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James Lewis Poem
Call me the
magician, pulling
rabbits out my hat,
the 13th Friday
Jason Voorhees
stabbin at your cat,
with hocus strokus
powers when I use
my magic wand,
soft upbeat
melodies are
sprinkled to a
sadder song.
True oral
capabilities that
tangle with the
gods, just wrap
your legs around
my love of flesh and
made as hard,
as concrete in the
city jungle, let me
splash and rain,
with multiplistic
pleasures only you
will ascertain.
The body of a
goddess hottest
motions we'll divide,
the feelings warmer
than the hottest
ocean when inside,
your core of molten
lava java with a drop
of milk, your
nectar's sweet as
sugar woman, not a
drop I'd spill.
We're swimming in
the heavens you
and I collide as one,
the brownest colors
sparkle when your
eyes align the sun,
for I'm your Mr.
Wizard but our
show aint for TV,
it's not for K-I-Ds
the grown and
onlyest is we.
I know that you are
captivated by my
strokus spell, your
chances of escape
are like a snowball's
chance in hell,
your cool demeanor
melts so fast into a
running stream, my
tongue will lap your
essence up, a vivid
stunning dream.
The ghetto Harry
Potter but I will not
make a flick, unless
we're filming
cunnilingus, lemme
take a lick,
then afterwhich I'll
stamp you like an
envelope in jail, the
magic spells I cast
will do much more
than open mail.
In fact extinguish all
the lights, upon
your walls I'll write,
graffiti in Tahiti, we
will bounce and ball
all night,
because I'm a
magician known for
tricks and slight of
hand, I don't invest
illusion, yes I am
the rightest man.
Before I end this
baby I will get down
on my knee, and
pledge undying love
to you for all the
years I breathe,
it's more than just
the magic of the
stroke that drives
you wild, don't ask
me how I do it, it's
the hokus strokus
style.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
Cup does runneth
over, rhyme inside'a
me at last, was
barren and so
empty til inside
there drops a
splash,
of rich poetic
potions mixed with
collard greens and
hash, let's picture
hours after the
economy has
crashed.
The whole world
saw it coming on
our back;
impending doom,
so don't believe the
newsroom talk of
how it's ending
soon,
it's not just pipin hot
it's burnin 3 degrees
from noon, but won't
be real until you
hear this nation
sing the blues.
We'd lose the
government's
assistance, it would
be no joke, the
unemployment,
welfare food stamps
gone, there'd be no
hope,
come slice this
mental Wonder
bread then sit and
eat a loaf, there
wouldn't be much
growth around at all
to feed the folks.
The homeless
though do lay their
heads by where I
catch the train, the
richest country in
the world can't help
them, that's a
shame,
but multiply the
handful by the
millions that'll hang,
their heads in
shame with no
economy, yo that's
the game.
The President's
approval ratings
dwell where cellars
be, the days
of 'meat for dinner'
gone, no sales on
celery,
and that's for those
of us who're
blessed with God's
defining truth, or go
out like the 30s
where we'd stand in
line for soup.
A real life 'Book Of
Eli', ain't no gas to
run the cars, your
feet would beat
retreats in cold and
heat to run you far,
in fact if the
economy did end
up true deceased, I
guarantee you'd find
those selling kids
for food to eat.
The loss of all
morality heats up
like yellow sand, to
witness inhumanity
defeat your fellow
man,
brutality and
savag'ry would grip
this very land, to
have the cleanest
water or a bit of
DairyLand.
It then would turn to
war amidst the
races and the
creeds, Apollo died
while boxing, folks
like that are safe
and free,
majority's priority,
minorities would fall, they'd
light us up Paul Mall
in other words they'd bomb
us all.
Scenarios are
worse case but I'm
not that wrong at
all, so fellas stuffing
dollars in the
thongest of the
draws,
and ladies who just
live to go and ball
out at the mall,
enjoy it, stand up
tall and pray to God
it all don't fall.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
Ladies run for life
see there's an
outbreak like the
flick, instead of
coughs and
monkeys there's
outrageous
flakyness,
that's brewed in
towns amidst and
all around so take a
sip, some men just
swear they're hard
forever actin str8
like chicks.
I'm sure you know
this type of dude,
they're never down
with me, the type
that hit the
bathroom and they
go sit down and pee,
their street cred's
all they have at
least that's how it
sounds to me, until
I look around and
see the blatant
clownery.
There're children
raising children,
where is Daddy?
They don't know,
these men go
makin plans the
kids'll wait but they
don't show,
but then will take
his woman's kids to
eat and to a show, I
call these Mickey D
type fellas
fatherhood to go.
You also have the
kind of men who're
quick to pitch a fit,
they'll sip a fifth of
Cris and use their
fists to hit on
chicks,
for what they may
insist to be
unzipping of the
lips, or other hints
of sickness men in
panties, get a grip.
They have the
pregnant wife and
plus the girlfriend on
the way, to hurry up
and have those
babies, fetus ondele,
but cuddled next to
wifey is just where
they're gonna stay,
they better hope
that God feels
merciful; they
oughta pray.
They zip the finest
whips around the
town like rabbits
race, all kitted down
but living up in
mama's attic space,
they call
themselves some
men and yet they
have to scanvenge
dates, by sneaking
past their
mommies' pets, I
see the cat's awake.
Won't knock ya
hustle men in
panties, go on do
the do, the truth I
know is way too
much to ask of
fools like you,
a sad and sorry
loser yet you're
steady talkin
smack, you're just
not worth the time
so go ahead, talk to
my back.
My ladies hold ya
head, continue
pushin up with
ease, and please
don't let the acts
of men in panties
such as these,
deter you from
attempting to
acquire just what's
best, there're good
men out there if
you're looking, still
some of us left.
So hurry up and
douche those guys
because they're
rotten stink, it be
that way
sometimes cause if
you really stop and
think,
there's nothing
worse than men in
panties, call it more
than right, so once
you clean em out
my ladies please,
just run for life.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
Strap ya helmet on
and while you at it
pass the keys, we'll
ride and eat on
words for dinner,
homie pass the
peas,
I don't do this on
purpose, it's the
way things have to
be, I'll smack these
kids without a
daddy, little
bastards please.
Expand your mind a
bit and you can
comprehend the
flow, there's no
amor for garden
tools cause we
don't love them
hoes,
let William foot the
Bill that Matt can
wipe his feet on
quick, my potna
Rich concurs the
other Richard's just
a Dick.
These words can
read like any book,
don't be afraid to
look, goodfellas root
for guys in movies
living life like
shnooks,
you'll never freeze in
coal that people
use to feed the
heat, I spank on my
filet mignon
therefore I beat my
meat.
Go 'head and make
a pizza out of $100
notes, cause all
you need is sauce
and cheese with
lots of flattened
dough,
your car breaks
down in traffic?
Lose your shoes
and get a tow, and
whilst you wait get
stoned with lots of
dro that rock ya
dome.
They call me Mr.
Heinz cause you're
in back and can't
catch up, you'll get
the FICA treatment
when I'm taxin
that's whasup,
and that's no
homosexual, I'm
happy cause I'm
gay, my pounds are
like my methods so
it's 2-8-0 my weigh.
I hope y'all get the
message how
it's 'sposed to come
across, I clean my
teeth with currency
so yes indeed I
floss,
the doctor wants to
rush and send the
people to their day,
I guess it's safe to
say he has no
patience either way.
My wordplay is a
blessing like the
other side of sin,
when makin love it's
guaranteed I will
arrive again,
so come and join
the sideshow 'cept
the magic isn't blue,
I wear my t-shirts
circle necked when
rollin with my crew.
To read is
fundamental but to
not is dumb as hell,
some people love
stupidity, I wish the
others well,
my word'll slide
inside a chick and
keep her tunnel hot,
it's verbal
intercourse
vernacully I've
touched the spot.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
Folks think I'm a nice guy, to a fault I guess I am,
if those folks only knew deep down I just don't give a damn,
I'm tryin to keep my language clean like crispy Franklin notes,
I am The Cunning Linguist spittin nifty antidotes,
that cross you up the Hardaway and leave ya ankles broke,
hot feces exits out my mouth, I got a stanky throat,
that exhales dragon fire but believe this aint a roast,
there's too much jumpin off and I'm afraid it aint a joke.
Like women nowadays, I often wonder if it's me,
that sees how some are free to divvy up the wizard sleeve,
then they don't know just how they came to get the hivv disease,
deny and keep it sweet to give it up to Nick and Steve.
I get up on my soapbox when I have to drop a jewel,
the niceness gets mistaken like I still won't drop a fool,
for comin outta pocket, I aint talkin poppin tools,
I let go of the knowledge cause this dude can drop it smooth.
I'm Harry Belafonte but don't call me Mr. Tibbs,
this poetry just flows in me and what a gift it is,
you may not think my skill's correct but I insist it is,
I'm so unlike the others, verbis not ipissimis.
Confused on what that means? Well I advise you look it up,
vernacular's like stir-fry in a wok; I cook it up,
and dish out healthy servings, I won't let your brain cells starve,
in executing verbal warfare, yes I am well armed.
My aim will blow ya head off like Bin Laden, picture that,
the YouTube vids and image will confirm this vicious fact,
don't need Marines and choppers flying into distant lands,
I'll do you like Waist Deep but they won't find the missing hand.
My adjectives are ravenous but that's just certain ones,
my scarface resonates of how I kill these words for fun,
to crush the competition and I do it big like Pun,
then ride off in a Matrix, Cunning Linguist, I'm The One.
©2010
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2012
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James Lewis Poem
Put your toe inside
my mouth, I wanna
feel you squirm,
there're lessons to
be taught tonight, I
feel you're gonna
learn,
to let yourself be
serviced in the
many ways that
come, I love bare
feet but time to
switch, go 'head,
put on them pumps.
They're pointy toed
and shiny with at
least a 6 inch heel,
your muscle calves
are flexing like Mad
Cobra on the real,
I think it's time for
sex when shoes
point up toward the
ceil, that Jimmy
Choo Manolo
Blahnik action
seals the deal.
You may think I'm a
freak and you can
tell from how I
speak, those
pumps can rub my
cheek for ocho dias
ev'ry week,
that leaves an extra
day to flip off work
for extra play, you
work them sexy
thangs as if you
twirk for extra pay.
I failed to mention
that you're nude
with shoes and
that's the move, you
got me thinkin
baseball like I
wanna smack a few,
from out the park,
the rout starts with
your Peggy Bundy
walk, the stuff to
have a buck of bud
combusting after
dark.
See I can be your
bodyguard, we'll
play like long lost
pals, that 80s song
goes best with
Bundy, you can call
me Al,
I'd jack these sons
like Janet if I say
let's wait awhile,
them pumps worn
with a short tight
skirt? Now that's
the way to style.
Those shoes
embrace your feet
like Twista's
rhymes embrace a
beat, I hear folks
talk that bull but are
afraid to face the
heat,
my catalouge
competes without a
Facebook post or
Tweet, your feet in
them stilettos baby,
muy dulce; sweet.
Your weight is
meaning nathan,
lookin fine from
head to toe, them
Lisa Lisa fellas now
prefer thin chicks to
blow,
all on the magic
johnson which to
me aint meanin
jack, I'm talkin
zapatos de negro,
crotchless cream
and black,
dress nightie set,
exciting yes, it all
starts with the
shoes, the wrapping
of your package
leaves exquisite
parts to view,
a patient man I am
my darlin, come
and dance with me,
I'll end this as we
move to music, you
dressed scantilly.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
People raise your
glasses up as I
propose a toast, for
spittin thangs that
do spit flame and
grab ahold of folks,
with 2 hands open
wide and poised to
grab and hold ya
throat, this peanut
butter flow is hard
to swallow; hope
you choke.
I'm light years in the
distance to a
mental place I sit,
and buggin cause
my brain's been on
a mental Matrix tip,
don't need to use
an airport, close my
eyes and take a
trip, I hear the
people talk but aint
nobody sayin spit.
I gotta pay these
williams so I grind
to make my grip,
I'm scared to break
its neck so I don't
try to make it flip,
no need to fade out
gradually it's just a
basic mix, I wash
my words out
longer so they'll
have to stay and
rinse.
A cunnilingual
master of disaster;
Mr. Creed, I'll die
just like Apollo 'fore
I live like Mr. T,
or hobbled in the
mind cause
ignorance is
misery, a know-it-all
that still can't read,
these kids be killin
me.
My verbal halitosis
makes me carry
Listerine, I kiss the
L with smoke rings
like I'm married to
these trees,
to switch it aint no
wives no more just
chicks who carry
seeds, and try to
live the lifestyle
from TV and
magazines.
I wish the hood
would smell the
coffee, not alot have
learned, that once
they take a sniff
that very coffee pot
is burned,
along with all the
rest of breakfast,
people gotta learn,
the government aint
handin out no more,
you gotta earn.
Vernacular is raw I
know, I'll season it
and cook, it's just
not cool to be so
stupid, go and read
a book,
what's saddest
though is how some
folks reject what
feeds the brain,
embracing empty
nourishment like
Drake and Lil
Wayne.
The Cunning
Linguist has the
jewels to be forever
dropped, I spit on
all my critics,
T.C.L. will never
stop,
administering logic,
making enemies of
friends, and toolin
up for battle, be
prepared for sweet
revenge.......
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
The element of water is much needed to survive,
that's 2 parts hydro oxygen for breathing deep inside,
all scents of Mother Nature dwelling in between your thighs,
with you I'm Maya Angelou, a touch and still I rise.
The shower water's beating like a drummer go insane,
it drizzles as it bangs and brings to mind the pouring rain,
we ride the ganja leaf as I begin to tour your frame,
the steaming mist envelopes us, we fly like soaring planes.
A drenching kiss that makes us slip, we're goin under too,
the sky's alive, the lightning strikes and brings the thunder too,
my legs collapse like Autobots to slide up under you,
your right leg's now on my left shoulder, aint no runnin boo.
The 1st lick of those certain lips exhales your breath away,
the 2nd through the 30th go past like yesterday,
and minutes after fastening my mouth to man your boat,
a liter's worth of candy jam goes slamming down my throat.
Your hips do grind and so do mine except some time has passed,
you hold for dearest life, you're like a vice, so tight to stab,
but once the motion activates we form like Wonder Twins,
which has me quartered safe in you like I was Gunga Din.
The shower nozzle's open to a full blown water blast,
the way our skin is smacking loudly, it just oughta splash,
you throw it back like Brady when the Pats and Dolphins clash,
or moreso like you walk the streets and look to ball for cash.
It feels like Heaven's open with the angels washing down,
but even heavy shower water can't wash out the sounds,
of passion resonating through a frosted wall of glass,
my seed does not impede with speed, into your walls I crash.
A 2nd wind of stamina embraces me like fam,
I'm like a stick of granite still, that's just the man I am,
who don't mind puttin in extra work that'll leave us sore with pain,
the shower's like we're outside sexin in the pouring rain.
©2011
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2012
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James Lewis Poem
Ever since I can
remember, goin
way back when, I've
looked for
something slightly
diff'rent in my
women friends,
intelligence and
plus the skills to go
hook up a steak,
the lady rollin 'round
with me can push a
little weight.
Not talkin Rick
Rozay, that kinda
weight can get you
10, to life as easily
as breathin, locked
up in the pen,
the weight I'm talkin
bout don't have a
point scale in
between, size 26 in
Big Girls World
physiques start
size 16.
A guy like me don't
sweat a woman's
stomach blowin up,
a treat when time to
eat I simply hold
the stomach up,
my nose needs
precious oxygen to
breathe it deep
inside, increase my
lung capacity
betweenst a big
girl's thighs.
The skinny chicks
are not for me, they
just don't do a
thing, in fact they
need potato salad
with some chicken
wings,
don't throw them
bones away half
eaten, go 'head, lick
em clean, and nap
out on the itis, put
some thickness in
those jeans.
No matter what
folks think or say I'll
make a big girl
glow, my dragon
was the last that
made her shine
from head to toe,
sho nuff there'll be
some opposition to
these ways I kick,
I'd treat the haters
like R. Kelly, they
can taste my rinse.
Enough with the
vulgarity cause I
won't miss my cue,
the big girls of this
planet, these are
words I spit for you,
to put it out that
Papa cares,
displayed with
proper flair, I'll grab
a white girl's goldie
locks so call me
Papa Bear.
Regardless of the
race or creed I'll win
the race indeed, my
big girls grab your
running shoes then
come and race with
me,
to lust filled nights
in hotel rooms,
there's always
vacancy, we'll run
like DMC forever in
the place to be.
I'm stuck inside a
world where all the
girls are large in life,
despite that 90s
movie I'll be livin
large tonight,
as easily as most
can prob'ly spin a
string of pearls, I'm
not ashamed to say
it, yes I live in Big
Girls World.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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James Lewis Poem
Technology's
necessity, without it
we would die, it's
fascinating really
how computers run
our lives,
the tapping of the
keyboard and the
clicking of the
mouse, it's gotten
so that folks don't
even have to leave
the house.
The world's right at
our fingertips and
there's no way
around, the fact that
all you need is just
a debit card
account,
to pay for what you
wish, your items
may get freely
shipped, you may
get really gipped
but I aint really
sayin spit,
I'll change it up a
bit, now ev'rybody
lose your mind, I
don't mean goin
crazy just expand it
and refine,
imagine you're
agoraphobic,
scared to go
outside, computers
then present a
slight resemblance
of a life.
The script rotates
with ease I flip it 45
degrees, you got
the shady ones out
there that steal
identities,
bring fam'lies to
their knees,
absconding quick
with 50 Gs, a scam
that's ran leaves
both the check and
save accounts on E
(mpty).
They're also in the
mobile phones,
there're no more
phones at home, no
cordless in the
kitchen only touch
screen mobile
tones,
that come with
email, news and
weather packaged
up in foam,
remember when we
knew our peoples'
numbers from the
dome?
I stand up self
admittedly
absorbed in techno-
lust, it's fright'ning if
you ponder, it could
all end with a touch,
of just a button,
maybe 2, a maze of
82, Verizon's the
horizon so we're
really praising who?
The media in print
is by the wayside,
take a look, we'll
move a cursor but
won't flip the pages
in a book,
on that aspect I'm
old school up unitl I
d-i-e, you'll always
find a paper or a
hardback right by
me.
The future's in the
hands of those who
strive to make it
more, than being
slaves to
microchips like
Terminator 4,
there will be no
salvation when the
Ipads mess us up,
Steve Jobs (R.I.P.)
is worshipped more
than God, beware of
techno-lust.
Copyright © James Lewis | Year Posted 2011
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