Long poem by
Jorn Kolding | Details |
I am a virgin slammer,
Let me get that over with,
So if I stammer and speak like a bludgeoning hammer,
Let the record be clear: I’m just trying to go with this.
So I won’t walk the walk or talk the talk,
I may even stain the sheets while I am at it,
A crimson red outpouring of moonshine soup you best delete.
This isn’t going to be easy, I am feeling downright queazy,
Who do I pretend to be today?
How many second meanings should I hide behind?
Should I show my behind to get the right effect? Or be that disrespect?
Elloweeeze Eloise where are you, I need your attitude, right now,
Get your little sass into my face so I can pull this off with urban grace.
Second meaning by the way is not like second base..
It’s more like you understand that I understand that you understand what I understand,
Which is a very non-poetical way of saying you don’t get it.
Nah, you don’t.
Woaaa, I don’t like this tone or where this is going,
Better to slam this casket shut,
Close it man, bury it
This storm ain’t gonna get blowing,
Not enough to sack Rome with at least,
Chill down a bit, let it sit, slow, slow, slow, down
Into another town I must go,
Find another weather pattern,
Let it snow.
By the way, I didn’t finish my thought about second base,
Didn’t quite tie that one in,
So let me try to do something about that,
Fear, dust…. ? Oh, I lust…
By way of second meaning I will show you where its at,
You see (no you don’t) second base is not like second meaning
Because (I don’t mean to lecture you my faithful reader just stay with me
Together we shall taste victory)
Because… well just because (by the way I feel a buzz)
Because while second base is halfway to home second meaning
Is as far away as you can get from home,
At least the kind of home where your mommy and daddy live.
Oh, your mommy and daddy….
Or where doggies and kitties roam.
Don’t touch the cute doggy, its gonna bite you..
You see, second meaning is like dreaming,
Of worlds and words that get to go streaming,
Carried down a river, right smack into a gaping verbal liver,
On the other side of this metaphorical ride,
You can take what once was and use it to deride.
Did I make that clear, my teary-eyed poet little dear?
Am I filtering things enough for you?
So let’s get back to business and draw up another plan,
No diversions this time, I’m gonna be a man now,
The big poet man, destroy what I can,
That’s right, that’s what I am,
A big poet human flotsam sack of feathery fluff,
Whose gonna huff and puff and blow this safe-house down,
Into the ground
And bury all you living poets under a mound,
Of toothpaste carrion and jelly-shaking deception.
What kind of reception do I expect?
Less than lukewarm I suspect,
This is a virginal conception after all, I am untouched you know,
Pure, white, light innocent snow,
Falling, slow, slow, slow,
Upon fertile land that has known no plow,
I feel a seizure… wouldn’t you know
ZZZZZsurprise, Johnny is back,
Let us pick up the slack, slam a knife in your poet back,
Have some fun, take out my horny verbal gun,
Do a zig-zag flyby, grab you by the wings, count your balls,
Watch as you fall
Into the bottle you go
(better to have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy) - that’s a quote “quote”
And that was all you wrote my little friend,
Buzz, buzz, buzz
What a killer buzz….
Did I tie in lust?
Well, if you have my trust,
I will get back to you on that one.
My girl in little red shoes, I will bring you news,
And tell you who I AM.
Long poem by
Emma Kalliway | Details |
I am not going to deny that i love my Starbucks
and im not going to deny that i think i look awesome in my leggings and ugg boots
and i am sure as hell not going to tell you that i dont have an unhealthy attachment to my iphone
and i am not going to tell you that the first thing i think of when i see a terrble storm isnt 'awww cuddle weather'
i am also going to tell you that i love my starbucks
because i was a rehearsal until 1 am last night
and im going to tell you i think i look asesome in leggings and boots
because i dont have time or energ for real cloths
and i am going to tell you that i have an unhealthy attachment to my iphone
because i have to text my father everyday t o tell him i love hime because i cant tell him in person
and i am going to tell you that the second thing i think of when i see a terrible storm is
man i sure wish i could be with my siblings they are proably freaking out
at first glance
lk all the rest of us whte chicks
i look like the average white girl
who had everything in her life handed to her
and i am not going to deny that i had everything handed o me
but whe ni say eberything i mean everthing
i dont just mean the things i want
because while i wa handed
a houses infact multiple houses to live
i was also handed
and razors i used to cut my wrists
When i was born a cacasion femail
society peggd me
and hen i grew older i foundout i was white chick
and when i grew older i thought i should probably figure out what white chicks was
so i wrote myself, or copied den societys definition of
an girl born in an urban sociaty and given countless things she is ungratefull for and oppertunities she is to stupid to take. girl who is more concerned with her apearence and what people think of her than if she is healthy or malnirshed
girl who calls herself things she so she can get complimentsbecause she relies on other approval of her to think she has self worth
and see, when i didnt fir that definition
i thought something was wrong with me
i thought wow i am relly letting society down
i thought i was different
and i was'nt
because h=there was basing my self worth on what sociaty thought of me.
see and then i learned
that different is okay
in fact better than okay
in fact different is great
in fact better than great
i have learned that different is the best!
because diversity makes things interesting
and individuality is beautifull
and expressing individuality is gorgous
and its amazing to be and love yourself
because self is the first word in
which i have learned must be based on you and not what society makes you out to be.
so i have decided
i am a white girl
i am a white chick
i am a cocasion femial
iand i am my self
and i am ot anything more
and i sure as hell am not going to ever let anything make me anything less
i love my
and i love my self!
and i feel cool for being different
and i feel great for being myself
and i feel awesome in my leggings and ugg boots
and my own in skin
becasue according to myself
shich my self worth is based on
Long poem by
Paul Powell | Details |
I am not perfect I am not a saint
I have my vices my loves my hates
I am human flawed not unlike most of humanity
I can admit to this quite openly
I cry at times, I laugh equally as much one can see
I'm very much happy complacent relaxed I try to be stress free
Any problems in my life are minuscule yes I compare
To the struggles of others everywhere
Friends who've lost family members the stabbings knives carried by young boys
Those around me still suffering silently their friends don't even know
Why can't it be like the old days
Fisty cuffs no knives or gun play
I strive to be better I move forward I analyse
I wish so much suffering would disappear I hate hearing the cries
I've found purpose in my life I just have to hold on learn not to let go
I was for the longest time a lost soul
empty with so little to show
I now see much clearer so brightly for me the road is lit
I now know my purpose in life & I'm so elated with this
the energy that flows surrounds me
the positive force
I feel alive spirits lifted at last I am free
What the future holds for me I do not know
But where it seems to be leading me I am compelled to follow
Blessed I feel yes blessed be
If I have continual inner happiness I can help others to be like me
Much calmer more clarity I think deeply I analyse
I'm writing these words cos I've truly opened my eyes
Yes one can have ones eyes open but can one truly see
Yes I surely can because as i said earlier I've been set free
I am not bound to the world I don't worship material gain or worldly needs
I have my life my health my inner strength I want to succeed
No darkness surrounds me but so much positive I can't complain
try not to let negativity bombard & disrupt ones brain
Well to be me not perfect Flawed disorganised I do try
To make myself better so happy am I
When you're reading this please i want you to understand
I am moving forward il make myself a better man
So to all I offer my positive energy
Take some I don't mind
but leave me a little yes I'll be fine
I draw this to a close it has soon reached its end
I've found my calling my purpose from now to my life's end
I know what I am now but in the future what I'll be
I'll be ascended I will fly yes I believe this to be
I'll help others selflessly as much as I can
and those that know me already will truly understand
I love this fact the changes slowly I see
i know it won't be instant, ke se rah what will be
My eyes speak the truth honesty in my words
Extra extra read all about it I will not be deterred
from the path that I've been clearly set for me
Unburdened ill head towards light & get to where I want to be
Where that is yet not so clear but the signs are there it shows
All I know it's a wondrous happy place, a place to learn be enlightened I know
I am ready to take this journey I am so ready to grow
So let me get on this mission a challenge I'm sure
It's my life I intend not to hold back anymore
I'm seeing life more clearly now i am free content happy, I will soar &I'm ready to fly xxxx
Da Predman powriginalpoems2make u :)
the urban poetry collection
Long poem by
LATARSHA GRANDBERRY | Details |
A Woman’s Worth
When she walks in the room
she wants people to stop and stare
not because they’re whispering…
what she got on girl, what’s up with that hair?
But because she looks good, conservative and chic
looking her best from head to feet
she knows the spiked heels and look at me blouse
will make all the men become aroused
she knows that look would make conditions tense
but how she’s dressed builds confidence
she doesn’t do loud make-up, green hair or tight skirts,
if you don’t know, how will anyone else know your worth?
Not trying to be Nicki Manage,
never putting on a fascad
being original, still blending in
all because she’s good in her own skin
She looks pretty
and carries herself well,
clothes should hide
what only time should tell
When a man calls us out of our name
boy, do we get offended
Aretha told us the Rule of R-e-s-p-e-c-t
It’s usually us that bend it
Wearing anything to work,
any and everything to church
talking that ghetto talk
walking that ghetto walk
telling your friends, girl, he don’t respect me
your friends telling you that you save nothing to see
Asking him out first
Not knowing your worth
You didn’t give him a chance
giving all of yourself on a one night stand
sitting there wondering why he didn’t call
now you’re starting to feel about 2 feet tall
think back, yall never took the time to ask for number and name
now you’re feeling so ashamed
It wasn’t your smile or your smarts that got you here
that drink, you didn’t think
Oh, is that a tear?
Men respect us based on how we think of ourselves
they measure us on what our body tells
what is your body telling?
that you have something you’re selling?
there’s so much you can tell with your body
you don’t have to be revealing to be a hottie
besides, I have daughters and they’re watching me
I try to always give them something beautiful to see
what are we teaching our little girls?
that our bodies will further in this world?
the answer to that question is no
the BIBLE says train a child in the way they should go
what we need to understand as women we deserve respect
but sometimes what we give is what we usually get
when most men see a woman in low -cut shirts, short skirts and high heels
to him you’re worth about as much as a happy meal
if I’m a meal, I’m Crème Brouleé , Beluga Caviar, Laute Truffle Chocolate, with 1945 Chauteau Vintage wine,
That’s who I am all the time
Be who you are,
can’t be me, I’m taken
If you think you can live as someone else
you’re sadly mistaken
I’m a woman every week,
365 days a year
I don’t clock out
I wanna make that clear
Ok, sometimes I can joke and be crazy,
but I never forget that I’m a lady
so girls, get it right,
you can stay on your grind
FOR A REAL WOMAN IS A WOMAN FOR REAL AT ALL TIMES
Long poem by
Odin Roark | Details |
X Continues Marking Many Spots
by Odin Roark
Anonymous living suits many,
gypsy fever of the brain.
Seldom hiding in the shadows,
the glare of klieg-light attention
forever glares upon responsibility,
a disease to many,
a growing malady for most,
a welcome invitation to others.
Even back then,
the waking age,
at least for this X,
a miscreant not even aware,
experience was about
to render raw and tender the face.
The vengeance proffered
gloriously fait accompli,
needing not the klieg light focus,
better mere awakening
by simpler means
a few beers,
This '56 student of students,
bathed in the drenching of
damned near drowning
in flailing need to see
This was education,
from cult religious dogma,
not offered in Aristotelian mode.
Here X was,
always at the Plaza screens,
or the Waverly,
X along with some buddy Y's and Z's
exited the art houses and made their way,
to the Russian Tea Room.
Saved up rations of money…
more Black Russians,
the world as we discovered it,
not the world as professed
All around us.
life seemed somehow more real
not caked over with candied syrup
like American’s urban seduction.
Oh how we longed
to be part of it…
But more important,
discover what it was all about,
that for many
Was but professed by a God.
Those were times,
where peeling away the facade
was so delicious,
while we got wasted.
Along about 2 AM
Columbus Circle Books.
Sit on the floor,
thumb through 25 cent paperbacks,
always a Nietzsche,
a dog-eared Menninger,
a used Baldwin,
treasures we could afford.
We had to careful to save enough
for the subway.
The X Y's and Z's hugged,
kissed with manly disregard,
we didn’t care who was watching.
We were happy.
We were learning.
We were happening.
X dragged his weary ass up
the 4 flights
screwed back in the light bulb
old man in 4f always unscrewed,
figuring no one's gonna rob
a dark floor.
to this day.
He was wise.
My first introduction to street cred
in spite of his oldness.
Sunday New York Times,
Learning the hard way.
Long poem by
Hitendra Mehta | Details |
India, my motherland best as any mother
To me, at par with best world over
India's invention of Zero and Decimal
Critical to scientific calculation, invention
Rich ancient culture of Harappan civilisation
Alexander, Babur, too could not resist invasion
Founder of Diverse religions,
Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism
Himalayas, abode of Saints, spiritual Mantra
Holy rivers Ganga, Yamuna, Bhramaputra
Multi-culture, cuisine, languages - local, foreign
Muslim, Christian, Zoroaster, secular terrain
For centuries borne Moghuls, British slavery
Now successful largest Democracy
Greats - Gandhi, Vivekananda, Mahavir, Buddha
Sacred texts - Vedas, Puranas, Epics - Ramayana, Mahabharta, Gita
Taj Mahal, Khajurao, Ajanta, Ellora – mausoleum, temples, caves
India’s Wonders of World, UNESCO World Heritage Sites
Deployed for Peace, Nuclear Power
World’s second largest Army but invaded never
Founder Member of UN, Non-aligned Movement
India’s standpoint significant in any world’s event
India, leading force in South Asia Region
Global force to reckon with in any international forum
Every third Indian in world's intellectual work force
Medicine or Software, India has best human resource
World’s second fastest developing economy
India, future Super Power, can't stop any
Country - India
By Hitendra Mehta
~ Harappan civilisation - ancient urban rich Indus Valley civilisation
~Alexander / Babur – Greece/Moghul Emperor
~Ganga, Yamuna, Bhramaputra – Holy rivers
~Gandhi – Father of Nation, led Non-Violent freedom struggle against British Empire
~Vivekananda – introduced Hindu philosophies of Vedanta & Yoga in Europe &
~Mahavir / Buddha – founder of Jain / Buddha religion.
~Vedas, Puranas – Primary Hindu Sacred Texts
~Ramayana, Mahabharta, Gita – National Hindu Epics. Gita,part of Mahabharta
~Taj Mahal – Mausoleum built by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. A UNESCO World
Heritage Site. Featured in Seven Wonders of the World.
~Khajurao – Hindu, Jain temple famous for erotic sculpture. UNESCO World Heritage
~Ajanta –Rock cut monument famous for masterpieces of paintings/sculptures of
Buddhist religious Art. UNESCO World Heritage Site.
~Ellora – Rock cut monument famous for Buddhist, Hindu and Jain caves. UNESCO
World Heritage Site.
Long poem by
Andrew Crisci | Details |
A handsome rooster with red-breasted feathers, soft and lustrous,
and a head covered with golden plumage,
was too unhappy to sing about his age,
so he embarked on a long journey, sadly departing from his friends.
Thousands of miles over farms, vallies, villages and cities he flew,
seeking with all his strength an urban, bustling place...
to terminate that monotony, which made him too blue
and disunite himself from an ordinary life which implied bondage.
And roaring over majestic mountains, rolling hills and cities with skyscrapers,
he encountered suspicious and envious eagles that
challenged him with their vicious shrills, but he displayed no apparent rage...
still diving into luminous and transparent clouds.
The unhappy roosted had not rested for three long days,
and exhausted of flying, he decided to take a brief break by a bubbling stream;
his dry,wind-whipped eyes started to roll and he fell asleep...
and trancing and tossing, he rolled downhill into an harbor of sailing ships.
The well-rested rooster woke up around noon, finding himself in the lap
of a gorgeous boy and he was telling his mom kndly,
" I want this rooster, he can keep the lonesome and quite parrot company."
And she replied, "It's a not a pet, my son!" she explained.
Mothers always try to please their kids, and sometimes spoil them,
not according to their customs and bekiefs...fathers are much stricter than them.
"I'll take care of him and I'll feed him, and soon he'll be living on our ranch home."
"From now on, his name will be Harbor: the lovely place where I found him."
The gentle boy kept his promise and Harbor became family,
and the untalkative parrot tought that Harbor to say the same and exact words he said,
and as days went by, nobody knew how he could utter them humanly;
and how did they find out that Harbor was smater than any other rooster or even bird?
They actually heard them in a challenging conversation who could find a perfect mate
in the shortest time and the shrewd parrot would surely be a winner,
but to his surprise, Harbor, with his accumulated widdsom, sought in a nearby, sunny farm,
where chickens were raised and transported on an old air conditioner freighter.
Harbor looked around, and he didn't seem to like any chicks he saw;
was he about to give up on his search? Suddenly not! He trotted past the noisy barn,
and to his bewilderment, he spotted a beautiful chick on the grass below...
and gallantly accosted her, and with a chat, he started a romantic affair by keeping her warm.
Long poem by
Daryl Joplin | Details |
The toot of a lute
Rang through the air
The carnival was uproar with laughter
A little boy's eyes
a much larger size
at the sight of what he was after
A stale piece of bread
Sat in the trash
It made the little boy in rag's mouth water.
So he reached through the gate
as soon as it got late
Hoping to avoid his slaughter
For stealing was a crime
Even from a trash-bin
They'd have his head off in seconds
A guard caught his eye
But before he could cry
Fate thought he'd need a hero, I reckon.
Some strangely dressed women
appeared from the shadows
and drew their shiny swords
The strangers fought
In the dead of night
The boy was lost for words
One of the women
She approached the child
She bent down to get another look
Seeing his starvation
The pain in his eyes
And the energy that life's stresses had took
"Come with us," Said the women
With a friendly smile
She offered the little boy her hand.
"You'll be safe with us,"
The women explained
"No more getting kicked in the sand."
The boy gave the women
a cautious look
He greatly considered her offer
His parents had just died
Of a horrible starvation
Tonight, hunger wouldn't take another
The little boy agreed
To join the Gypsies
Together they ate and they danced
They traveled from place
To place to place
With a merry smile around he pranced
But what they didn't know
Black magic was brewing
The pagans couldn't sense it upon them
But the hungry little boy
Had always had a gift
He knew when trouble was near him
Immediately he ran
To alert the Gypsies
He said something dark was coming
The pagans all stopped
The music died down
They'd send this enemy running
With candles and an altar
Some herbs and a pendant
The pagan's had formed a plan
They'd cast out a spell
That would protect the people
The animals and the land
Suddenly the sky darkened
Rain started to fall
Their magic wasn't working
With no wind blowing
A candle tipped
Danger was definitely lurking
The fire spread
through out the camp
Tents burned down to ash
The gypsies all panicked
And fetched buckets of water
These problems surely couldn't last
The next two moths
were full of bad luck
The boy got covered by glances
"These problems didn't happen"
"Untill this boy came along."
They said getting rid of him would raise their chances
Of surviving in this
Horrid world we live in
They shunned him within a matter of hours
The boy wandered the earth
With tears in his eyes
His cries rang out with power
So on he walked
Following the road
As his gypsies had taught him
Though his spirits were crushed
and his body hungry
Nobody in the world would stop him
Long poem by
colin mitchell williams | Details |
Was it just imagining
Which brought these eyes to see inside
We could have realised
A different story
For all our lives
Looking into this stolen world
Where the peaceful dream has unfurled
Its banner of love beneath the sun
A flag of truce for everyone
The journey of our hearts becomes celebration
When all is gathered into one
A birth in unity
Of this global family
Looking into a broken crystal sphere
Only turns on me its dark reminder
Of what we all have become
Peopled with lives of separation
So filled with their neighbours fear
Grabbing all they think they need
Appeasing someone else’s greed
Their solitude in slavery
To the markets of their luxury
While other faces shine with a tarnished love
Are hoping for the pious judgement day to come
So their elite self-righteous sense of justification
Can gloat in contentment and damnation over the wicked ones
And please themselves with all the evil they have never done
But smiling still with condemnation as they watch
Their brothers and sisters
And on the tiny gang-land street
Where colours run with gangster feet
The agonies of our divided homelands
Are played upon a smaller stage
Violence by the guns divide
Rules to keep the urban warriors small
Keep them in their skin deep cultures
Keep them fighting for the scrapes let fall
From the tables of wealthy vultures
Usurped by those who wanted more than would suffice
They sold us back ourselves for a price
They are smiling in our death
Killing each other for the chance
The less we are
The more there is left
To fight over
Keep us fighting in every way
For a better life some day
In these lives we do not own
With all its empty promise we are shown
Robbed from us so long ago
We were redesigned and then re-sold
Is now the only way
We have ever known
Looking into this stolen world
None of us seem to be human anymore
Our future confiscated by the fear of fear
Destroying all the things we hold so dear
So love can not stretch beyond the wall
To the faces of the starving poor
And extend our helping hand
To us all
Was it just your imagining
Which brought my eyes to see inside
We could have realised
A different story
For all our lives
Looking into this stolen world
Where the peaceful dream did unfurl
All the banners of its love beneath the sun
Became a flag of trust for everyone
Did the journey of our hearts become
When all were gathered into celebration
The birth of this global family
In a unity of one
Long poem by
arthur vaso | Details |
Mighty oars to take us away from our shores
Our horsemen marshal their men at arms
The trek is long, battles of the blood-soaked
Our swords we hold high
Above our heads, the cross guides us to righteousness
For King and God
For we are the Franks, the Knights of Christ
Glory be to our Lord, and Urban
The council of Clermont shall decree long before us
That we are the divine soldiers, Templar’s in gold battle dress
The bearers of Christ’s will
The heathen Saracens shall lie in pools of blood
Below our feet
Saladin the Sunni of Tikrit
In the valley of Balbeek his wisdoms took hold
A warrior of the brave, a man of the peace
Whose compassion was ruled by the quill
His sword was of last resort
A man of traditions and honorable intent
The barbarian Franks made it so
The land of Christ could not fall into Saracen hands
Saladin with his Arabian horses and arrows strong
Would show the Franks, their world was wrong
He offered peace and passage too
The Croisades said Christ or death but never YOU
Never, never the Saracens or their evil ways!!!
Facing the Tower of David and the Damascus Gate
The archers fired every quiver and every bow
For six days and nights the ramparts held strong
The Saracens fell one after the other, an arrows slow death
The Gates of David once more protecting the onslaught on infidel goliaths
The Seventh day they all rested
Saladin’s messengers demanded surrender as the Franks laughed
He warned, I will offer you the Olive branch once, only once
True to his word The Mount of Olives was to be the Scarceness victory
Bailian surrendered, and the crusades where doomed to the books of history
From his teachings of youths wistful past
Saladin was of compassion and honor
The Christians, the slaves the refugees of war
All given safe passage, A gracious Kings heart would save many a soul
No blood would flow on the narrow alleys of Jerusalem
The Sultan of wisdom allowed all to worship in the kingdom of the Levant
Islam was indeed in the golden age
The Knights of Christ
The Crusaders or Gods will
Would draw on one last gasp
Lionheart would lead the fatal entourage
As each horse was lost in battle
Saladin provided Lionheart yet another
Honor amongst great leaders, above all
Compassion won over battlefield lust
The Crusaders fell into the sea of lost memories
Jerusalem is lost
Lost to the heathens
Who have seized the holy lands
The battles lost
Tears we weep for Jerusalem
Tears fall onto the cross
Roads of history
Paved with pain
Tears of Jerusalem