All this chaos you created, like a contagion you conveyed.
You cherish cunning and deceit, as you claimed.
Like a disease you spread your misfortunes and unsureness of the world that you lived in.
As a child I wished you were gone, as you beat me and belittled me until I bled.
This in your mind earned you your street cred, as you punished the people around you until you fled.
From the burdens and blunders that you dread, but dare declare an empty reply with that.'' Your sorry''.
All this worry and woe, tiptoeing around you- oh, how I must have misjudged you when you muttered,'' your sorry.''
Oh the worries cultivated a collection of complications, that piled up, needing a lorry to carry them around.
No, I won't shed a single tear from fear or pity, as I wish you were gone.
But it's okay for you to utter your hollow, 'Your sorry.''
I have a PHD in phraseology
I am a nonchalant OG
This is how Gen Z would describe me
As for The Ick
The drama in a relationship
The one you don't want to be with
And the fam can be a bro
Or anyone who is close
TFW you make a toast
You don't want to catch these hands
Or throw shade
Or be ghosted by lover's tirade
Ok boomer enough with your cred
Enough with trying to fit in with what's said
Says Gen Z to Gen X
Stokesy has already said
Shell shocked how Head sped
Smarting departing fielders fled
Chief belief thief..bowlers bled
Not silly got willy nilly Gilly cred
Ben's men grief left for dead
Travis mischief led fed the dread
Slogan from rogue Bogan bred
Mighty Blighty faces still red
They made this Baz ball bed
Ashes thread of hope shred
So fears where angels tread
May be we should say instead
Going out for a great Travis mate
Rather than I'm getting off my Head
Cataclysm, disaster!
Calamity, come!
Fate of mankind, I, master!
Doom and Death, thy drum...
Gore upon the altar?
Somebody needs to go.
Nerves within, do not falter!
Cease, heartbeat, post slow.
Tunnel subterranean?
What in there was planned?
Hell and Heaven, sane again?
Orders countermand!
Yellow skies in harpsichord?
Fall not on thy sword!
Every matador not gored!
That's who holds the fjord!
Volcano, thy lava red;
What feeds on the dead?
Questions such about thy head!
Countenance and cred!
Shrine on top of highest hill?
Wasteland, have thy pill.
Burn the bodies, file the fill!
Giant, duress? Kill...
Spill, O blood of heart! Solve? Start.
Take the human part.
Deadly dawn upon the dart...
Terror tastes a-tart...
It’s good to know I wrote my stuff
and not some artificial.
I’d say it was intelligent;
that might be prejudicial.
Like steroids shot into the knee
go to the interstitial,
I ran an AI on myself;
I’m human, it’s official.
The space between the ears: a void
that fills from time to time.
Apparently a robot can’t
construct a clever rhyme.
The only time I’m seeing stars
is when I hit my head;
the bruise is used to cue my muse,
add to my human cred.
----------
with a nod to 'The Space Between The Stars'
Antoine Vollen realist
with breakfast piece did persist
A 'painters' painter it was said
a celebrity with srreet 'cred'
can never really have a fave,
'tis determined by the wave.
feelings captured, moments in time,
a request to appreciate a rhyme.
can never really give out names,
who is to be left out, as if put to shame?
a poem per emotion, a daily bread,
we all are deserving of good 'cred.
I've read poems, in seek of motivation,
writer's block, threatened cancellation.
a section of "new poems", poets do the most,
before you know it, I'm sharing a post.
22 December 2022
"Who is your best PS poet or poetess" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
He said
See shed!
She said
Much cred!
He said
We’s pleased?
She said
Bee’s knees!
She said
We red?
He said
Cash dead
She said
Bonehead!
He left
Unsaid
Just smiled
Instead
—————
Purely imagined…
Giovanni Antonio Canal
of the famed waterway mall
Canaletto,Venice born&bred
panoramas thereof enhanced his 'street cred'
I have no idea what you just said.
I read it all, then I read what I read;
I played it several times in my head.
I thought I followed, but I lost the thread.
Not always the sharpest tool in the shed,
sometimes I feel like my brain’s a bit dead,
a brain-borne illness that’s starting to spread.
A minute ago… but now there’s no shred.
It seemed like a place to cautiously tread.
Maybe an accident? Seems like you bled?
That person you wrote about: are you still wed?
No, that was a poem written by Fred.
Consuming Soup’s part of my daily bread;
creative juices flow when you are fed,
but after reading, I’m empty instead.
Saying the wrong thing just fills me with dread.
Thoughtful, deep comments might give me street cred,
or some pithy maxim, but wisdom just fled.
See, I ain't got nothing; ignorance pled.
I have no idea what you just said.
Signed, a spondee respondent, “Awesome!” ahead.
A seismic surge is gathering pace, propelling a wave
Of multi faces many creeds, diverse street cred.
From public also of private ed' facets shimmer
Thoughts Intense myriad humankind immense.'
Mainstream channels pour out scorn, early morning
To midday lies take form, pushing into night time TV
And radio, dangerous anti-vaxers rabid foes..'
Yet when the millions gather wherever? One fact is so '
But You'll hear it from them never ! No all points bulletin
On the crazy folk that have escaped those penitentiary yokes
Or from their social workers..' I find it so scary.)
Cause this means the protesters (must be sane.')
If You'd consider if fairly.? And in the main !
I've got 99 Dalmatians
99 problems
But a b###h ain't 1
Are simply Black or White
99 shade's of grey
Luckily I can't count to over a 100
Otherwise id have 101
Come from 8 miles away
Wrong side of the tracks
No street cred
Get stage fright
Battle getting it up
Can only spit while flipping burgers
Got 99 dog's but not a single G
calling me dog back
Tried 99 times but still no b###h
hollering back at me neither
Got no litter , got no glitter ,
got no bling , got not paper
Self proclaimed
Fresh Prince of Dead-Air
Cnr 99th street 101
And if 1 of you wants to buy a puppy
forward me your digits after the show
And I'll have 98 problems
But 99 ain't 1
In case you weren’t feeling old
(A topic kind of weighty)
You might, as soon as you’ve been told
Today, Bob Dylan’s 80!
Our youthful idols cannot age
Unless we do in tandem
And lately, if they take the stage,
They face a senior fandom.
I’m glad that Bob’s still kicking,
Earning accolades and cred
Unlike those whose songs are sticking
Though they’re 50-plus years dead.
B orn again,from above
R everes his one(&only) love
I n England,proudly raised and bred
A forties child...enough said !
N ovel verse...his 'street cred'
5/10/19
"So Long As"
Came a long way from being a rook
They're about to forsook
Scared to take a look
Competition shook
Not ready for what I'm about to cook
Can't find it in any book
Everything is what it took
By the end, you'll be hooked
It's already afoot
Up around a brook
In a certain nook
Is where I put
Each foot
Atop miles of soot
Better start knowing
It's been ongoing
Showing
No signs of slowing
So long as waters are flowing
The moon is glowing
And life continues growing
If need be, I'll make them regret what they did and said
Wasn't surprised, because the thought crossed my head
Tried to leave me dead
So they could get ahead
I kept seeing red
Which was not just from when I bled
Focused on getting some bread
Gaining tread
And staying fed
Then I sped
Around straightaways and bends
Barely seeing my friends
Instead trying to live more on the edge
Before I'm on all the these meds
And near the end
Doesn't matter if I do, or don't get any cred
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