewed as Adolph Hitler
Almost every poem I write is bitter
So another pen has to go to the graveyard
Buried in the trash life as a pen must be hard
I can only imagine
But still I have the passion
To assassinate more of your kind
To free up my mind
To clear my thoughts
Sometimes I get lost
Caught up in the act I sometimes overdo it
But I just can't help it, it flows so fluid
Just like your blood we call ink leaking out of your plastic vessel
Slamming you down on the page let's wrestle
Pin you down and move you around
Until your blood form words so profound
In order to astound
And amaze those who get a glimpse of the crime scene
Such an adrenaline rush I'm officially a fiend
I'm guilty of writing poetry in the third degree
Even with a confession I'm still walking free
Pen I know I abused you for the better good
Drained you of your blood
Whatever the color black, blue, or red
Squeezed you dead
Your blood rushed out of your head
Onto the page
As I write in a rage
Just like your kin
Your family of pens
My murder spree begins
Once again
Paper is a witness
To the crime I've committed
Paper saw how I gripped your body
An iron clad grip not once was I sorry
Unapologetic, pathetic, poetic passion I guess
Took it out on you and blamed it on stress
Used you up till it was nothing left
I plead insanity for the cause of your death
I'm viewed as Adolph Hitler
Almost every poem I write is bitter
So another pen has to go to the graveyard
Buried in the trash life as a pen must be hard
I can only imagine
But still I have the passion
To assassinate more of your kind
To free up my mind
To clear my thoughts
Sometimes I get lost
Caught up in the act I sometimes overdo it
But I just can't help it, it flows so fluid
Just like your blood we call ink leaking out of your plastic vessel
Slamming you down on the page let's wrestle
Pin you down and move you around
Until your blood form words so profound
In order to astound
And amaze those who get a glimpse of the crime scene
Such an adrenaline rush I'm officially a fiend
I'm guilty of writing poetry in the third degree
Even with a confession I'm still walking free
Anonymous
Head Cheese
The soft burn screams out my name:
a biting parade of ants encased in glass,
scorned muse woken up and shaken.
Already over, I'm late to the banquet
draped in silks
and richly possessed of purgatory.
Drink the wine.
It's voyage speaks of prim maxims
(and obscene fruit).
Eat, eat my love
and fatten your teeth;
the gilded pen is empty.
The soft burn screams out my name:
a biting parade of ants encased in glass,
scorned muse woken up and shaken.
Already over, I'm late to the banquet
draped in silks
and richly possessed of purgatory.
Drink the wine.
It's voyage speaks of prim maxims
(and obscene fruit).
Eat, eat my love
and fatten your teeth;
the gilded pen is empty.
