The Poem Thread.
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Fri Mar 14, 2003 @ 1:06am |
 Coolness: 144215 | It is a primal need for me to be woundingly honest
Sometimes it can hurt, it can be blue, so icy blue Even though it tortures myself, I owe to be sincere with the ones I appreciate. I want them to see straight into my heart the uncertainty Like a mirror reflecting the sentiments they stir up then slowly stifle I agree it is a pure act of selfishness and maybe a blind principle I want them to know the real me, the real me inside out I need them to accept me for who I am, inside and out If they don't like what they perceive on that dangling human mirror I just hope they'll have the strength to walk away without slamming the door |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Fri Mar 14, 2003 @ 2:08am |
| Coolness: 144215 | when you get what you wantin your struggle for self,
and the world makes you QUEEN for a day, just go to a mirror and look at yourself, and see what that girl has to say. for it isnt your father or mother or wife, who judgement upon you must pass, the fellow who's verdict counts MOST in your life, is the one staring back from the glass. she's the one you must please nevermind all the rest, for she's with you right up to the end, and you've passed the most DANGEROUS, DIFFICULT test, if the girl in the glass is your friend. you may fool the whole world down the pathway of years, and get pats on the back as you pass, but your final result will be the heartache and tears, if you've cheated the girl in the glass. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Fri Mar 14, 2003 @ 9:44am |
 Coolness: 148800 | She's got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories Where everything Was as fresh as the bright blue sky Now and then when I see her face She takes me away to that special place And if I stared too long I'd probably break down and cry She's got eyes of the bluest skies And if they thought of rain I'd hate to look into those eyes And see an ounce of pain Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder And the rain To quietly pass me by (OK so it's Sweet Child of Mine by Guns and Roses... sue me) |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» daFTWin replied on Fri Mar 14, 2003 @ 12:26pm |
 Coolness: 276420 | Roses are red
violets are blue Noeform is gay AND SO ARE YOU!  |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» clown replied on Fri Mar 14, 2003 @ 7:08pm |
 Coolness: 221750 | I TOLD YOU IT WENT IN THE POEMS SECTION!!! |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» AngryChinchilla replied on Sat Mar 15, 2003 @ 3:50pm |
 Coolness: 56045 | That's my verse
dispurses the worste curse as a person it hurts worse than the first version's privacy purse bursting I walk around the underground as a powerfull thundersound Wearing the low-down, pro-found, lyrical wonder-crown Advanced listening, wrestling with pressure expressions and step in as a special specimen fresher then freshmen Obvious overdosage it's coasted it over oceans with explosive post-its fly'er than your promotional posters Skillfully Killing Willfully drilling sylable spilling feeling really upsetable biting his edible stealing Walking around the planet Rocking the ground like Granite Cocking my sound cannon and stopping this sound famine Deliberate, Inconciderate, Ettiquite benefits Boligerant Spittin' shit like laxative excrement Dove in a frozen ocean fell low below both and the one chosen who rose exposed and a flowed erosion So nice that it's nasty So bangin' it's busting So sweet that it's sick So dope it's disgusting I lead an expedition invisoning competition in a prison when delivering withering rhyme littering Given a never endevoring ever clever however bringing it whether together or on solo feathers Sicker than liquor or medicine burning and blistering leave your life flickering quicker than strobes your tripping in The higher point, it's stylin'ointed with dildo delivery ointment or on a point thats like jointed presidential appointments Flashing full Fashionable Rational Lyrical Passion below grass the skulls burn in trash flows of white ash grow Belittling when little men living in oblivion try battling imagining that they're hyper than riddilin Simply deranged brain exchanged pain for gain rearranged a frame the strange plane patterns the slane Bigger, badder, and better than all of your golden chedder would spread in wind like medicine Men with ancient tribal lettering So nice that it's nasty So banging it's busted So sweet that it's sick So dope it's disgusting So sick sick sick sick so Sick-sick-sick-sick |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sat Mar 15, 2003 @ 4:23pm |
| Coolness: 144215 | that was dope |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Sat Mar 15, 2003 @ 6:45pm |
| Coolness: 148800 | je suis sur que ma femme me trompe
mais je tiens bon je me fais traiter de tous les noms mais je tiens bon je souris même si je suis triste je ne fait ques suivre la troupeau a travers les prairies ou les trains passent de plus en plus vite mais je tiens bon je tiens bon |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» flatlinedive replied on Sat Mar 15, 2003 @ 8:01pm |
| Coolness: 63890 | I fall away
coming undone So far away surreal shadows float before my eyes Burning myself away flame of my soul you consume me Ashes darken the sun I need no light I find myself in the night Twilight hovers wraps its arms around me call me I'll unravel in your arms so close to the edge I shatter Is that blood on your lips? |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sat Mar 15, 2003 @ 8:03pm |
| Coolness: 144215 | THAT was french boozay |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» PaT_ replied on Sat Mar 15, 2003 @ 9:28pm |
| Coolness: 116280 | Muffled sound of fist on flesh
Blows to chest No breath Air gasps You ain't nothing but white trash, bitch! With each hit, each kick, each...broken rib Crack, Crack! Bones are crying Mommy's crying and bleeding And pleading And then... Daddy wants to fuck Dick hard, swelled with power rush And as if all that wasn't enough Mommy's seven months heavy with birth As...Daddy grunts and cursed drunk nothings in her bloodied ear First...lullaby First...Son...will...ever...hear And never forget Mommy almost bled to death when she have him...finally She'd already lost...three Uterus-bruised, shredded, and weak >From being daily beat And Friday nights were the worse and... Daddy never came with flowers Instead he spent hours at some corner spot With some bar pop named Cookie Putting his thing down Soiling Mommy's sheets with... Sweet...talk shit, Cookie's cheap lipstick, Hair grease, sperm, and jezebel juice To hell with the good news that... He was a father for the first time His thirst for wine and women Clouded his vision... No warm welcome for mother and son Just... The rank smell of ass-crack, funk, and cum But Mommy's prayerful strength-her best defense She...burned the dirty linens Made a fresh bed Laid sleeping First Son down And never made a sound As she purged her scourge With birth-blood and quiet tears Watching as her fears and love and sacrifice Lie there in his soft skin and new life Breathing, dreaming, fresh from God's eye Mommy's little survivor Like...her Mommy called crazy and scorned 'Cuz she two more born One boy soon after The girl much later and... Although they were both sung the same lullabies of hate Her...First Son, the first one Whose...womb-world was profaned Came of age playing street games With Stewie, Rezzie, and Little Brother 'Till his heart start to wither In pain and shame Blamed Mom for the wrong she let Daddy do to her And him... Let...sins of the Father cause his Innocence to wander Found out amongst thieves Chose to squander his dreams Stopped believing in himself Become prodigal with his life Make impossible shit right with... Gang-ties, crime, lies Erase wise, woeful words of Mother Replaced them with absurdities of others Who had also lost their way Played a different kind of street game now First Son plunged deep Speak street-family vows Espouse no causes but his own See, he couldn't protect Mommy's neck from Daddy's grasp Or...protect Mommy's ass from Daddy's wrath Couldn't shield her ears from... Daddy's foul-mouthed, liquor-breath jeers His only defense-served be confidence Brown bottles housed his swift descent Phones called cops on block frequent for his shenanigans Now...Daddy and him twins in addiction Driven to false-hearted heavens and friends By liquefied demons Had become what he despised from Conception 'til End Destined for a demise Survived nine lives of staying high Conning, jewelry-pawning, arrests, theft Womanizing...only for money, never for sex Bullet in chest, baseball bat to the head Left for dead So, eyes wide and glassy Speech...slowed and slurred Lips twitched with caked-up codeine candy And mouth corners one December 24th Mr. Hide and False Friend Took final ride to suburban supplier Shots were fired by the gray man With shaky hand But not shaky enough to miss... Hit...Lost Boy in back So-called Friend runs for door Leaves First Son blood-born Lying alone in blood on cold floor Death was the cause of... Returning to Innocence Lost... Baby 'Sis awake for dawn on Christmas morn To Mommy's sobs and shakes Daddy's silhouettes of regret All past, omitted, and absolved by lost As they clung to each other Knowing... |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sun Mar 16, 2003 @ 12:04am |
| Coolness: 144215 | that was dope pat |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» PaT_ replied on Sun Mar 16, 2003 @ 2:20am |
| Coolness: 116280 | Artist: The Roots f/ Ursula Rucker)
Album: Things Fall Apart Song: Return to Innocence Lost |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» PaT_ replied on Sun Mar 16, 2003 @ 2:29am |
| Coolness: 116280 | Artist: The Roots f/ Ursula Rucker)
Album: Things Fall Apart Song: Return to Innocence Lost |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Sun Mar 16, 2003 @ 11:18am |
| Coolness: 148800 | No muscle man, no candy cane
No pack of sexy starving wolves No money talking, moonlight walking Lady shocking, big crow cocking Those ladybugs can go to blazes Here and there go pretty faces All of this don't mess my stuffing Only one thing got me huffing I'm jealous of your cigarette And all the things you do with it I'm jealous of your cigarette And the pleasure that you get from it And not me All this time your talking no No king, no prince with gold ring pinky I suggest that we do something kinky No pilot flying private plane To smooch you on the hills of Spain No catapult to all night kisses That old thing just always misses All of this don't mess my stuffing Only one thing got me huffing I'm jealous of your cigarette And all the things you do with it I'm jealous of your cigarette And how you wanna suck on it And not me All this time your talking no All this time your talking no I'm jealous of your cigarette |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sun Mar 16, 2003 @ 10:24pm |
| Coolness: 144215 | ok hawksley workman |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» Screwhead replied on Mon Mar 17, 2003 @ 3:17am |
 Coolness: 685575 | Roses are red
Violets are blue If I saw you in an alley I'd rape you |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Mon Mar 17, 2003 @ 10:06am |
| Coolness: 148800 | hawksley workman is a musical god! |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» Miss_Amanda replied on Mon Mar 17, 2003 @ 12:17pm |
 Coolness: 160530 | The Misled Youth
My soul is dead, my skin is torn My heart bleeds, my body's worn All hope is lost, the innocence is faded The child is gone, a mind that is jaded I take a pill to wash away the pain A numbing sensation is what I obtain I slit my wrists for some cheap feel The wound is deep, it will never heal I don't believe and I don't follow No looking forward to tomorrow I've lost myself, my taste for life every new day is clouded with strife I can't trust and I can't hope With this pain I can no longer cope I pretend to be strong, to swallow my tears I try to go on, haunted by my fears I'm not the only one, there's others like me It's sad that that's the way it has to be A growing reality, the misled youth of today There's no turning back, we've lost our way |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Mon Mar 17, 2003 @ 4:56pm |
| Coolness: 144215 | 2000 years ago we were all tribal.
Then came the missionaries with their fucking bible. 1492 began the termination. The holocaust of our Indian nation. Yeah with Christian love and a moral authority, They killed our medicine men and stole our country. I never claimed this shit was poetry, It's just the fucking lies of Christianity. You will pray to the lord and get down on your knees. Here's a cross for your back and the coughing disease. Though you helped us survive we will laugh while you bleed, Then deny what we did, write our own history. We will kidnap your children and cut off their hair. Silence their language and outlaw their prayers. Beat them blind until they believe In the blood of Jesus Christ our king. Christians murdered Indians. Columbus murdered children and now we have a holiday. Still you want to deny your history? Look to the sky for your god to justify, As you commit cultural genocide. Christians came and the natives they did hang 13 at a time for Jesus and his gang. We are the ones you had to dehumanize, So your murder and greed could be justified. The belly of the church is full With the blood of all those heathen fools. Who would not receive the gift of Christ? So we burned them as a sacrifice. To our baby killing god above, To our mother church and all her love, We will steal their gods and subjugate. Those who don't believe we'll annihilate. "The Spaniards made bets as to who could slit a man in two or cut off his head with one blow. They tore babies from their mother's breast by their feet and dashed their head against the rocks. They hanged Indians by thirteen in honor and reverance for their redeemer and their twelve apostles. They put wood underneath and with fire burned the Indians alive." Christians murdered Indians. We believe in the earth, the sky and dreams. The universe and the creator who gave us these. The sacred gift of life and human beings. That makes you perpetrate the hate to annihilate. So here I am the savage civilized. Voice of the dead and my ancestor's cries. And like the ghosts of this land you can't erase, I see blood on the hand's of the master race. 500 years of manifest destiny. 500 years of manifest destiny. 500 years of manifest destiny. 500 years of resistance to the enemy. You have faith in the rivers, the mountains, the trees. We've a murdering god to replace all of these. With the blood of forgiveness you too can be free. Or the wrath of Jehovah you're sure to receive. We will baptize you with the blood of the lamb. With the sword and the gospel we will conquer your land. You will join our church and be glad to be saved. Or we'll slaughter your children and your women we'll rape. Christians murdred Indians. I see blood on the hands of the master race. -corporate avenger |
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