Long Mic Poems
Long Mic Poems. Below are the most popular long Mic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mic poems by poem length and keyword.
Does my posture hint who I am
At open mic poetry slam
I prefer to hide behind lime winged words
On my pc or tablet or pen paper if I have it
Will my message get loosely lost
As you notice the style of hair I toss
If I am short tall fat or thin
Do YOU hear my message or take my presence in
I don't always walk up to the mic
And I'm wondering this teal thought tonight
Is my heart a red paper valentine
That presents as giving up on love in time
I stand here on this stage
Full of fear desiring fuchsia praise
Seeking love of audience in my way
Unity and community follow my page
I am mistaken I am not a poet
Just a lost soul hoping to grow it
That special something the it factor
Standing on stage as a benefactor.
If you notice my shoes
You know I'm an old soul
Hearing my heart is bruised
Told you so.
I get confused with the snaps and claps
All I want from you is a spiritual tap.
I stood too long before the crowd
I read my poem in a voice so loud
I feel relief like yellow sun from cloud
Thanks for listening glad I came out.
I spoke and you didn't hear.
I need to turn up the volume,
Why are you so obtuse?
Hold up! Pass da mic.
You want me to listen
But you speak "at" and not to!
I hear your long words,
You are very educated.
But you have lost touch,
with people and reality.
Love and care is action.
You have forgotten how,
to connect and feel.
You look at me like I'm
another species.
Am I not human?
Let me educate you,
what is a world without
love?
It's about time you come,
to my side of the tracks.
What you will find is "you"
we all are "one" apart of
the human race.
I don't have much money
as you, but I'm still rich.
The wealth that I have
is more valuable than
all yo riches!
I'm out!
And I “dropped da the mic”
2-15-19
Alexis Y.
Poet don’t feel right
Poet struggles sleeping at night
POETS NEVER SLEEP
At least…that’s what other poets keep telling me
But this lackluster slumbering just might be
From the unwavering weight of all responsibility
Poet only seems awake while walking through daydreams
Only wants to live life lavished in imagination
Painting alternate universes in which the stars guide me
An alternate universe in which i am happy
The moon and its tides constantly aligned
An alternate universe in which my artistry arrives unagonized
An alternate universe already constructed by someone else
An alternate universe in which contains an atmosphere in which I can breathe in which should be the one I’m in now
But my nervous system glitches,
Spine tinges spitting gibberish
Jittering shaky legs racing while staying stationary
Amazed at the way
A stage shakes me
In vibrations
At least its safe to say I said something today
Shared a story shoved, cornered in a junk drawer
At least I keep poetry in motion
only productive when my mind’s flowing
But I know my audience
I know they’re only hearing my poet voice
They only see my tragedies rehashed in romantics
There's only so many ways to manipulate the pain staked
in my chest in my throat in my head
So I choke on my raw truth
so it’s more digestible
for everybody else in the room
If not on the page,
Where is a tortured artists’ pain safe?
Paper scrapes
Psalms
Poems
Cutting deep enough
For me to bleed enough
For you to envision the misery
I’m in
Some alternate universe in which I am not a poet
Instead,
I am illiterate at the expense of my own pen and tongue
Instead, I await the unarriving;
Bleeding out without any sign of rescue
Instead, I plagiarize my inhabitance to a world
constructed by everyone except myself
Instead,
I am here
Earth rotates
Everything else still
I am still
Here.
gave me the mic
God bless the day
the mic was made
so gave me the mic
I have a message
I have them in quantum's
don't ask too much question
I sick perfection too
just listen and be bless
is not difficult
so turn on the mic
my soul is willing
gave me the mic
if got a soul
heal the world
we are so wild
our evil destructions
are obviously obvious
so now my mic is on fire
as I spit the light
to the dark world
there is no time
to wait
the time is now
so if you got a soul
let heal the world
with love
gave me the mic
let me heal my soul
wild to the world
polluted by lies
destroyed by illusion
I am not the first on the mic
with worlds of wisdom
so I provoke another soul
to rise to the mic
cos together we can heal
the world
I wish I can do it alone
let me die if I think twice
let my days be short cut
if I let down
sadly I can't do it alone
now I know why my mic
is on fire
cos it echo's life
to the air of freedom
it is loud on the ears
of the weak
cos we all need each other
to heal the world together
with love
gave me the mic
play me the deep tone
just let me be only
with this mic of mine
am a beast on the mic
I fear not cos this life I bear
I already have died to be alive now
too hard to understand but
only God knows the truth
from the heart of
the son of man
so he place his divine
blessing on my soul
and now I can set the mic
on fire with out a lighter
but by the words of wisdom
from the supernatural blessing
of God
calling on the world
calling on all people
to together heal the world
with love
Black And White
We are given all the pieces
to play and indulge in life’s great feast
outrageous fortunes be dammed!
Given full reign to Ego’s unfettered beast
and the moves we make shall
establish our legacy
Why are we here?
We can either dazzle with brilliance
or baffle with bulls*it
Shameless are unleashings of doubt
only makes a lesser us grow
inhibits our muses
disables our abilities to sprout
I’m no longer vulnerable
to slings and arrows
validity with magnanimity instead of
sentiments design to disparage
are a marriage of lucidity
Opt for words that heal, and clarity!
Phrases that reveal
a simple way of life,
carpe diem, austerity
too much comfort makes a lazy lone
what a poet shall write
shall be etched in stone
in B
l
a
c k
and
W
h
i
t
e ,)
these are only musings, musing
on her and the grace she moved with
and I wonder did it come with age,
a self-assured wisdom after the growing ache of a man looking through her
crumbled to ashes?
did she bloom beneath
that disposition undisturbed, unflattened
by Invisible Woman Syndrome?
or maybe they kept looking
like i couldn’t help but do, her
lines enumerated beneath feline eyes
and white cropped hair and i could in that moment feel her
bathed in Australian sun, skin tattooed with the crinkled euphoria of happy recollection.
her poems were good.
i wished i could muster a conceivable reason
to hug her but there really wasn’t one because
people weren’t giving out hugs after the readings
so i pictured what it’d be like if she were my mother,
would her warmth like a quiet charisma
have made me colder as if two crystals passing energy between them containing all….. but none unto themselves?
so she made me think of everything
and nothing by means of standing still
because see she read so well I was captivated
by the Australian accent and perhaps in her plain-clothed regency she reminded me of a cat and naturally I couldn’t help but think
she was….. sublime
or something like that
The train comes by every morning bout 5
I wish that train would find a cliff and collide
It’s driven by a demon on a joy ride
Always, arriving with some poison to unpack
Where ever it came from, i wish it’d go back.
Whoever blows the whistle is most vile of all
He probably blew whistles at the plant in Bhopal
Uselessly sounding off while thousands died
Now they bring me their killer pesticides
To store deep in these hills, in the chemical valley
Here it continues adding death to the tally
If it leaks, everyone I know will suffer a similar fate
Carbide thinks life is worth less than methyl isocyanate
"
" 7g mic"
Brown dirt on my head now
Soul done left this earth now
I guess I'm blessed and I don't deserve to be walking around its just a circus here
Well I keep my focus here.
I hope I get to speak with her
Maybe I will see her, maybe I will never see her its all the same to me.
I could never believe in more than what I lived in
I got treasure that's buried in heaven.
Where my heart is that's where my treasure is
God please make me a better man
I'm pouring out my soul and I'm trying to do better man every time I think about the letter
Man. that they 'll be sending me if I don't make it to
Hill County for the child support court.
They will find me,they will put my ass in jail just to remind me
They got the power Satan is behind them
They say we are under God but I can't find him and the legislature and the senators
All they do is try do is be my mentor.
And the president he's nothing but and excuse to Mr
Yeah he's black but he never used to be
When he was a kid he played with the white kids grew up
And thought he was still white still why do you think I'm white still
Why do you think I still fight still even when this Life is right still
And I'm waking up and walking on water, believing in more than just my daughter
Turning another mountain into a molehill
#Pass_me_the_mic
Pass me the mic, my left ear itches, there's an ink transiting. Clear the podium, I speak in reverberations, hope the far too catches the frequency, lick my libs, this can't walk on dry grounds, clears my throat a rumble for a worthy art, I speak in codes, artistic codes.
Lend me the ear, maybe the heart too, if I had paint and brush in my hand I would be more illustrative, for the art savvy too, the aim is to reach and touch all human senses, to be listened and be heard, maybe understood too. To be seen and noticed, to be felt, and most, to matter
Wanna feast my hand high like politicians but I'm not here to serve promises but art, wanna speak to that tattered hope, those rubles of hope, maybe like biblical Ezekiel breath life into those dry bones and pour back life, into hearts emptied by life conundrums, maybe ignite light into lives of those caught in dungeons of darkness, maybe pour waters of hope on those with burning souls
Get closer, my whispering carries load too, maybe I should address the past, fix the present and secure tomorrow, with this ink in my veins, I rewrite scriptures, convert death certificates into birth certificates, elevates rejection to access
I speak for the shattered, for those in dismay, for the defeated, for the vulnerable and those in void, ones in distraught, ones in dilapitated stages of life, ones on a one way lane to self destruction, I hold the faded, the weakling, the ones life have savaged beyond repair, in this ink a hand stretches here and afar, breaking walls and bondages, building bridges
I'm loosing my grip on the mic, my hand trembles, the ink wanna flood these floors, for every being to go back home with a mark, a poetic ink mark, for every house could do with such an ink, I drop the mic...
#Poetic_Ink