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Details | Urban Poem | |

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM



Details | Urban Poem | |

Are There Any of Us Left

The cruel streets I walked made me sad
I looked not at him, nor at her
Those who passed me by, gutter grads
I felt at home among the curs
We were outcasts from hearth and home
Over the land our kind did roam.

Looking here and then searching there
As many as stars in the sky
By foot, by car, sometimes by air
We wanted to understand why
We couldn't go back where we'd been
Burned our bridges and that's a sin.

Some were poets within their hearts
A killer or two in the crowd
And some were like me; a la carte
Doing what it took to be proud
Some chased women, some ran from them
And in the melee some lost a gem.

I sit here writing words of mine
Wondering how many are left
Who write words and sell for a dime
I have escaped death's cold, cold theft 
I have fought the fight and I've won
I'm old yes, but I've just begun 

Details | Urban Poem | |

Granny Panty Annie, the Tranny

Lemme tell ya' about a
*ding-bat skit-zo 
bee-hotch* tranny
named Annie...

I met her one night 
under disco lights 
up at Candies

She was 
starin' at me
grittin' her teeth
aimin' ta' see 
if I wanted a piece
of he 
OR
of she 
by way of flashin' granny panties

She was
shootin' pool
actin' a fool
so I 
took a shot
and one tiny glance 
but got caught

So I
lit up a smoke
and tried to play it off cool
but it was too late
she had pulled up a stool

She slurred,
"Hey young felluh, where ya' been all my life!"

I replied, 
"Sorry to burst yir' bubble, but I got a wife!"

"That don't matter kid, what she don't know won't hurt the girl" 
as she fisted my collar and yelled, "I'LL ROCK YIR' WORLD! Annie the Tranny is what they call me. Bet you been wanted ta' bone me since you first saw me!"

Fear and frustration danced on my face
I begged the bouncer to 
"Get this he/she outta the place!"

My pleas were to no avail, 
and that sea donkey lurked hot on my trail
flailin' it's arms and grindin' bar stools with it's tail

Speakin' of tails...
a shiny blue wale tail crept up her back
Her jeans were mean, but couldn't hold her underwear's elastic slack
but at least it beat feastin' eyes upon her crack
then she... 
wrapped her grimy hands around my neck and asked, 
"You n' me, boy, what the heck!?!"

I screamed,
"Look here lady, you seem real nice for a tranny;
but...
ya' see...
ya' need 
to hit the bricks,
you
and yir' Granny Panties!"

At that point the joint started to really heat up
people were glarin' like they really wanted me beat up
I can't recall how the hell I got out of there 
alive and free
it was like a big manly freight train
headin' dead at me

I'm pretty sure I owe the good Lord a big favor
that beast was the devil
and Jesus was my Savior!

It's a night I thought would never end... 
the night at Candies Bar n' Grill
Granny Panty Annie got a thrill 
tryin' to make me her sexy friend!!!




Details | Urban Poem | |

Shawty Got Swag

$hawty Got $wag
Shawty got swag, Shawty mad dope. Face all cheesin’, She real turned up. Goin’ to da club, She steppin' wit her peeps, Lookin’ so ratchet, She’s straight up hoochie.
No racks in her pocket, No stacks in her wallet, But she all into bubbly Slurpin’ and burpin’. Lookin for a big baller, Who’ll give her wat she wants, Wildin’ on the dance floor, Tweakin’ an’ freakin’, Shawty actin' so cra cra! She just like da rest a dem, But Shawty real fly, Sure likes a lotta ice, Bling bling, and Benjamins.
Shawty creepin’ to hook up Coz she needs a boo wit finesse, Who’ll give her Yves St. Laurent, 5-star hotels, and 5-star restaurants. Shawty off the chain, Shawty off the hook, She got game and she’s aight! Shawty da bomb - fuh real!!!
Entered in contest “Ebonics – Let’s Do Some Slang" sponsored by Verlena S. Walker (8-18-2014). Some Terms and Definitions: shawty – a young attractive female; dope – cool, nice, awesome; swag – style; turn up – excited; mad – really a lot; peeps – friends, close pals; baller – a thug that made it in the big time; racks/stacks– lots of money; aight – alright; wildin’– to go crazy, acting out of control; cra cra – crazy; tweakin’/freakin’ – dancing provocatively and moving around out of control; cheesin’ – smiling; finesse – man who has swag and can spend a huge amount of money; ratchet – ghetto diva; creepin’ – sneaking about; bubbly – champagne; bling bling – expensive flashy jewelry; Benjamins – hundred dollar bills; boo – one’s lover; da bomb – the best of the best; game – skills; ice – expensive flashy jewelry usually diamonds or jewelry with diamonds; off the chain/off the hook – excellent, fantastic, awesome; fly – cool, in style; hook up – getting together with someone romantically; hoochie – a female who dresses trashy; straight up – absolutely, really.

Details | Urban Poem | |

Exit 7b

1.
they say everything here is
somewhere in the middle of the road
where names get bleached and keys forget about their doors
and there is something we should dig our coated nails into; 
the layers of regret and anger
that our mothers tell us to peel off 

2.
but the sun bakes us too hard and rancid
laying down on styrofoam mattresses
where someone pokes their thumbs through the plastic
watching nothing but empty bubbles reflecting
and life is faded, glossy pages of a magazine
with a worn bar stool with cigarette burns thrown in between

3.
and we all carry this restless, tormented beauty 
that gets up and leaves
as soon as they say
it will settle down 


© Gry W Christensen

Details | Urban Poem | |

The Carcasses

The Carcasses Their shells remain Picked clean by hungry vultures Ravenous with greed. Gouged-out eyes Now bare hollow sockets Vacant in their stare. Morsels of choice parts Deftly stripped or torn away— And gutted vitals Furtively devoured, Have filled the wanton needs Of scavengers who shared the feast. One carcass rests Flat on bony frame Supported once by plump, round legs On which it mightily ran. There they lie— Those brittle, empty shells— The poor, abandoned clunkers— On the Harlem River Drive. Sandra M. Haight December 10, 2014 Contest: East Jesus Sponsor: Roy Jerden Theme Based on Photo

Details | Urban Poem | |

GOOD NIGHT PRETORIA

The sun kneels to kiss the 
skyscrapers
The Darkness floats above like 
clouds
And those homeless become 
accidental campers
Setting their plastic beds on the 
cold flours

These black concrete rivers
Flood with moving lights
And its banks are swarmed 
With men who’s faces lulled 
Locked in deep thought

As the night ages once more
Laddies emerge from the 
Corners of the streets
Clothed with nothing but 
desperation and despair
As they seek an audience with 
men of matrimony,
They sway their hips fishing 
them to their cause 

Good night Pretoria, the city of 
dreams.

Details | Urban Poem | |

Juicy Kaboosey


her derriere in the air high eyes wearing out
Than-Bauk written for Rick Parise's contest

Details | Urban Poem | |

Urban Forest

  All I hear are sirens echoing off tall buildings; a drunk man ranting, a prostitute looking for her next trick, a drug addict looking for his next fix. Young teenage kids who seem to have just learned the art of curse. A young couple fist fighting in the streets---more sirens.  A homeless man pan-handling, picking up cigarette butts and smoking a hole into his neck, gum pushed deeper into concrete marked blacker with every step. All I hear are sirens and I say a little prayer for the person in the back. Trains and boats chiming in the distance, a stray cat limping into an unknown existence...must be nice to have nine lives! Yet, all I hear are sirens in this concrete urban forest, where trees are replaced with buildings and cars are the only waves I hear, street lights in place of the stars, sirens in place of the wind. 

   I close my paper eyelids tight, i can hear in this concrete urban forest of man-nature, for a glimpse, a stolen second in time, the sound of Mother Nature...she still sings and she's crying. She's crying for the people in the back of all those sirens. She cries for her bush the drunk man urinated on; the puddle of blood collecting on her blades of grass that a young man drew from his womans lips. She cries for her branch the teenage kids snapped for fun. She's crying - Mother Nature - is crying, because man - nature takes her place. In this concrete urban forest...all I hear are sirens and I close my paper eyes; i try to reach out and steal the tear off of - Mother Nature's - face. All I hear are sirens and im saddened, man-nature takes her place.

Details | Urban Poem | |

Streaking at the Mall

Eddie went to the mall full of spunk
He was always real proud of his junk
While taking a leak
Decided to streak
Suzie yelled, “Mommy, he has a trunk”

Details | Urban Poem | |

Myself in Urban Chaos

Here I go again, focused on myself.
Remembering, analyzing,
Memorializing tragedy.
Thinking, endless thinking.
Suicides, death of grandmas, past loves.
Pining about passions and losses.
The condo I had to let go.
The jobs I left behind.
And the cemetery lots.
My mind wonders around in circles.
From darkness to darkness, city to city,
Job to job, decision to decision 
My children, I embrace with love.
Those years riddled with joys and pains.
Trying, always trying, 
Yet, still disappointed.
Clinging to religion, remembering God.
Accepting –
Then, the child in me curls up
Safe in my warm cocoon,
And I think of you in the next room.
Life made new, fear subdued.
The touch of your hand, my confidence renews.
That forever love so long wanted, found at last.
The pressures I once knew moved to the past.
To the outside world I say adieu.
I was lost in the hollow of myself.
Outside of myself, I found peace. 
Memories blot out urban chaos
And focus on woodland happy days.
Struggles not so painful anymore.
Peace found its hope in you.
…And then, we spoon.

Copyright January 15, 2014

Written for Poetry Soup member contest: Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande in Contemporary Free Rhyme Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan.

Inspired by Stephanie Deshpande’s portrait of a Sleeping Child http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/

Details | Urban Poem | |

Blood upon Pages

As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla 
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner 
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams 
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun

Details | Urban Poem | |

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite
I wish we can all die from old age
Life is a book death is the last page
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light

The ignorance of temptation makes desire feel right
Though roses have thornes you thirst to own one
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite

The ones who survive, though gutsy, remember the fright
Be it luck or having blessings from one
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light

Children dive to safety as brids take flight
This affair is normal to some
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite

The young are hard-head, and the elders are right
Live by the custom die by the gun
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light

And to you, my brother, I pray you stay strong
Life is a book, may your pages be long
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Nite
Brave, be brave against the dying of the light.

Details | Urban Poem | |

----OCCUPY: The Soup -------


Infuriated by greed
so we Occupy city streets
tired of being lied to 
divided by tyranny 
of the Elites
sickened by offshore banks 
ran by gangs 
known as the Fed
while political infidelity 
shakes the White House bed

What happened to the basic foundations 
for which this nation was built?
maybe the people’s aggravations 
will identify our leaders’ guilt

No justice lies within this 
“heads they win; tails we lose”
so now we take a stand 
against their scam
because we’re through with the abuse

Details | Urban Poem | |

Little Coffee House

Little Coffee House 

It’s the coffee counter line-up
A conveyor belt of people 
Ready for their little treat
A little piece of comfort
From their favorite beanery
I strum as I watch them 
My guitar like an old friend
They should say hello to -
But they never do 
   
Little Coffee House
My band’s playing for you
But what do you do
You just want want want your cups
Your little coffee mugs
So move up to the front

Funky-spiked hair dude
Jokes with the worker
He leans on the counter
(I think that he likes her) 
But people are waiting
And he’s hesitating
So all the shoe tappers  
Start to harass him -
Hurry up and pick one fast

Little Coffee House
We’re playing for you
But what do you do
You just need need need your cups
Your little coffee mugs
And that little coffee buzz  

I look around the room
There’s a girl in a red shirt 
Looking out of the window 
She sips on a latte -
I think she’s an artist
She lays out her sketchbook
But she doesn’t start to draw 
She turns to face the wall –
What are we doing wrong?

We don’t have to be inspiration
But how ‘bout entertainment?
Are we a distraction?
I can’t help but asking 
Are we an invasion 
Of the air?

Little Coffee House
We’re playing for you
But what do you do
You just sip sip sip your cups
Your little coffee mugs
Not listening to us

There’s a man on a laptop
There’s a girl reading Sherlock
There’s a guy on a cell phone
A boy eating Jell-O 
I want them to look up
If they’d look up they’d see us
Are we so bad we should shut up?
Because I feel like we just suck -
I feel like we’re not even here
We’re jamming 
To inattentive ears 

Oh Little Coffee House
I feel I’m at a loss
We’re playing here for you
But what do you do
Your busy coffee mouths
Keep sippin’ till it’s out
If only you’d listen
You’d hear what you’re missin’
We’re not
Just another gig 
Someday, we’ll make it BIG

Sip sip sippin’ cups
Those little coffee mugs
Sip ‘em till they’re out
Little Coffee House



Details | Urban Poem | |

The Urban Battlefield

(The final utterance and testament
of a fallen comrade. Belfast 1979)

He
never knew
till he laid there naked.
(A withering heap of travesty.)
How blue the sky
how green the grass,
each tiny blade reminiscent
of a gentle touch from a bygone age.
Each wound on fire,
yet a confound complement
to a burning passion
of a love he was about
to leave behind.
He
saw formidable clouds
begin to threaten
the moment,
yet gently
refreshing droplets
tantalize the mood,
blend with a body
and it’s blood, before
washing a mind
free of it’s pain
forever!

Details | Urban Poem | |

Battle of the words

Bravery is the father of fears
Dreams are distant cousins of nightmares
Hope is the sister of prayers
Every night shame lays down and gets screwed by despair
Pollution abuses Mrs. atmosphere
It's a battle between personality and reality 
But obviously nobody cares
Maybe it's because big tough is the uncle of little scared
Planning is deeply in love with prepared
Procrastination is the biggest enemy of determination
Ignorance is jealous of realization
Sometimes strength can get sneak attacked by temptation
Silence can never defeat a great proclamation
When the brain disagrees with the heart
The body dies of complications


Love your self...



Details | Urban Poem | |

Dreaming an Electric Reality

Late at night 
    hearts pounding 
heads in the stars
   Three young me 
head over to the local diner 
   Their bodies are in one place 
 but their souls are somewhere else 
    The cloak of night surrounds them 
As they journey to their destination 
   Laughing out loud 
 They light up the darkness
In this Unreal City 
    the taste of unreality
may be just what is needed 
  Auto lights are reflected 
on the asphalt 
    The asphalt homeland 
where these youths 
    are living out their fantasies
and enjoying laughter 
   The laughter of youth

Details | Urban Poem | |

Purple Flowers of my Adolescence

     Purple flowers of my 
adolescence
   Gone now - gone forever
  Outside my window 
young girls play hopscotch
Taxis whizz by 
Young lovers embrace
   Getting lost in the humming metoroplis 
is a good way to eliminate angst
The biblical three score and ten years
is not that felxible
    Purple flowers of my adolescense
Gone now - gone foerver
   Still I see images of them at times
in the eyes of certain strangers

Details | Urban Poem | |

blood transfusion




Details | Urban Poem | |

Secretly Obsessed

Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head

Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much

I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I 
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care

I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that 
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos 
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust 
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....






Details | Urban Poem | |

SHINING

     SHINE"ING"

        Shining with my lively smile,
  keeps you in denial with my G-Q style.
  You say it's murder, I say it's a mistrial.
    You misapperehend me to not understand me!
              I can sell ice to a eskimo,
      fire to the devil that lives down below.
         I'm the tower with the infernal powers,
            shining with infinite brightness,
              causeing definitely blindness!
                  I wanna be rich *****!
           Thats why I keep the gun at my hips!
                      My lips soft as silk,
                   body as smooth as milk.
              Your addicted to the way I spit,
              I'm a convict held in comtempt.
                Your baffled by my ego,
                but it just the principal!
                       I'm shine"ing"
         I'm a dependant of the money I make,
             and addicted to the abuse I take,
             prosecuted for the way I think!
             I'm the air that fills your lungs,
      I'm that pill you take when you have a headache.
 Solid as my body that naturally retains the same shape.
            The illest part of my personality,
                   is the identity of me!
          The diversity of being in the streets,
              is truly the best part of me!
                       I'm Shining

Details | Urban Poem | |

RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC

HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
SO TIRED OF THESE CITY STREETS
FUMES EXHAUST AND NOISE NEVER ENDING
HAVE I LOST IT
WELL THATS PENDING
GO AHEAD CUT ME OFF
TAKE THE RIGHT OF WAY
GO AHEAD FLIP ME OFF
CANT BE NICE TODAY
HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
ANOTHER MORNING COMMUTE
ONE IS RUDE AND RECKLESS
AND THE REST MUST FOLLOW SUITE
HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
THEY ALL LOOK OH SO PISSED
MUST BE RUDE AND RECKLESS
HUMMM GUESS THATS A MEMO THAT I MISSED
HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
JUST WANNA GO BACK TO BED
HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
LOOK OUT YOU STUPID CREEP!
THIS TRAFFICS MESSING WITH MY HEAD
BUT STOP DRIVING LIKE THAT OR WE'LL ALL BE DEAD
HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
ONE IS DOING HER MAKEUP
APPARENTLY WITH HER FEET
ANOTHER IS ON THE PHONE
WISH I COULD TURN THIS CAR AROUND
AND HURRY RIGHT BACK HOME
WELL ITS NEARLY FIVE OCLOCK
BACK IN THE CAR
TIME TO ROCK
HONK HONK BEEP BEEP
CANT WAIT TO TAKE A BATH AND GO TO SLEEP

Details | Urban Poem | |

Boxed Life--She Sleeps with a Nine

Boxed Life

She sleeps with a nine
waits for his face
his distant return
too close
looming

A tragic slime
smooth stranger
smoother lover
pried into her life
obsessed
frantic
impossible to reject

she lives 
twisted
a boxed life
pulled by strings
too tight

An explosion is inevitable
the storm's coming
and she knows it
so she sleeps with a nine
and waits for his face


Details | Urban Poem | |

San Francisco Fete - Co-authored with Thvia Shetley

Cornices, and Gargoyles with eyes turned low,
hold fast the passing in a frozen stare
as slow vapor rising from vents below
is churned by soles into thick city air.
 
Undeterred, the well-heeled leather bottom
wingtips fly past sandaled sloths at crosswalks
while clicking heels kick dead leaves of autumn
and wind their way through crowded city blocks.
 
Just above a breezy sidewalk café,
sheer fabric wafts a low-loft window sill,
two pair of empty vamps and laces lay,
removed in shameless haste and lustful will.
 
Beneath the sheets, a naked feet affair,
entwined, aligned, with dreamy souls laid bare.


Michael F. Lewis and Thvia Shetley
3/6/2013