Best Ghetto Poems
GHETTO GOSPEL
BY STREET CRIES
ABANDON BUILDINGS HOUSES WITH NO PARENTS ALL CHILDREN
READY AND WILLING TO BE PROGRAMED BY THE TELEVISION
GUNS WITH PRECISE PRECISION
PAIN PILL GOT US COMATOSE LIVING
KIDS MAKING ADULT DECISIONS
TO SURVIVE IS THE MISSION
WITCH EQUALS TO SENSELESS KILLING DRUG DEALING
LIFE IN PRISON
NO RESPECT FOR THE LIFE THAT'S GIVEN
PEOPLE GETTING RICH OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING
SATANIC RITUALS CELEBRITIES PRACTICING
OPEN YOUR EYES AND SEE WHATS HAPPENING
ARE WE A SLAVE TO THE WAY SOCIETY GOT US ACTING TODAY
ARE WE PURPOSELY LEAD ASTRAY
CLONE MEAT APPROVED BY THE F.D.A
VOICES BEING SILENCED THAT HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY
WE SEEM TO BE RUNNING A RACE WITH NO RELAY
STUCK IN A PLACE WITH NO LEEWAY
TRYING TO OVER COME OBSTACLES
THANK YOU FOR READING MY GHETTO GOSPEL
GOODNIGHT
Soft silhouettes sashay by my window
Grievingly gazing out unto a world of which you may never know
Linen curtains briefly ruffled in the breeze
Old drunken Julius finds shade under the huge oak trees
The echoes of poverty ring outside my building
The pleas of panhandlers, the chattering of children
Dope feign Delilah, struts up and down the streets, waiting to turn her next trick
Evaporating into the air, the sulfuric stench
Jared, the jock in high school, deemed all American athlete
Shooting craps in the alley just to make ends meet
Every night like clockwork, the street walkers stand by Ms. Martina’s door
When the sun rises and they scatter like roaches, she anoints the ground with oils
Hakeem stands on one corner, screaming out” Would you enter the Kingdom of heaven if you should die today?
While his brother ShaQuan stands across the street, on the corner peddling cocaine
When we were growing up Ebony and I vowed to always be best friends
I sit on my stoop and she doesn’t even look my way as she’s followed by her six kids
In the evening gun shots light up the night, like the fourth of July
Another wife a widow, another mother loses her child
With not so much as a reason why.
Shrines built in rememberance of lost souls, adorn the sidewalks
Where once laid the body of an innocent child outlined by blood stained chalk
I am here in the midst of a world that I may never really know
I sit here day after day, with my pad and my pen,
Trying to escape the perils of the Ghetto
Gunshots be leavin 'em children alone
they gotta find a way all on they own
kids screamin out sets for hope
then run around with a crew slangin dope
can't forget that they saw they fathers go
witness to earth the bloodiest show
to young to truly understand
despite what ya heard God won't hold your hand
It seems to me that we've been forlorn
destined death after death to mourn
lookin at the future of us all
death to brothas come at a sudden call
little children begin to see the light
keep on killin knowin that it ain't right
but desperation sets in hopin for death
because it's to painful to take another breath
How many of my brotha's died last week
an an answer given not for the weak
life like this shoulda made us sick
creepin in streets tryin not to get licked
time again are numbers start to dwindle
hopein for knew life in this race to be kindled
but all we ever do is disappear
it's funny that are lives are consumed by fear
and are youngstas reproduce fast
more brothas get shot lives endin in head casts
why do we gotta die at such a rate
a brotha feel cold heat as if it's fate
and as my brothas always seem to die
my race got another reason to cry
little niggas is our only men
no more elders in my dearest black kin
Now we got kids runnin da street
that means, the judge and jury da heat
the boys in blue pilein up da dead
crackas in th oval office shakein da head
the ghettos so lost can we find a way
it seem's that the only hope we got is to pray
and children already learn how god do
give to those who take so we take with a 22
now we gotta cope, sippin' on brew
gettin faded thinkin bout the dirt we do
and that just make a brotha think
why we be born livin on da brink
seein bodies fallin fast in packs
cause it be like we forced to fire back
so thelast thing is to put bodies in bags
at da funeral drapin our brothas with rags
I am a ghetto boy with no ware to go, so I talk to the lord to keep my flow.
The answer came that would make me a man.
He said the graveyard would be calling my name, but you want fame;
so here i go. Make the wrong move and the door will close.
I said lord I can't help myself, unemployment on the rise and i don't have many
friends; cause i begin to wonder is there spies with in.
All i want to do is to get out of this rut, without hanging with the fellas
selling dope at the cut.
I don't want no mess so i carry a peice in case some fool want some of me.
Hitting the switch in the car so my girl can get in, I keep her with me
to keep me from committing a sin. I am a ghetto boy, but i'm out to win.
All these things mean something to me.
It is not what you would see in a hustlers magazine.
A stash of dope in the trunk and thee dogs at the cut,
dressing in hood gear and waring bullets proof vests.
Is death the promise for doing my best.
I am a ghetto boy with no ware to go, so i talk to the lord to keep my flow.
THE END
As I stared out my project window into the streets were the predators never
seemed to sleep and the dope heads that kept the neighbors in the private homes on
pins and needles as they prowled the street, looking for the next cash cow to supply their drug needs. In the alley where we would play baseball during the daytime against the old trash bin, at night it served as the hiding place for the drug boys dope and guns…It’s sometimes hardto believe that decent people do live here in this place where I live, but they do.
I don’t know how? But really they do, I swear. The alleyway was littered with so much broken glass on the ground, sometimes I would pretend that it was diamonds and would dream of running out one morning and picking it all up and then I would be rich like the people who lived in the private homes up on the hill. At night from my window in the summertime I could smell their grills cooking some expensive meat, that seem to overload my sense and make my belly growl in a hopeless thought that I might somehow get to taste it.
In the distance sirens blare in the middle of the night as the ambulances race to the causalities of the night life. I can still recall those house parties that never seem to end, that’s until the men in blue decided to finally answer the calls and put an end to their night fun, but by that time they were all drunk and doped out or found a mate for the night…as they all spread out onto the side streets like cockroaches when you turn on the light and then shots rang out in the calm distance of the night. People scatter into the night.
My eyelids are now so heavy I can barely hear my own thoughts inside my head. When all of sudden my door flings open, standing there in the doorway I can make out a shadow, I take a deep breath and continue to play like I’m asleep. Wow, it was only my mother, just checking in on her only investment for her future dream of a doctor or lawyer that would not have to deal with this mess, she shuts my door after seeing that I was okay…as she takes a deep sigh of relief, knowing she could take solace that her child was fast asleep.
slip n' slide white moon
space cadets glide in the shine
illustrious orb
~JSLaM
GHETTO LIFE
I'm just a black guy trying to survive
I hustle hard, just for me to live
I was born and bred in the ghetto,
And the only place I could earn money is not only at the lotto
I was feeling like I was walking in a circle
Everywhere I go I see the struggle
On the street human life is like a bubble
But I always learn how to stay out of trouble
So i decided to get on my feet,
Leaving the ghetto life style and walk through the street
Just for me to seek a good Job
Cos my life style is not to steal or rob
Poverty has always been my best friend,
I keep on running the race to put poverty to an end
I still remain that single guy who live in pains,
My pains made me stronger, so I never complain
The ghetto life is real, it's a viable lesson to learn,
It got people living on the edge, queuing up for their turn,
All my life spent in the ghetto at my youthful age,
With determination to excel in life, I never tarnish my image ..
#PricelessPEN
DECEMBER, 2017
In my mind is a place of unbearable beauty,
So agonizing to recall the charm;
A place, so lovely and pretty, rows of homes,
And lace curtains billowing in the breeze.
The place of my early childhood
My family left this home far behind, we moved,
But in my mind this place remained beautiful;
Many, many years have passed, life has gone forward,
And I return for the first time.
The beauty shattered in my mind.
Replaced by the reality of an inner city ghetto,
Devastated, rundown, ravaged rows of houses;
Boarded up, crumbling, gone to waste and ruin,
It is almost to much to fathom.
Yet there is a shadow of the beauty.
And as I view the destruction of time passed,
Houses fallen and given way to neglect;
I realize my memory is no longer a valid thing,
Closing my eyes, I recall the loveliness.
A time I had placed on a pedestal.
Gone, gone, gone is the existence of beauty,
Only and forever living in my wandering mind;
In the mind of a child, happy and safe, playing,
Where nothing horrible ever happens.
The place of my early childhood.
__________________________
March 10, 2014
Poetry/Verse/The 'Beautiful' Ghetto
Copyright Protected, ID 03-548-451-10
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
The Ghetto Uprising of Oct 7th
Seventy seven years
massacre after massacre
they stole our lands
our trees
our heritage
homes and villages
erased our graves and monuments
raped, raped and raped some more
used our children as human shields
with audacity
they accused us of their crimes
you all closed your eyes
chanting never again
when is again and again and again
we rise up
humanity blooms inside of us
the bloodthirsty genocide
by Zionists
the regime will fall
I
smell
summer
in the air
humidity fumes
reflecting off dusty windows.
Thanks Sharon for pointing out lines 1/2 in a fibonacci are both only
one syllable. Doesn't read as dramatic but it works ... smile ...
************ for Brian Strand's contest ******************
Cant sleep because I still smell the smoke on my clothes from the fire we just put out.
I cant help but think about the soul we lost this early morning
Mornings are supposed to be filled with fresh air, birds singing, children playing happily.
Let me introduce u to my world, where dead rats, filthy green moldy water standing on the street is what u up too.
Welcome to ekasi (the ghetto/ township).
Children electrocuted till death by faulty wires while playing.
I cant help it but being robbed while going to the shop everyday.
Going to college feels like a crime because people judge saying u think u better than everyone.
My condolences to each & every innocent soul lost in these grounds my heart bleeds for u, no soul lost will be forgotten
Dear government I hope u are able to sleep well at night while making empty promises & forgetting the souls you live behind, there blood is in ur hands
God made you
He made you rich
Even though the world
Thinks you're unfortunate
Talents you were given to make something
Out of nothing.
Children of the
Hood have the goods
Innate abilities
Literally to be
Destined for the
Real success and in
Everything we do God gets the glory
Never self because God gave us this wealth!
1-21-11
I can hear the wicked shots rangin',
Hood stars on the avenues hangin',
You hear the sounds of the ghetto
and loose change in B.U.Ms[brothers under madness]
metal cups clangin',
That poverty noise is 1 of the hood anthems,
Bailbondsmen collectin' hood ransoms,
and crooked police we can't stand'em,
And we're fed up with continuous violence,
All the dark clothes reunions
Too many moments of silence,
And R.I.Ps are another ghetto sound,
It doesn't matter if you're
Red,Black,White,Yellow,Brown,
We need to put the metal down,
The penitentiaries call some in elementary,
They don't know at a young age & eventually,
End up locked down where jailed sinners be,
I've been a witness to many gun tunes,
They're gettin' shot on the spot
No more meetin' up at high noon,
Death hits the community like a typhoon,
The devil's the evil artist to start this,
He has them tryin' to prove
whose hood is the hardest,
While innocent bystanders
are like movin' targets,
So I shed a tear for some better years,
This world is cursed
So I write a verse for every hearse
until my ears & my head is clear.
six million stones
a railroad car streaked red
a thousand astrodomes
swollen with dead children
the population of houston
dallas wiped out
ugly striped prison uniforms
signifying captures and escapes
martin luther as a bigot
bonhoeffer as a hero
dying days before the
liberation
faces from rwanda darfur
signaling the continuance
of a tradition of genocide
a danish fishing boat
hiding neighbors in a
fake bottom to escape
a wicked storming
the pictures of happy
proud loving families
bludgeoned in broken glass
a soft cloth golden star
like a slave branding
pulsating with hatred and
judgement harsher than
the ornate letter a for hester
1500000 butterflies
sewn drawn carved
remembering
the children who lost
their lives in the
Holocaust
"Butterflies don't live in here, here in the ghetto" Pavel Friedman, April, l942
Written after a visit to The Holocaust Museum of Houston
"The Ghetto"
Have you been to
The ghetto
People know
How to let go
Music playing
People swaying
To another day
In a poor man's paradise
There is no one
That you don't know
Even the hungry
Hobo
You help because
You don't know
When the day comes
You'll knock on his door
Have you been to
The ghetto
Sometimes scary
Sometimes fun
Sometimes you are
On the run
And when the day is done
You're glad
You're not the only one
In the ghetto
Music playing
People swaying
To another day
In a poor man's
Paradise..
04/02/15
D