Mic Poems

Poet on the Mic

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

FOR ALL THAT IT'S WORTH

FOR ALL THAT IT’S WORTH – BY HAMID SINCLAIR

In God… we find the godless.  
So-called transformers of faith—  
Neo-Decepticons, New Age ravers,  
Ravenous sheep… in wolf’s clothing.  

Hapless victims—bitten by the serpent.  
They entered humanity’s paradise… and robbed him.  
No—her.  
Wait… is it her/him?

Everyone catching the vapors of

Black And White

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

Lady at the Open Mic

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? 
 

Open Mic

It was open mic nite
or maybe ladies night
no matter, wasn’t my scene
so I ordered a beer and took
my seat

The show was amatuer night
for sure
everyone laughed
drum roll
curtains

left my glass with the waitress
and my tip
caught a guy out in the front lot
hocking CD’s at ten bucks a pop

says hes a musician, I should hear his stuff
its gangster

Pass me the mic

#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

Poetry Soup Open Mic Kismet

Dusk marks stygian depths of this eldritch eve quay grim specter beneath the moon's silvery sheath surf cleaves with a hiss as the banshees keen weave lure to the thicket where shadows deceive yet beckoning thy breast beat.

Chains of ghostly twilight night's tapestry entwine if thou doth believe in such things so they say but

On The Mic Huitain

You must taste just like urban art,
all that swag dripping from your smirk;
Contours of tag lines show your heart,
a masterpiece with skilled brushwork;
So stylish with that nouveau quirk,
your scent won’t abide dilution;
With a word you drive crowds berserk;
On the mic you’re revolution.

Open mic night

Nervous poets come and  read poetry and sing songs accepting applause and feel welcomed

Poetry Slam

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

Open Mic

She plays her love for me on strings,
And I, a lucky soul, am still,
And listen as she sings her heart— 
A prize no other man can keep.

Keeper of the Mic

She takes the stage,
Her mic in her hand 
She tries her best to make them all understand
It's like a feeling that takes control,
Deep within her soul begging her to let go
A voice comes from within
Explaining to her its ok to be whole again
What if she falls down or stumbles?
Will she still be able to stand

Clerihew Carly Simon

Carly Simon

Songstress, big hair, and a huge smile
Cheshire cat teeth you can see across the Nile

You’re So Vain—Just might be about Jagger
Love her—Itsy-Bitsy Spider—and all her swagger

Open Mic

i can't
say i'm a
meat puppet
because i'm
not in the band

but i'll allow
you to put
your hand
stuff it in
and with

fingers
do as
you
co
mm
and

Dropping the Mic On God

There is an anagram in this line.

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