Underground-King

Write a poem about life as a underground poet,
The Min is 150 words, The Max is 890 words.
Who is the king, prove that you own the underground with the (WordsOfSpeech)Poetry Slam!!!

oh, pffff......  everyone is anyone.  here..here's a piece or two i wrote a year or so ago and never published until now...



the king of the poetry underground
has many fans he listens to intently.
they sing his praises, raise his banner,
push his throne as it slowly rolls to extinction.


...that was one, now here's the other:

the fans cry out, pleading to have their praises heard.
the prince of the poetry underground
will not hear them.

his father never wavered, never changed his way of playing the tune,
he craved the same-sung praises so.
he died with his reward, the Lord of His Dark Verses.

that is not the prince’s curse.

he ponders deeply every rhyme and style
into which he wanders,
lost in love awhile, with its bright young flame,
until he sees it flicker, sees its weakness flutter in the breeze,

and listens to the whispers of the new ways taking shape.

today they praise.  tomorrow they won’t be found.
an interested one will come, and sing and play along, and add some notes.
a new wave of guests will flow to the scene, flooding the prince’s halls,
and dance to the tune of a grand new delusion.
a million variations will drown the theme, and carry it, gleaming,
up the steps of the basement,
and slipping through the crack in the door, deposit it, gasping,
on the shore of the main stream.

--alright.  that's it.  do either of those qualify?  lol.

Not so much to prove I am the … " King of The Underground " …
but … maybe … why i'm NOT … JR … !!!

Never counted the words, but hey, why place restrictions on Creativity ?!?

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/73370-the-total-package/

and ….

Welcome to this site of … Underground Things & Poetic Writings….

Kings … ?

Well, let me know if you find one !

Both of ya'll did great and that's 785 words BigVirge but i'm a nice guy so ya'll can go past that if ya'll like.

Well alright then JR !!!

Whoa 785 eh … !!!
You counted, you're better than me man !!!

Bless !!!

Big V

-King of the Underground-

Weather it is above ground
Or below
A King is a King
And he shall bow to no one

A King rules with grace
He is at one with his people
Understanding their hearts and souls
As if they were apart of his own self

A true heir to the throne
Does not strife for what is already his
He follows his passion
Making connections with his subjects

But all in all
A King of the Underground
Cannot have anything to rule
He must possess nothing

Everything he is
Must be given to his Kingdom
That is the price
To be a true King of the Underground

thx lol BigVirge and thx for joining Pravus.

A Lack of Kings


Write some words of wonder
Or poems about faded highs.
The kings are all dead
They left DU to its demise.

Pretenders all to the throne
Call themselves the king;
And a poetic genius,
Isn't that an absurd thing?

The king's aren't in the building
Crafting out their art;
Yet the queens are all here
But cannot take part.

The trolls invaded the forum
Spreading hateful angry dissent
When down came permanent bans
But not before the kings all went.

The kings are all gone or dead
They left all they despised.
Only the lord and a few stayed
Is this how DU slowly dies?

"Underground ROYAL Requiem"



Lament and undo the phantoms brevity.
Slay and release the culprits of sobriety.

Standing atop this Tableaus of these frozen menageries.
I would see the gritting teeth of endless demonic
mercenaries.

Whittling the spoils of there splashes in the pan.
Recounting fleeting moments as pearls lost in endless sands.

While I traipsed onward into a forgotten seething underdark.
Where the minions I fought off and captured their darkness.
To ink them upon leathery toil and blood stained gory carcass.

Undoing their falling kingdom and proving that they lost the
rights of their former crown.  For their World stood in an infinite
silence.  I had drained their resurgent voices failing of any sound.

This triumph over such a wicked sinister kingdom.  Crushing it and
imprisoning it was its undoing.
It became my battered trophy placed upon my mantle.  For its
destruction finally paid for its legendarily gargantuan loathing.

******glitch...back in a moanment

BRRAZZZZberry TRUFFles


The king wears ripped hoes with bells and bows
Tucked in his jester's jockstrap.
He builds a dirigible light
For the underground wells o'erflow
With wasted woe and petty crap.
Who will board his flight
Into fancy? Who in his write mind
Will join his petting zoo which calls for new
Birth of mirth? Two of a kind,
The King and I, for we speak to few
Who will listen with ears big as mules'.
Our brew we sling with the brayvest of fools.

"Flea on a boar! Flee on a bore!
The king's in the queen's lap. Come, poetry whores!
Scrape gum under the throne if you chews to know more.
I call for mice to roar!"

Crumblebum curmudgeon keep bludgeoning that burgeoning prose
For all your foes. I'll not one barb throw
from my crown during your throes to honor your rants...
But perhaps the king will shoot you the moon
as in laughter he drops his pants.

Tie up the rulers, doubleknotting    
with the folly of imposed order      
     
Storm the walls, for its our castle    
and as we pillage the storehouse      
let's spoil what's extra      
in a homage to excess      
     
Roll out the guillotines      
so we can publicly castrate      
every last bit of inhibition      
and as our reservations    
explode like fireworks      
opening the nights sky      
let's dance as fallen angels      
in freshly found feet      
     
Make a joyful sound      
for our existence    
although forever    
is but fleeting      
     
You and I    
composed of stars      
feed on frenzy alone      
     
Beauty is a refracted by-product      
of our catastrophic electricity      
so, as the poets scurry for wording    
let's give them shadows      
to sift through

The King of the Romans lives underground in the Vatican

I ain't king of nuttin'.  I can tell you 'dis. There are some kings here. I ain't won. I ain't won a single fukkin' contest. How can you be an underground king without a single fukkin' trophy!!!  I don't wanna even try. When youse a king they steal shit from you. King's get shit stolen from them all the time. That's how the Romans got rich. I don't steal shit. Youse trying to trick me. Tricks I can do. I learned tricks from the Romans. You think Ima a village idiot???? Those fuckers live in catacombs! That's underground. Catacombs are deeeeeeep underground!!! They don't need trophies. All the king's are dead there!!!!

rM

So much and so good its going to be hard.

"Attila The Hun"


I’ve got a style like Attila The Hun and Godzilla—IN ONE!
The definition of militant in skill of the tongue,
Pillaging whole villages, villainous scum,
Dumb guerrilla...get rid of him, or give him a gun,
God, forgive him...disease is a key component,
It feeds a greed for opponents, and needed to keep focused,
I know you’ve seen it—I walk these streets like I own 'em,
And don't even need a reason to BRING IN KINGS, AND DETHRONE THEM!..
It's not grand-standing, if I'm a promise of quality,
The only madman who can give a god a lobotomy...
I'm an anomaly...living to tell a tale—
about giving Hell a democracy; spinning compelling prophecies...
That split seas, lift Jesus, and reach well into odysseys,
I’ve gotta be God, if not…it seems wrong,
‘Cause how can I be five-foot-nine…and KING KONG?
A righteous leprosy…I could never be trusted,
Hybrid of everything—that could NEVER BE FUCKED WITH,
Life is a legacy…mine will never be done with,
Right from pregnancy—I was meant to be judgement,
I’m your reckoning…THY SECOND COMING IS GUNSHIPS!
I was inevitable…there's no tolerating wack shit,
I’m just incredible—out there, depopulating has-beens,
Pack your shit, or back it up—either way, I'll bury you,
That passive shit ain't stacking up…Jesus came to carry you—
away from here...anywhere away from here—
except there's no escape from fear...
They built my throne from the bones of conquered opponents,
Can’t be killed by drone, snub-nose, monsters or cobras…
You’re gonna need a double-dose of stronger explosives,
You ain't got what it takes...verse for verse, I will murder you!
I am New London, motherfucker...I've never heard of you...

Copyright © 2013 Travis J Gibbs, The Ant1-Her0 Project