I love music
With a rapping beat
That boom, boom, booms
You right on your feet
...but Mama don't like
I love tuna
Really, fish of any kind
It hits the hollow part
That makes life divine
...but Mama don't like
I love movies
With a message of hope
Cussing is warranted
If it provides a hangman's rope
...but Mama don't like
Mama likes westerns
Where violence creates a world
Old time values
No justice for girls
...I don't like that
Mama likes patterns
That build sturdy gates
Change is scary
For those who can't relate
...I don't like that
Mama likes pleasure
That is permitted by "god"
She won't even look
At other paths to trod
...I don't like that
I love Mama...but Mama don't like me
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-02-2026
A mangled man's
remains,
remain dismembered.
Scattered limbs
laid amongst the
litter.
Littered
ligament lies
amidst tense
muscle,
resting cuts
lay tender.
I really
try to not
remember.
This I
wish I
was lying about.
I can't
I magine
mans lying about.
Torn asunder, ripped
apart by chainsaw
teethed razor.
Rehearsed excuses
always sound best
on scratch paper.
Throw it away or
save it for later?
From behind ear
whisper bubblegum's
last flavor.
Hope all is better
before a blue
member come rapping
upon thy chamber.
They won't just go away.
It's best to
answer, then
answer what they ask.
Then they'll leave you
alone.
To go
about your day.
left in disarray,
disagree met dismay.
Where is the
line that
compromised game
last time?
Where does the quiet grace come from,
When gratitude gathers in the heart,
Weaving warmth through ordinary hours,
Whispering thanks for small mercies,
Widening the world with soft light,
Wrapping the moment in meaning,
Waiting for me to notice.
"...once...
up on a midnight dreary
while i pondered...weak, and weary...
over many an ancient volume of forgotten lore
suddenly there came a tapping as of someone gently rapping
someone gently tapping on my chamber door...only this and nothing more...."
ah...distinctly i [DO] remember...it was in a bleak december with the ghost of each dying ember
wrought upon the floor...only this and nothing more....(sorry man, but eddy really could tell stories.)
len
once upon a midnight dreary
while i pondered weak and weary....
over many an ancient volume of forgotten lore
suddenly there came a tapping
as of someone gently rapping...
tapping on my chamber door
t'is the wind and nothing more
ah....distinctly i remember it was
in the bleak december when each
dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor
len
with apologies to Poe
Three Ravens came a-calling
one cold and foggy autumn day
and settled on a rotted railing,
they didn't have much time to play.
The birds began to argue and implore,
who would do the tapping
and who would do the rapping
upon the chamber door?
The ghost Lenore dwelled in the home,
and heard the raven's loud word war,
she floated out into the gloam
and BOOED at them - come again nevermore!
The silence was shattered - a knock at my door,
A sound most profane I had not heard before.
It echoed and deepened, it pounded the floor,
And my soul cried for silence - the blessed old lore.
The clock whispered softly - a quarter past four,
It's ticking, a heartbeat, that haunted me more.
Each knock was a whisper, each sound was a sore,
Each echo a shadow that crept to my core.
"Begone!" I bellow, "disturb me no more! My patience grows thin - my spirit is sore, I carry the steel that speaks with a roar, so silence thy madness - and darken my door!"
The rapping then ceased, and calm filled the air,
I tread through the hall with a ghost - ridden stare.
My heart, though it stilled, felt heavy with care - for no one was waiting, and no one was there.
Yet faint in the hush of the midnight's dark shore,
Came softly - so softly - the knocking once more
Summer dazed in — it's dancing time!
Fred buffed his boots to dazzle-shine.
With a leap and a spin,
He clicked heels with a bin,
Rattling pigeons rapping in line.
You can’t grasp liberation
With butterfinger hands;
Rather, you must grasp her
With an iron-fist grip;
Clasping her here forever:-
Thus, let us get to being about
Fulfilling and sealing our liberation,
Rather than just rapping about it:-
Rember, liberation is not given,
It is faithfully fought for and won:-
And the best part of the fight is,
It's not with those weapons given us
To freely eradicate ourselves with;
Rather, it’s with the political power weapon
That so many fought and died for us to win
And have, in securing our political liberation:-
Be sure to look out
on Halloween Night.
For around every corner
is a scare and a fright.
Something rustling
in the bushes.
Something quivering
in the trees.
Something flying
overhead.
Something floating
in the breeze.
Something howling
in the forest.
Something rapping
on your door.
Something calling
out your name.
Something walking
'cross the floor.
Something looking
through your window.
Something creeping
up the stairs.
Something tapping
on your shoulder.
It's a night of
frights and scares.
If in his time the mechanism had existed, would he have written even more?
Would all his neighbors believe him mad? As he watched beauty succumb to deaths door
His ethos words impress; insanity only when possessing exquisite levels of horror
Incessantly; even more incessant rapping comes sanity from the walls, halls, ceiling, and floor
A split vision of a blackbird, he saw halves, though hearing nothing worthy of suffering I wager he'd underscore
So I ponder clearly on nights far less dreary, a legacy expanded if Edgar could've had a typewriter
She said, “I don’t like poetry.”
“Forsooth!” said I, “Really?”
Yet you listen, hour upon breathless hour
To rhythmic verses of country whine,
Endless twanging, chaotic musical notes banging.
In the background, white noise and lustful melodies clanging.
“I don’t like poetry.” He said.
“Forsooth!” said I, “Really?”
Yet you gyrate to the raging beat of violent rapping.
Husky lyrics flow melodiously off your cursing tongue
And spray the peaceful, quiet night with viral, hateful musings.
“We don’t like poetry.” they said.
“Forsooth!” said I. “Like, really?”
Madonna, Taylor, Pink, Katy …
you can’ t wait to download their latest offerings.
Poetry rules your life.
You lust for it.
You need it to survive.
It sets the rhythm of the universe,
And your childish beating heart.
Just because it’s set to music? “Forsooth.” said I.
Copyright Chula Schlesinger Fleming © 9.3.2024
Let’s Rap
That’s while
Rapping Poet Style
Words assured
Focused accord
Word verse by verse
Experience and influence
Striving endurance
No curse in any verse
Some say Rapping Poet’s won’t and can’t
It’s will and shall
Cut the negative noise
Enrich the positive fact
Rapping Poets are successors
Sometimes we might sound like Professors
Too the world, we want to be heard
We take a lot of tolerance
We don’t want our words pushed under a dusty rug
Don’t call us a Thug
We need to write, and that is a must
No minus all pluses
Our thoughts pure inspiration our own
Rapping Poets want that be known
We are everywhere
We are known as the BEYOND COMPARE
Different in all aspects
What you would expect
We are our own effect
What you read is what you get
No regrets
Taking chances
Feeling confident
Exposing who we are
We function like a car
Always on the go
Rapping Poet
Wonder and Intrigue
Always on proceed
Not in need
On our own terms
Want readers to listen and understand
Rapping Poets that is our only demand.
Written By: D. Collins 5/22/24
My Boom-Box played this beautiful collab.
Two blood brothers rapping like we never had.
Talent is talent, and it ain't my fault.
They mastered the 187 on an undercover cop.
An NWA remix with a Puerto Rican twist.
A touch of Heavy D. with a dot that doesn't miss.
They're native New Yorkers, so you know they spit fast.
The way they pass the baton will knock you on your ass.
Spitting it Ill-Na-Na with a Puerto Rican roll.
If you're not listening, then you don't know.
They were rapping extravagant in front of our nose.
That remix of 187 with Big Pun and Fat Joe.
Give This Guy a Chance
Throw in
Rowen
The Hypochondriac
Dyin’
Eyan
So Generous is He
Giver
River
The Sneaky One
Wily
Riley
The Parachutist
Glider
Ryder
Legal in Half the States
Ruby’s
Doobies
Cute as a Lass
Bonny
Ronny
So Sweet
Randy’s
candies
Always at the Beach
Randall’s
Sandals
Swam to Florida
Cuban
Rueben
Too Stocky for His Race Horse
Jockey
Rocky
Give him a Hanky, Please
Clammy
Sammy
Prefers Prosecution
Lawyer
Sawyer
Guy with Allergies
Itchy
Richie
Time to Land
Fly low,
Shiloh
Always on Dialysis
Sydney’s
Kidneys
A Simple Rapping Pieman
Rhymin’
Simon
Ballerino
Twirling
Sterling
Why He Was Put in Time Out
Sinbad
be bad
The Guy Whose Buttons Pop off
Glutton
Sutton
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.