Best Graffiti Poems
Graffiti fades from the wall,
Alike the alley after dark.
"I was here!", screams the
Wrecking ball, leaving your mark.
The light obeys. Bending, it paints secrets; in reverence, the moon blooms.
w h i s p e r e d...
illuminating secrets,
cosmic symphony
in twilight;
stars bow...
e n c h a n t r e s s
bends
will.
Sprayed on a wall was the word "Eh"
Now that's Canadian I would say
When it comes to graffiti and the cold
We got the paint the paint that can hold
Checking out this urban story
You might even find the word "Sorry"
Canadians they say are polite
Sprawled on a wall "We get it, write"
With a pisst that could be shady
We'll just say "Your mom's a nice lady"
Feeling down on a Monday commute
"Have a great day" you'll read in your suit
Delinquent writer under a hood
Trying hard but misunderstood
On a brick a need to express
"Don't build a wall" is there none the less
Always writing and on the go
I've even seen it written in snow
Artistic expression over the top
Just watch out for that strolling mall cop
The old widower kept a tidy yard.
Bright flowers -snowball hedges,
a sparrow house and apple tree
gnomes chasing ceramic frogs
pinwheels spinning sunlight
round and round silver dreams.
He put a picket fence around his little Eden,
like an artist framing a masterpiece.
It wasn't long before the graffiti ogres wormed in.
They inked a scruffy tattoo on his Mona Lisa
kicked in a few of her teeth.
Turned her into" The Scream".
He painted over those angry scribbles,
but they kept pace.
His glitter garden was overrun by hate,
The ogres stepped up the assault,
slashing another petal of his peace.
He finally caved in ,
took down the remains of the fence...
one night he had a big bonfire,
One by one he fed his defaced masterpiece to the flames.
Afterwards, he didn't frolic in the yard as much,
the hedges grew wild like green afros on fire.
The breeze shunned the pinwheels
frogs and gnomes fled.
the birdbath cracked and bled dry.
Not long after, the old widower died.
For "sails" drifted about his rotting apple yard.
The ogres moved on to the next Eden,
the one right next to mine.
There was a man who went out late
And tried to rape a .38
He called women "receptacles"
'Til one blew off his testicles.
G – Grime the walls
R – Reflect your souls
A – Joy or anger
F – Safety or danger
F – Freedom is all yours to take
I – Injustice is all yours to break
T – Entrust your voice to the paint
I – Incrust the streets with your pain
GRAFFITI
Graffiti such a lovely art form you are
so expressive yet you can be so fine
ever you are persecuted with powers be
persecuting u and you're declared an illegal art form
of all the arts graffiti you get destroyed and demonized
is it i ask myself that they are unable to see your beauty
see and appreciate your beauty or is it lack of the know
lack of understanding so persistent amongst the authorities
of you i pen blessed of art forms true to name and size graffiti
lewis K Nyaga
Graffiti Graveyard is/was a place in Duluth where street artists would spray paint their murals. It was in an interesting location, underneath a highway. The homeless of duluth would sleep here, an upwards of 20 plus tents could be seen at night. It was an eyesore (that was also out of sight) for some Duluthians and they demanded the homeless sleep somewhere else. None of these Duluthians have even seen graffiti graveyard or know it's location.
Underneath a bridge
a community lives.
Homeless, hopeless,
society can't forgive.
What we see; unkempt, unstable community.
What they see; togetherness, and gain of unity.
Bodies rest in battered tents
the Highway Manor's up for rent
the city folk will all lament
over where their tax is spent.
"They live under our highway?
That's down right crazy!
Evict all of them,
I don't care if they hate me."
Says the tax-paying, upstanding lady
she only loves her neighbor
if they drive a Mercedes.
"Graffiti Graveyard is a sin!"
No, it's a place where art lives
and the exiled enjoy the presence of home
that the art gives.
Tags left their mark
underneath and unseen.
The city demands an exodus,
and wipes their hands clean.
now in his mind there are many gears
rusty but funtional.
they meter out the letters and create words
that may even form a Structure from time
to time.
iron oxide filled metallic brown bullfrogs
line up along the inside of his head.
synonymous with repetative lauguage but
they prove to be
good fishermen with poles made of
wrenches
and lines anchored with decayed
bolts and strange adverbs.
sometimes the rust flakes off his toungue
and
you can almost hear @#$% this not again.
but he is steadied by a cup of folgers dry
roast in a white styrofoam cup.
he is comforted by the fact that the world
has
coffee filled styrofoam cups.
this world cannot get by on mere
loaves and fishs he thinks...
now the lines have become to heavy and
grandiose they are ready to....
snap..
fall apart...
come undone...
perhaps the malaria has set in again he
got it from a metallic
mosquito with the head of a syringe in
juarez mexico.
in his delerium..
beside his delerium..
underneath his delerium...
he deconstructs ancient alphabets..
english..
greek...
aramaic...
phoenician ....
cuniform. .. UnTil.. aLL.. T.hat
.." is.. le,ft..is H&ro6lyphics^^.
he feels it is enough for now and grabs
the spray bottle...
Around the corner in an alley
Behind a run-down diner
On a nameless Los Angeles street
Two strangers converge slowly on
The appointed location where
Their mutual connection set a meet
On their first point of contact
An explosive reaction that
Produced something violent and divine
They continued their encounters
Coupling, colliding, entwining, dividing
Nearly every day of aught nine
Like every age of greatness
The trysts gradually abated
Until the two hardly met at all
Behind a run-down diner
On a nameless corner
A memorial in graffiti on the wall
May 26, 2017
The word graffiti conjures up
Negative destructive images
But graffiti can be quite imaginative
Quite artistic in nature
Created in a lot of cases
By talented joes with images in mind
Only they can envision
They have their own patterns to follow
Original from beginning to completion
For those that can appreciate
The originality and basic creativity
Can't be matched except in the minds
OF THE ARTISTS
Rather than but like
graffiti it is
this life, this love
out there yet hidden
in the art form
out of mind
caricatured remnants
of moments past
the sniff of glue, enamel vapour
the splatter of it
on the backdrop of imagination
reality forms
Like Graffiti
Political authenticity stirs gangs tagging ensued, Chicano mural in the brew
A single sentence rich in imagery, 23 syllables.
Length is dictated by the one breath rule in the delivery of prose.
The world is empty paper,
I have ink;
The world is smoother,
When I am the king!
The world is androgynous,
When I’m pop pink.
The world is my canvas,
Destiny makes me furious,
The written walls make me curious!!
I decorate the city walls,
I playfully stroke my brush,
I paint the faces of life,
I love to observe street life.
My graffiti lets you breathe,
My graffiti lets you shed/
The tears of misery.
My graffiti makes you break/
The walls of maze!
Couples pen their names on trains,
The wall arts get fuliginous in rains;
I don’t know what’s their gain,
Scribbling names on seats of the train.
On city walls, I draw cartoons,
I hate to live in a cocoon,
I don’t need to cleanse the walls,
With broom and eraser!
People think walls are their notebook,
Unreadable lines and signs vroom,
They fill it up with word-boom!
Everywhere I see “Damien + Dores”
Or “P loves S”
These names are just emblems,
I am an ancient totem,
I while away my boredom,
On observing their words’ romcoms.
People write on vehicles and walls,
They don’t even spare the cathedrals,
They itch out whisper jokes & hidden rumors,
They draw doodles as “anonymous”
Pencils come in red, orange, pink, blue,
Graffiti are fresh as dew,
To beloved society, it’s cat’s mew!
Cruel tyranny hates these drawings,
Still, they glorify my mornings!