I rise from the rubble like Lazarus wearing a noose of night.
The gutter whispers my name through the teeth of tombstones.
Rain baptizes me backward, burying me in yesterday's dirt.
Every prayer I utter comes crawling back begging for mercy.
My soul stinks of survival-perfume for the punished.
Heaven spits when I shine in the slime.
Hope limps behind me, bleeding blessings in the bog.
This hard earth hugs me hard, jealous of my fall.
Under redemption's heel I was born-the gutter remembers my name
A chill breeze blows in the ghetto
radiators silent -- empty cupboards rattle
Raw hands wince from the sting of snow
a chill breeze blows in the ghetto
A mother huddles with her brood in a drafty room
no heat emanates from the ice-cold moon
Their cries die in the wind-swept snow
~ a chill breeze blows in the ghetto
The world is a ghetto
Filled with beggars, gypsies, tramps and thieves
And then a whole bunch
Of hapless fools without a clue
They are in fact the real slaves.
The major religions after all are designed
To assuage the lot of this ghettoed mass
Who are slaves to their own mind’s habituations,
With hope and fear, dogma, and conformity,
And not the masters amongst them
Who fear not their freedom
Having no need for intermediaries
Go about their lives,
Be it under the radar
Or in the spot light,
With dignity
The world may be a ghetto
But it’s the best one we’ve got,
And slaves can always hope to be free,
And even sometimes find a master
Who will show them the way.
(10/26/25)
He's a jungle boy
Smoking his pain pills
Steadily rolling his blunt
Jumbo size is his favorite
Doing whatever makes him happy his priority.
Always smoking
When he's not, maybe he's
Asleep, bathing, eating and more
He said smoking is his hobby
Because it keeps him reasoning not thinking.
Lost his parents at a very tender age
There was no guidance
Started living reckless and dangerous
Never jealous of anyone
Always zealous in all his endeavors
Many sees him as a savior
Because he always savor every moment.
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 came from the cracked earth,
where sirens sang lullabies
and gunshots kept rhythm
like a mother’s heart—
fast, then gone.
We ate what we stole,
slept where we fell,
and called rusted chain-link fences
the edge of the world.
The old man left,
the old lady broke,
and love was a rumor
we didn’t believe in.
I bled young.
Learned young.
Fists before forgiveness,
pain before prayer.
But I built.
One scar at a time,
I stacked mistakes like bricks,
cut my teeth on truth,
and spit out the lies.
Didn’t ask to be saved—
just wanted a shot to stand.
Not clean, not perfect—
just honest.
Now I walk with a limp,
but it’s mine.
I speak with weight,
’cause I carried hell on my back
and still came out
looking like a man.
I'm a Ghetto clown, a fool for the cash/
Juggling dreams while the world does a dash/
If laughter's a crime, then call me a crook/
I'll steal your frown with a single look/
They call me a lamb, said, Take the fall/
But I laughed so hard, I shook the hall/
Crucify me? Sure, but here's the thing/
I'll go out laughing, like a jester king/
Got kicked out of Hell, the Devil's in tears/
He said, Man, your jokes are my worst fears/
Now I roam the streets, a clown on the run/
Turning gloom to giggles, one by one/
In the Ghetto, I'm the eternal jest/
A clown with a flair, I'm the very best/
Life's a circus, and I'm the main act/
a fool for eternity, that's a fact/
My punchlines hit harder than life's cruel blows/
I'm the comic relief when the tension grows/
So laugh with me, or laugh at me/
Either way, I'm your comedy spree/
So here I stand, a clown in the fray/
Turning dark nights into brighter days/
If life's a joke, then I'm the punchline/
A Ghetto clown, forever divine/
To you
I dedicate
The visual hazards
At you a post
Bailing water
And ima float
Sam tha ghosted
Ships end blisters
China bone, scandinavian romes
Too the beautiful i dead, i kate
Lovely little irish twisters
Cant sake
Im four’d
I've never been in a war zone.
Once I got lost on my way to Wriggly Field.
Ended up in a tilted, burned-out ghetto.
A cherry pulled me over for being out of place.
The cherry man said leave asap.
For it wasn't very safe.
The ballgame was sold out, so my girl and I went to the zoo instead.
All day long I couldn't shake the ghetto out of my head...
The animals were better off than many Chicagoans.
At least the animals were safe and well fed.
Has praying for sustenance and safety ever accomplished anything?
War and poverty are a given and a constant in modern society.
Sitting on my fire escape reminiscing never forgetting my ghetto good TIMES! I remember those fetishesi often relished that and dis NEVER Dismiss any dimensions when it comes to dis VERNACULAR. I have learned exactly aand spectacularly! I speak I speak I speak GHETTO PROPERLY! I can not ever disrespect my BROTHERS my SISTERS ever hardly never dis them in this stranger's macreb system. Heeey it's all day GHETTO proper stop the cops at deh dor!
Oh! Deh dor?! Yeah you know I know much more many sentences I have spent with this from ghetto
Dreams all linked in the connection trend. I been thinkin'
Oh. What I meant to say is I've been thinking or can I...aah may I issue, I have dutifully contemplated? Mm you like that one huh? And you should know I only abbreviate words when I have the urge. It's only the proper thing to exact. Uh I make me sick sometimes! Yeah I do flaunt my SWAGGER when and or wherever I deem the situation needs devastion! Ah! It might require a specific matter. Ah! Naw stop that chatter! Scatter! Us this ghetto proper? WHO WILL HAVE THE NERVE. THE AUDACITY TO try and CORRECT ME?! I SAY it CORRECTLY aand then instantly
Have you read Pavel Friedmann's "The Butterfly"?
I discovered it in a Children's poem book
he only rhymes with the words "high" and "goodbye"
its imagery gives the ghetto a close look
Only dandelion flowers went to seed
were we stuck there, we'd not pull them as a weed
I painted a sun crying on a white stone
a memorial for that butterfly, known
Born on a cold day
with the moon shining on him at night,
crying as a newborn child
he saw the light.
In a ghetto he screamed
for the first time.
He was raised happy as he could be
without other chances, but fighting.
Knowing nothing else,
he learned that he was the best.
He grew up strong,
after being hit one day after the other,
engaged with a guitar
as his best friend.
He had been successful rolling
down to Mississippi with love
for the whole world.
Going up to Memphis
you can be haunted by his voice.
Going back to Memphis,
you will be returned to sender,
the king will open the mail box
GHETTO ANGEL
I'm always at peace yet I stick to my guns.
Its paradoxical for my traits to take turns.
Decipher the oxymoron in a peaceful worrier,
No harmony or truce without wagging war.
Peace to this young-hearted warrior
without the sound of the riffles,
despite emblems & scars of my past titles.
Wipe your eyes and see it clearly
'cause the world's view looks blurry.
The red sun sinks at last
into the hills of gold & erupts a blast.
At the fall of the night,
the full moon suffered a bite
like the logo of the apple company.
Night is no longer evoking symphony
and now, we drink-out our own bottles.
Before seeing humans babies see battles,
that's why too many of them scream
when delivered from the womb dream.
Peace at last to this warrior & the angel in him.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 1st April, 2023.
The Mountains of the Dead
I’ve seen the mountains of the dead,
the worn-down hobnailed boots,
a child’s pathetic pair of shoes,
those ladies’ heels in red and blue,
and stared at each macabre caress;
scuffed patent leather,
canvas twisted rubber soles,
threadbare laces noose tied,
forsaken footwear’s silent echoes
of ghettoes quickly cleared.
A million steps that led to death.
In moving epitaph to abandoned hope,
a pile of battered suitcases
bare the hasty scrawls of human beings
I’ll never know:
Klara Goldstein,
Peter Eisler,
Olga Kornfeld.
A lost property office
for the Lost.
Reaching out, ten thousand spectacles
watch me through a window,
peer deep into my soul, tug heartstrings
to my conscience,
these twisted frames,
the ultimate victims
of a twisted ideology.
One thousand lives
Extinguished
Every
Single
Day
Washing the sleep off my face, at me the sun smiled;
Telling me it’s a brand new day
A bright young day, a foot to start a mile
And to gather my tools and make some hay
Washing the dirt off my feet, my dreams jumped beguiled;
Beamed with great expectancy, my joys aloft
Enough strength to keep my hopes revived
And to full up my hayloft
Yet in my high spirits;
Sometimes I feel scared and down
I see my dreams split
And my hopes seem to drown
Cause unlike them my path is rough and muddy;
I know how that woman, my mama she tries
Ploughing the fields yet tough and droughty
And drenching up her purse, tearfully she cries
Washing the sleep off my face, patiently awaits my journey;
I was not born with a silver spoon and neither will I be pushed on a gurney
So with this mindset I set my mind
That no matter where my dream is, deeper will I mine.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.