Best Hustled Poems
Look, anyone can stick two words together and rhyme,
But you gotta have rhythm and you gotta have time,
And you gotta have the guts to put it all on the line,
And stand up to whole world though it might make you blind
You gotta bleed out your heart, you gotta pour out your soul,
You gotta speak with every single syllable that you know,
And there’s moments you’ll think that you’re apart from the rest,
Still trying and dying, giving it all of your best,
Until you’re out-hustled, out-muscled, and you’re up to your neck,
Until you’re thinking you should stop and maybe give it a rest,
But don’t give up yet, no this is only a test
To dig deep inside and until you out-rhyme the best
You gotta write ‘til you’re sick, you gotta write like He wills it,
Gotta take all of your anger to paper and spill it,
You gotta gather your emotion like and ocean and let it go,
There’s no stopping your hustle and there’s no stopping your flow
So get out there and show all of the people that dissed you,
And remind them of the time that they’re all gonna miss you,
When you’re up flying high and looking down to see
All the haters wishing that they were you but can’t be
So you gotta keep on going, holding onto this thing,
And don’t you dare let go no matter how hard it seems,
Just set it up in your mind and you can do anything,
Because it's all in your heart, boy, now just follow your dream.
Categories:
hustled, write,
Form:
Rhyme
A Dog Story
Back in Old El Paso,
In a bar room they did meet;
Two cowboys decided to have it out,
In the middle of a downtown street.
The ladies hustled into their homes,
The men all gathered round,
Old Jake accused Old Jesse
Of stealing his three-legged hound.
Eye to eye they stood stiff as posts,
One to be the first shot down;
When that three-legged dog found Jesse's leg
And a red-faced Jesse looked down.
Old Jake doubled up in laughter,
And the town men followed suit real hard.
No one got shot or killed that day,
And Jesse got his just reward!
Categories:
hustled, fun,
Form:
Quatrain
One day I made myself a chair
That could take me anywhere.
I sat on it this morning
and went to yesterday
Time, you see, can be bent,
Off I went,on my chair I leant*
I ended up freezing at my goal,
The chair had taken me to the North Pole.
I stood up and walked around for a bit,
To try to make some sense of it.
A Polar Bear came from it's lair,
Looking for something to eat.
Oh No, I cried and jumped back in my seat.
Then, before I knew where I was,
The chair had took me to the Land of OZ.
The cowardly Lion and Tin Man were there,
Dorothy, Toto and Scarecrow without a care,
A couple of clicks and I was off agen*.
I landed in Kansas and met Aunty Em.
'twas but a dream for Dottie, I know,
The chair decided , it was time to go,
And hustled me off again for another flight,
It was back home, where I did alight.
I opened my eyes,'twas but a dream in the night.
*my new words??
© Dave Timperley 16/09/2018
Categories:
hustled, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
Now,
as the rain falls in tiny droplets on the ground
and the breeze is wafting scents of petrichor,
a soothing oil released by dried decaying plants
that longed in thirst for reprieve from the burning heat;
only
the rush of wind hustled high in the tree tops sings
brushing gently the leaves upon each branch
pining in oaken roasted acorns and chestnuts,
pinging and popping on the sun drenched fires of autumn.
Teasing and tantalized
the senses breathe in deeply
the musk of the forest
where leafy residue, pine needles and fronds pale
in the rise of autumn cascading arrivals.
Coated foliage colored rainbows
lilt hues of yellows, orange and reds,
disfigured curls browning in the last of summer heat
to welcome and bare the mighty sheaths and torsos
that the forest leaves behind in memory of spring.
An equinoctial sundial
marking the trajectory of earth and sun
the rise and fall of time and space
upon the earthen realm of seasons change
greeting autumn, goodbyeing summer, fireside winter hibernation.
Categories:
hustled, autumn, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
Looked up and down, right and left
Wondering why life suffers a theft
Subtracted beauty from my chin cleft
If I deserved and preserved the best
My love could lavish to attest
Why my love passed a preset test
Under dodgy durations of circumstances
Pummeling endeavours made in instances
That diminished and dwindled distances
Acknowledged to reveal robust character
On a bus, on a train, on foot, on a tractor
Where we determined adversity no longer a factor
In consolidating the love we feel
Grows by leaps and bounds despite the bill
Your family sprang on me to deal and kill
The foundations you and I have built
Over the years to fight to the hilt
Any machinations to pour heaps of silt
Into our love cogs
Meaning love should don cogs
Saunter under coercion in bogs and fogs
To prove its strength
Walking on hot coals at length
If truth should pervade and invade love width
To delight your parents
So worried and harried by overdue rents
We owe for domestic tents
That accommodate our nights and days
Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays
Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays
Shared with supreme care
Far beyond compare
Even when evil eyes stare
Willing you and I could disintegrate
To delight the flight of the ingrate
Who wishes our relationship could migrate
Into Dante's Hades
Struck by full blown Aids
Enfeebled and disabled in beds
Where to detractors we surrender
Stuck owing bucks to the vendor
Who dares to crush our love in his blender
Administering his coup the grace
As we lie panting on yellow grass
Listening to soothing sounds of brass
Whispering osculation and consolation
Amid an attempt at immolation
Our love sustains not in isolation
But in tandem
With a hustled harem
Which sings its ultimate knell anthem.
Categories:
hustled, poems,
Form:
Free verse
The little nest that I found on the tree,
Was of a beautiful bird that I had never seen
There lay two birds very little,
With some pieces of straw very whittle.
To find food for the little ones, the mother was on flight,
Dusk was falling and there was very little light.
I began to worry as for the mother was not back,
On the other hand the sky was turning pitch black.
I saw something zoom past the moonlight,
I feared that it was a scavenger and the babies might have to put up a fight.
I quickly hid in the bushes near,
So that I could attack the other bird and drive away the little ones fear.
To my surprise it was a sparrow that had come,
And it was the little birds mum.
With seeds in its beak it had flown,
From a far away field where seeds were sown.
At the day break of the next morning,
I could hear the little birds chirping,
Their sound reminded me of the little family I had seen,
And to go and check their whereabouts I was keen.
Dressing up quickly, towards the garden I rushed,
The early morning breeze dimly hushed,
I ran towards the tree where the babies hustled,
Each step of mine made the leaves rustle.
I found the nest vacant and the birds were missing,
And to where the birds had gone I only had to keep guessing,
I waited till evening expecting them to return,
But disappointment was all I got in turn,
The birds must have found itself a new home,
And started life on its own
- Aadhya Venkatesh
Categories:
hustled, bird,
Form:
Free verse
*** Black Snow Storm ***
I’m blacker and madder and more than Hell I be bringin’ ya,
I’m a ****ed up assailant,
Mental-case mercenary hell bent,
Simultaneous and concurrent, I’m yo danger and yo savior.
But I’m real, and tangible, and do things unimaginable.
On the inside and ominous, searing truth burns my existence,
In the cold empty blanks of loathing inspired shadows,
Darkness manifests completely, as only I the one who knows.
Buried in denial, a Black Snow Storm of persistence.
Mad viral runaway,
Reaper-tagged, body bagged,
Peacefully performed, daily is as dooms a day.
Sicker than a mange’d up, street livin’ dog,
Fraudulent, Arrogant, Intelligent, and robbed.
Hustled by humanity, dignity straight-up jacked,
It’s parted-out and shipped out and neva comin’ back.
Crazy muthu****in razor bladed Snowflake,
Cold steeled touched be tight, and straighter-edged unique.
I’m in yo face, and in yo space,
An breathing stank leathelality,
Cuz crazy is as crazy does and I’m yo new reality.
I’m blacker than a ninja,
Trackin’ like a laza,
Murder-edged, star throwin’,
Life takin’ playa.
Fueled by the mental,
Conflicted, festering failure,
The whip-saw cracked, manic sized, consequential behavior,
The ease of mind is nowhere found, the truth be nothin’ gentle.
Snowflake driven, horrifying maelstrom,
Anarchist, Nihilist, devastating and then some.
Black Snowstorm blinded ya, and buried everything you know,
Snowflaka’ made it happen,
An unrelenting blizzard, of Black as coal Snow.
*** By djDiZZasteRR (AKA Brian Bauer) ***
Categories:
hustled, rap,
Form:
Lyric
As I lay one sullen autumn morn
on pearl dew turf with the day unborn
staring at the grey grimacing sky
with the mood and moment not quite high
sepulchral static wherever I looked
when my dreary dizzy gaze was hooked
at a lone leaf's death-descent down
to join its wilted kin on ground
then a sudden silent slithering breeze
deprived me of my warmth and ease
and the disturbed withered shroud of Fall
hustled revived in a rustling brawl
hurled and curled in the fading mist
till the whispering winds chose to desist
but Nature lies dead once again
until the wind resumes,retrieves restrain
and I know this flight of life is brief
for I'm none other than a fallen leaf.
Categories:
hustled, allegory, death, introspection, life,
Form:
Classicism
The dark and moonless night at sea
reflected well his mood,
from where he stood out by the rail
the ship seemed not to move.
He was gazing far away
into years gone by,
where there resided youthful joy
to recapture if he’d try.
He wore a paper around his neck
dangling on a string,
three letters there made an acronym
and such horror they did bring.
Put there by an officer
blue uniformed and stern,
because he had no documents
to his homeland…. he must return.
Turned away the very day
he landed on the island,
destitute and paperless
being denied asylum.
He watched the statue fade astern
after seeing her rise at dawn,
a goddess from the sea of hope
and all of his was gone.
The tag he wore about his neck
was his last and final doom,
WOP spelled “none for me.”
as he stood there in the gloom.
“With Out Papers” the letters meant
said the officer who put them on,
America’s milk and honey
was not for everyone.
Hustled back aboard the ship
without the means to pay,
no bunk no cabin or meals to eat
on deck all night and day.
His homeland would not welcome him
he was on the wrong side of their fight,
dispossessed and on the run
returning filled him with fright.
With only one place left to go
he was filled with true regret,
but the decision was an easy one
so over the side he leapt.
His body washed up on the shore
not uncommon for Ellis island,
there he was buried for eternity
finally finding his asylum.
Categories:
hustled, history, night, night,
Form:
Quatrain
Oh sweet flower of passion
Baby your body is a movie theater spotlights
One star shining brightly beautiful light
Burning inside hot flames
Every moment special
Singing heaven finds an angel
In you
How deep the silver lining
Softening the silence on a temperate breeze
Two hustled tears that ignite and alight
Floating on gilded tides
Leaving the literal
Bringing essence birthing changes
Anew
© Co write Liam McDaid/Kim van Breda
Categories:
hustled, angel, beautiful, beauty, love,
Form:
Free verse
An angel was elated
soared above the ground.
On a stifling populated
city he looked down.
Weightless in a blue sky
through a cloud he hustled.
On the southern side
knew well people’s bustle.
The image was dispersing
straight before my eyes.
By the air was urged on
reducing to a dust.
Presented in the bright Sun
like a fairy-witch,
affected like a clownish mug
a windy maverick.
Mischievous he seemed
to his seamstress nature.
To the past farewell he bid
like a pliant snake.
Waving with the curl
to amazing flowers
and he soon was turned
into a range of mountains.
Categories:
hustled, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
MINNESOTA OG
by BambiLynn'14
We need to bring some OG back to the game
They say only playas change, the games stays the same
But that ain't true, and it smells bad too
I've watched and thought and come up w this notion
Staying true to me is failing thug devotion
OG principles need to get back in track
Stop violence and hate, bring respect, g.p., and true hustling back!
All this hatin and violence can hit the door
Let's define what OLD SCHOOL GANGSTAS stood for
There was standards and rules for all OG
And to fit in the circle, you had to be...
True to the game w caliber and class
Not recognizing popcorn, gorilla, gutter, or trash
No one took from their home to invest in the game (insane)
You put your all in your home then hustled to come up or keep yo standard of living the same
The game kept severe poverty out of the life
Especially for kids whose dads walked out on their wife
Back then the only out was to play ball
Working only for a few gifted and tall
OG's didn't hate, had each other's backs
Supporting and competeing a little in building stacks
No pulling guns If one in the circle did wrong or violated
It was worse when OG's shut them out into starvation
Paying in shame, and being left out and without
Teaching a lesson instead of ending lives is better without doubt
Violence puts everything in the spotlight
Stopping all hustle, all money, having to set it down out if sight
When you take a life, you end yours too
Original purpose defeated, no life, no money you fool
When our own turns on itself~something's terribly wrong
Bring some OG back is the point of this song
Treat one another with love and respect
Deaths only a heartbeat away, on that you can bet
Stop all this killing and hate, have each other's back
Burning your own bridges isn't the right fight or attack
No hustle or game should be how you live
Or the legacy passed down to your kids with nothing to give
It should only be used as needed to come up and do more
Making things better for our families, not killing them to even the score
Don't take from the kids, settling for gutter and trash
Be true to you and the game, with caliber and class
Do what you do to come up, but keep growing past the game
Fight to be better, not each other, keep home and family sane
Categories:
hustled, city, culture, hip hop,
Form:
Lyric
It seems it takes reams of paperwork to get things done nowadays.
You can become so snarled in red tape that it'll leave you in a daze!
I wonder how Noah would've coped with such onerous fiddle-faddle,
Had panels and boards been involved to design for him a simple paddle!
Did he have building codes and hordes of bureaucrats to appease,
Or pesky environmentalists hugging the gopherwood trees?
Was there an OSHA lurking about enforcing inane regulations?
Such balderdash would've added to his heap of frustrations!
Was an ASPCA "watchdog" there fretting about all the creatures,
Insisting that cages and stalls have the latest comfort features?
Was their a labor union hovering nigh demanding a living wage?
Such piffle would've launched Noah into a towering rage!
Had Noah heeded those who showered him with sneer and scorn,
Or had he drowned in seas of red tape to stifle his Godly bourne,
He might've been discouraged and cancelled the whole affair.
That could've spelled doom for humankind right then and there!
But Noah's Boss, that Master Architect superintending from Above,
Gave Noah the specifications and a not too gentle shove!
Noah, Japheth, Ham and Shem hustled and the Ark soon took shape.
'Twas built on schedule, with no cost overruns and no red tape!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
hustled, funnyred, red,
Form:
Rhyme
Venerations Ablazed
Altruist veneration in an endeavour
Let the dew drop onto the leaf
Untamed dew,but chose to fall
Upon the sordid soil in grief
Blossomed lilac benignly pleased
Nectar! quench the beetle's thirst
Beetle in lieu fought to escort
Whimsy pollen along the dust
Clumsy pebble lost in womb
Sharpened and curved surfaces
Blisters on foot may rest for a while
Edges shed mighty all graces
Canvases all soaked in blues
Palette when agreed to save
Offerings of the candid quill
Rendered oblations of nave
Ethos forayed,venerations ablazed
Weary arms cosied endeavour
Clinched in the stead of hatred
He hustled his frump manoeuvre
Categories:
hustled, slavery,
Form:
My friend, oh how I miss you
Life now, seems so unfulfilled.
There was nothing I could do
To have you back again
healed.
Such sadness within my heart
So much, you will never know.
My chest has been ripped apart
Having to let my boy go.
Not what I ever wanted
Seeing you gone from my life.
My soul, forever haunted
That decision causing strife.
First time I laid eyes on you
I could not believe my sight!
So big - strong - the perfect hue
Eyes full of life - aura bright.
Knew, day one, 'twas meant to be
The way you hustled over.
Plain as any eye could see
Not your typical Rover.
Home, and you bounded inside
Tore through our house exploring.
Back, forth, chaos at high tide
Life with you -never boring.
Kissing, playing, full of fun
So sweet you were with our kids.
Touched the lives of everyone
The reason for their teared lids.
Imposed, to Mama, your love's will.
Even heard you say her name.
Moaning 'bout your every ill
While kissing her just the same.
Sleeping with us - on her side
Taking up half her space.
You were King - she MUST abide
Now tears they run down her face.
Playing with your teddy bear
Made us all laugh, with such joy.
You'd toss it up in the air -
Then catch it! You silly boy!
I'd smile at how you'd greet me
"Hello, Daddy!" with your howl.
To me, was all too funny.
Now? my face it holds a scowl.
A scowl, 'cause I feel guilty
Knowing not what could be done.
Unaware of your frailty
Please forgive me lovely son.
RIP Oscar
Nov. 5, 2005 - Nov. 3, 2015
Categories:
hustled, absence, death of a
Form:
Ode