Best Low Class Poems
Renegades Foreva!
Renegade teenage rage babes
thinkin’ they all grown, all knowin’
when they seedlin’s barely sown
bleedin’ teenage angst with teenage crankst
always rhymin’ and mis-timin’ some poetry-crimin’
mis-mashin', diss-bashin'
word-clashin' song
heard on some half-sappy, sex-happy,
yap-rap, smack-attack vid
made by some brotha who’s just anotha
angry angst-ridden
wannabe gangsta kid
With a street beat
they be hummin’ or singin’ along
repeatin’ the deceit
not knowin’ curse verses
are just plain wrong and mostly maligin’
while grownups in earshot
takin’ all them swearshots
wishin’ them words had sweeter rhymin’
or that kids be more discreet
would take their claptrap,
no-class, crass-crack lyrics
and just tweet ‘em or mime ‘em
But if ‘dults could go back, meet themselves
when they was punk teens
fittin’ into pre-shrunk his or her hunk jeans
listenin’, partyin’ to poppin’ rockin’
unusual musical junk boy band scenes
and lettin’ out star-struck
super-charged
groanal hormonal
no-one-could-understand gland screams
then they’d be amused ya know,
might change their views ya know
cause remind ‘em not so pristine
when child and ‘dult they was in-between
Kids always lookin’ to find
who they are and who they be
imprisoned involuntarily
in their youthful penitentiary
no matter what century they be from you see
So if thinkin’ rap sucks cause
it’s just no-class hurls and low-class slurs
then fire-up that flux capacitor of yours,
head back to yo’ past and meet yo’ younger him or hers
see your own rebelling mis-teen-stakes
then rapping notions you might reshape
or rapping judgments remake
or least maybe now tolerate new-age teenage
rapping outbreaks and in-yo-face ear-quakes
realizin’ that come whateva or wheneva
that all teens now, before an’ where-eva
will evamore and eva be
natural renegades foreva!
© 2014 all rights reserved
It was a train
that took my mother west
away from her family farm
to seek adventure. She found work in San Diego,
joined the Navy and met my dad.
It was the 1950’s.
Planes were not yet a big deal
and many traveled long distances
by train.
It was a train
that carried my mom away
from a husband impossible to live with.
The year was 1960. For traveling far,
the train was the poor man’s choice.
Trains and buses were plentiful
when my mom brought her 4 young girls
back to her parents’ farm
to then start over.
It was a train
that my father purchased two tickets for
so that my sister and I could visit with him
out west where he lived near Seattle.
The year was 1969.
On a black and white TV, with my dad,
we watched astronauts walking on the moon.
It was a time of social unrest, and technology would soon
be soaring past the moon!
It was a train
that brought my sister and I home
from the lovely visit with our dad.
I recall having to walk past a troop of flirty boy scouts
that occupied one of the train’s cars
each time my sister and I made our way to the dining car.
We watched mountains turn into cornfields
as the train carried us back toward the Mississippi.
A most memorable experience it was.
It was a train
that brought me only a few other times after that
to visit my dad out west or my mother in Iowa
as I traveled with a spouse and two sometimes-wailing kids.
Like a train, my life kept moving.
After 1984, I’d use the train no more.
Trains had become nostalgic ways to travel -
used more by people with the luxury of time,
people who enjoyed eating meals as
scenery sped past them outside their windows.
It’s the plane
that modern rushed humanity today are using.
Buses are low-class and cars are for road trips.
Trains, though still running, are not much heard of.
It’s not so easy to find
a very accommodating route by train.
My life has flown by like a plane,
but if it should ever slow down,
I think I’d like to take again – a train!
Oct. 27, 2021
For the Railroads, A Historical Glance Back Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Alas, the world has changed
As the humans take control.
They, for their own likes and dislikes,
Have defined you, just as they please.
And now, you witness the creation of great walls…
Separating mankind.
By the comparison… of colour, of language, of the way of life.
The beautiful, the clean, the classy, the rich…
High class, low class, third class, middle class…
Splitting the world: once split by geographical circumstances.
But remember, your definition lies within you:
In your honesty, purity, tenderness and virtue.
They are to be measured, evaluated, and to be improved…
So to win the heart of man as a rightful citizen.
Remember; do not define yourself by those futile factors –
For with them, only the stupidity of mankind shall rise.
12/20/2018
Our nation is very old
the land of cocoa and gold
Here is found peace
that never will cease
Great nation at birth foretold
by the oracle of old
Half a century passed
she's still at low class
Africa's hope she was meant to be
but now what do we see?
Nkrumah's Ghana
borrowing, begging for manna
Aaaah! The beggar-borrower's bread
is never sufficient, Granny said
High class self respecting ladies have nothing to worry about me.I prefer low class ladies because they are more high class(and oftentimes more interesting and honest).
Discrimination is rampant elsewhere,
LGBT, PWD and Low Class person got there,
Is anybody can solve this?
Or nothing can break this.
Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, Transgenders,
Everyone says they are curse,
In the society they are rot,
People sees abnormality on them,
They are criticize on physical.
How come they judge them?
They beautify our world,
They got a good career,
And what we sees now they are succeeded.
Persons with disabilities are unique,
But still they are criticize,
They can't get a job 'cause of situation,
Everyone looks them as trash,
Everyone thinks of their differences,
They are drag of everyone.
How come they judge them?
They are unique and talented,
They create a new world,
And what we sees now they are the highlight of all.
Low Class persons are discriminated.
People are ignoring them,
And make them slave.
Everyone sees they are hindrance.
People are teasing their situation,
And banish from the society.
But how come they judge them?
They are the life of society,
They have a noble job,
And a successor of everything.
I hate hoodrats,
To me they are no match.
I hate them with the passion.
I always prayed in the hood,
As a child, that when I got
Grown I would go buck wild
Beating anyone their backend mass,
Because they are low class,
They make sure that the strong,
Black family existence is a thing
Of the past. I hate their food stamp
Selling, never excelling, treacherous
Trashy tails. They are sell-outs,
Because they let the government
Bail them out and enslave them,
Our men, and beautiful children
They are hindering progress of the future.
I wish that there were sharp-shooters,
That would zap all of them in the back of,
Their red, orange, purple, and blue hair.
They walk around without a care,
In the world. They are lost souls.
Sold out to Satan wrecking the Black nation.
They cause other strong Black women from
The hood that have a little success, a whole
Life of professional distress. I hope one day one
Hoodrat would understand, that they are part
Of Satan’s plan to rob, kill, and destroy, all
Of the little black girls and boys, and most
Of all killing the men, while causing who to win?
Satan. One day I will get enough Godly strength
To pray for them instead of physically slapping the
Hell out of them. I through prayer will slam Satan’s
Silliness out of them, but for right now as I work the
Plow and get enough knowhow. Just shame, shame ,
Shame, shame, on all of the hoodrats’ hellified names.
Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. Deliver the poor and
needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked." Though this seems to be directed at other
gods, it is good advice for humans as well. Psalm 82:3-4
Wealth obtained by fraud dwindles, but the one who gathers by labor increases it. Proverbs
13:11
There was an elf whose name was Nick
He had a nack it was a trick
He steal his way into your heart
Then leave at night when it got dark
He did this once unto a lass
Who put a spell on Nicks low class
Now when he tried this trick again
He turned to stone though not a gem
She set him up upon a self
With other things that have no wealth
Now all who wish to find this man
Know now just where the elf does stand
'Camp Chippewa, ' its tennis and rifle range, X-Class sailing,
And classic 'Old Town' canvas covered wooden canoes,
Not the low-class aluminum canoes of a 'Camp Thunderbird.'
Cass Lake - garden of the Mississippi's hidden currents,
Nature's setting for Star Island's fresh blue berry thickets,
Brisk, though swimmable waters, still safe to drink.
Cass Lake - child of the first dam, city sewage dumped below.
Kathy and I were warmly received by Chippewa's staff,
And given a hot meal and tour by the owner's son.
Though it was too early for the new season's initiates,
The rustic setting and friendly staff made us feel at home.
Early afternoon found us approaching the dam's spillway,
Though Kathy thought me crazy, we unloaded the canoe,
And I paddled it alone through the one open gate, YAAHOO! !
How many dreams can you remember coming true?
This whole trip was a waking dream, a gift for me,
Including having a wife who was willing to share it.
Miles of river already, dust shaken from our gunnels,
Adventures of the days to come hanging like a white sheet
Strung between trees in an unwired, impoverished village,
Only imagination powers the projector of what can be. (7)
Poet's Notes:
(7) This wonderful image is the child of an experience from my American Peace Corps experience in East Africa. Once a month a VW Van would show up in even the most remote villages and they would hang up a white sheet across ‘main street' and show ‘free' older movies to the locals like ‘Tarzan, The Ape Man.' Villagers thought that Tarzan was quite a funny, if stupid guy. You don't talk to monkeys you eat them! Of course, then, between every reel, there would be ten minutes of hard core advertising for everything from toothpaste to cigarettes to alcohol and always girls hanging on the arm of the man buying these products! I always assumed that advertisers paid for these monthly films but I do not know that to be true.
REPETITION Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5
REPETITION
Two sides to
The never ending story -
I am unable to let end -
OF
A well educated, upper class,
POLISH PRINCESS,
A real Beauty,
and that of
an uneducated, low class,
unintelligent, Canadian derelict.
A Frog!
Follow the journey of these two in poetry and prose.
Much of, is from the perception /perspective of the Frog.
The Princess has provided very little information.
A lot of insight though.
This journey ( if interested ) you will have to take on my blog - B. J. "A" 2-anold soul.blogspot.com - for it is far to much to include - put on this site. Thank you all, who have taken the time to read my ramblings, my insanity.
REPETITION
Two sides to
The never ending story -
I am unable to let end -OF
A well educated, upper class,
POLISH PRINCESS,
A real Beauty,
and that of
an uneducated, low class,
unintelligent,Canadian derelict.
A Frog!
Follow the journey of these two in poetry and prose.
Much of, is from the perception /perspective of the Frog.
The Princess has provided very little information.
A lot of insight though.
This journey ( if interested ) you will have to take on my blog - B. J. "A" 2-anold soul.blogspot.com - for it is far to much to include - put on this site. Thank you all, who have taken the time to read my ramblings, my insanity.
No Boxed Gifts
By Elton Camp
Anytime some wedding is in the offing,
Up with a gift you better be coughing
To say a gift’s expected is terribly crass
It shows the person inviting is low class
But apparently there is just no end to gall
For brides trying to get the preferred haul
At times, down at the bottom of the RSVP,
“No boxed gifts” is put there for you to see
What this actually means is clear enough
We want cash and not some crummy stuff
But when an invitation for this does call,
I intend to take it to mean, “No gift at all”
From a tribe called quest;
where we will never give up.
From a nation called hope ;
where we will never stop struggling.
From a region called Ifriqiya;
where the sun never stops shinning.
Part of a race called black;
where they striped our identity.
From a time in history;
where my race is ridiculed and look down upon as low class people.
In a new world;
where they continue push the fate of my people into despair.
In an ever changing generation;
where famine poverty and plaques are still rampant in my nation
On a diverse continent;
where they altered our history and fabricated wars.
Am part of a people;
whose distant cousins continue to suffer in all forms of racial abuses
On a planet where my people are ridiculed scorned and are the most poverty stricken.
From an era;
where some still view our sable race with scornful eyes.
Living in a country; under the pressure to embrace robbery decked out as free trade.
Threading on a territory ;
where people are separated by invisible boundaries but united in dreams…
On a land in which our history did not begin in chains and it will not end in chains.
You know,My race is like a rubber ball ;
The harder you dash it to the ground, the higher it will rise.
I inhale temptation;
shrugging shoulders of
mortality.
Suck teeth stained
with indifference;
While copyrighting
my daydreams.
I’m an American Badass,
low class, white trash,
with expensive delusions.
I get impatient with repetition,
So I shovel spiritual vagrancy into the
mouths of my peers
with metaphoric spilled beers
and ashy mouthed proclamations
of a wandering disposition.
I sing songs tied to the same ragged beat,
the one that makes the speakers
bleed just as much as the crowd.
Heavy Metal rants,
just sharp enough to rip
the pants of your morality
… but, just for the night
In the morning the truth of why
you’re here, and anything else
that seemed unclear…
will be hanging low,
just over your head
like ripened fruit;
Fighting gravity the
way you’ve been fighting
responsibility…
It’s right in your face.
Like heavy elbows in a mosh pit.
Your stomach is curdled,
soul a little sick,
but your eyes have never
been more focused.
You understand what is important:
The friends willing to toss a full
beer,
brave the circle pit,
pick you up, dust you off…
And throw you back in
with a smile.
The Scars you’ve earned,
and the blood you’ve saved.
The pain you’ve felt,
the joy shown through busted lips
and scabbed knees;
the chaotic calm of life lived
on the brink.
The Circle Pit Sanctuary.
Where the lost can rage,
and be at peace.
Where the broken
find the truth in the
lies of their lives.
Where the hopeless
can strike at the wind,
and fall against muddy Earth,
to be picked up by
a brother,
by a sister,
by the music of
the anger being
purged from a spirit
that might not have
otherwise made it
….to the show.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Canzonetta
-elected-
True love is just another useless word,
So I accept this low-class life of mine.
There's no true love in this world,
So I do my best to cross the line.
With wires of pleasure spiking through,
Go figure, I erupt with nothing but lies.
I was numb before, so I don't feel you,
The elected miracle simply dies.
Breaking apart all of my thoughts,
I scream and shout out my misery.
The low-class future that connects the dots,
A disregarded human, that's all I see.
With wires of pleasure spiking through,
Go figure, I erupt with nothing but lies.
The thing that I once held close,
The elected miracle simply dies.
Accepting defeat, that's all I know now,
So I've accepted the low-class future.
I can't do anything to break the flow,
And I can't destroy this creature.
With wires of pleasure spiking through,
Go figure, I erupt with nothing but lies.
This thing that is what I was,
The elected miracle simply dies.