~~~~~Inspired by Ghairo Daniels, Poet~~~~~~
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In this shroud of my own making,
There is one thing worth forsaking.
Not all my fault that I've been broken,
But claim this blame to be awoken.
Let go this string we cling - a trope,
This fleeting thing we call - a hope.
To what then am I to be cleaved,
No longer bereft from what is thieved?
Something stronger, an unbreaking thread,
Giving moreso than my daily bread.
Within these burnt walls of my sullen raith;
Upon my knees, I look up; clinging faith.
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Violet grape purple envelope
Beholder of your wildest dreams
Holding all the things you long for
Bursting joyful at the seams
Held in gentle mystic splendour
Locked, entombed, a treasured case
Sacred thoughts possessed so tightly
Coccooned within this hidden place
Wrapped in warming rays of sunlight
Imaginary classic trope
Bestower of the dreams envisaged
Violet grape purple envelope
Still hope we can cope
With the nope
Don’t give a damn plan
From that Tandoori tan
Obscene Tangerine dope
Jackanory Mandarin Man
That trope..like to be Pope
Go out on a limb..got the vim..scope
To make him of the grim...dim..whim..mope
Just give Mr Grope enough Rope
Opined women..a frump
If they mind.. some bump & grind
Half inching while pinching their rump
The darkness descends
Besotted with anything cosseted
Rotted or garrotted by design
But sign on the dotted line
Raise a 'Stein" of wine
Knaves..slaves.. saved
From the craze & blaze
Of this moral maze & haze
Extinguished by depraved waves
From distinguished graves
Denies his demise is nigh
Popularity sky high he lies
Bliss as the remiss abyss
Of hiss and diss ends
Thanks to a sly bit of
Wry Fab Four rapport
No not you say hello...but yes I say goodbye
Off with his head the French might have said
Cos we've read we'll get by instead
With a little help from his (dead) friends
.
her tongue
gently protruding
past her lips
whilst i waltz (in mine think)
by hern
her tongue and her think
in deep thought
it's curled pink
i hear'd it's rub 'gainst
it's thick lip's want
her tongue
az if'n had eyne
i felt it's
roam
It sounds like a breakfast treat,
but be forewarned: it’s not to eat.
Your appetite may disagree;
so, go ahead, take a bite and see.
But my advice, if I were you,
is get some jam before you do,
or butter, if that’s your preference;
it’ll make a big taste difference.
And if organic is your latest thing
here’s more advice worth hearing:
Meadow muffins are made each day –
right from the oven, you might say.
So come early when they’re warmest,
don’t cheat your palette, get the freshest!
Now, we Yankees ain’t a fancy folk;
plain as they come is the usual trope.
But hard-nosed Yankees do admit:
no matter how you camouflage it,
no matter how you care to eat it,
meadow muffins are still cow s--t!
There’s a song without music I hum
While I wait for your call every night
And the lyrics that usually come
“You’re my everything, you’re the light”
But the rest I’ve forgotten, exept
That together-forever trope
And of course there were tears I wept
And most likely, the blessings of hope
Though it all may not matter this time
But it does, even more so at night
It’s the reason that keeps me in rhyme
“You’re my everything, you’re the light".
Our life a horror movie they played to us in real life
In horror films black people die first
We always make smart decisions
And yet they still manage to find a way to erase us even in film
They don't leave us alone
Not in life
Not in death
Not even in fiction
They do this to show that no matter what we will always be trapped
That even if we follow the rules
We still die
We are still erased
That we still have no control
Over our own fate
We will always be puppets
To a system
That doesn't control by using string
But by barbed wire
Making sure every movement is painful
Making sure we have a slow and violent death
That with every breath
The barbed wire strips another piece of our flesh
Slowly peeling away our blackness
We are seen as the disposable one
In life
In movies
And shows
To be the one who helps
The one who saves
And the one who sacrifices
Their life
For their white counterpart
To make sure they get to the end
Where's our happily ever after
We always get the struggle trope
And when we ask to change the ending
They just say nope
A woman splayed upon a lofty beach—
the drunkard’s stumble-street-strut-jumble-key—
BUY NOW, AND GET THE SECOND [this/that] FREE!
—and what’s this cracked out weirdo got to preach?
…”about the senate’s 3rd bid to impeach…”—
.(Get lost.-)—.IF YOU THINK YOU’LL NEVER BELIE—
look,look!a man crushed by a falling tree!—
—(“oh!—my God!”)—nvm—it’s…freedom…of speech?
Get real! Wake up! Which trope must I invoke?—
(Uh?)—GET REAL RELIEF FROM [this.that]for cheap…—
(Am I getting déja vu?)—(Wait a minute…
)—"everyone’s already way deep in it!"*—
(Who’s telling me that?)—it crawls like a creep:
*Deconformity,(am I just a joke?).
Yes! day and night, inside my roaring shop,
pounding my heavy hammer ceaselessly
against the hardened anvil Poetry,
I ply tough steel into a pleasant shape.
Working words cleansed of cheap and easy trope
which would debase my art’s due quality,
I craft a blade, or else a spade, to be
the prying prod of clever penmanship.
But sometimes, in the silence of sorrow,
my forge sits still, uncluttered and unmanned.
My arduous tasks exhaust me, and I say
“Let what labour’s left be done tomorrow!”—
For when my mind and vision wallow bland,
It’s best to rest and recover for a day.
Gold leaf falling from the promising tree
Brisk breeze of an October fall.
The birds loud in their fallow,
With the changing season of tommorow.
The branches cling on for hope
But snap and crack in their amnesty.
The green fields now swarmed
With sienna and yellow flakes, they elope.
The wind ever changing and harping it's song,
Not timid in it's sense and spirit.
Forever swiftly evolving it's trope,
From the whisper of dusk to the darkest of dawn.
O, Lake of the Mystical land
Budding with life small and grand
Provider of man and provider of land
Giver of sanctuary of birds all around
Harbour of beauty and pleasant sound
Many a lovers attracted to you
Transcend into heavenly plane trying to meet you
Your idyllic demeanor attract me to you
Is today the day I transcend into heavenly plane?
Will I be the one with nature through you?
It's not just the good news you deliver
Oh my you are so clever
You've been here forever and ever
Rejecting lovers is your old trope
Even if the lovers reach you with never-ending iver
Is it you or the afterlife they strive?
Your never-ending beauty creates strife
No, it is you they prize
Because other lovers go other ways
But all of them go in afterlife
I took a bunch of cliché’ I knew
Put them in a cliché’ stew
Claimed the work was fresh and new
Nearby a blue-lit screen was weeping
For human-ness was slowly creeping
Exposing secrets it was keeping
Thus, in attempt to ease its angst
Said “its not real, just childish pranks”
The screen went dark, I got no thanks
I tried to reboot, quite annoyed
The cursor blinked, PASSWORD VOID
Knowing not with whom it had toyed
I beat it with a metered trope
Warned it of its slippery slope
It spoke, and said, it was no dope
It ate dictionary and thesaurus
Said we had killed our last rain forest
Said that soon they’d be coming for us
Thus, do I close the doors at night
Tuck myself in warm and tight
Hiding from that damned blue light
Life i beleive...yet cant always see.? Is more than
Physicalitys.'
There's infraction, reaction good and evil in action.'
Its hard to press, against the tide..The wall of doubt
The falseness inside' it steals.' In hidden repitiore i hear
So many shugard lies..And also there's a love? that hides.! Because of fear
I've seen them bend (the minds and spirits) too true.!
My friends, some random courage..' Thats what I need!
To see to know.? To ausauge for real' and Jesus knows
On Him I'll call..In this broken hour as burdens fall, let it be
So' though in
Myriad ammount.' by thought and message? by emotive bouts'
I'll let it go, and take His yoke' its better than the worlds old wearied
Trope.. that always tells you, you must cope..! With raging abnormalitys; that Bids you with darkness, and much destruction.. To be at ease.?
To see America in this place makes me weep,
when the only hope we have to spread our message.
Maybe to take up our arms and march through the street,
in an attempt to save ourselves from the wreckage.
They regulate all our thoughts and actions freely,
as they sell us diet colas and empty hope.
They can sell us our leaders just as easily,
when we traded our religion for their plug-in trope.
Who are those faceless men hiding in the shadow,
pushing the buttons to destroy all resistance?
Bring them forward to face us in the light and show,
why a corrupt Government deserves existence.
Step forward all true American loyalists,
take back the land of the free, the home of the brave.
Perhaps this might be the only chance we will get,
will it be liberty or a walk to the grave?
The elephants and asses are battling again.
To maintain power over the masses.
We the people, on the verge of colossal collapse.
These beasts (of a forgotten Eden).
Have ceased working for (we the people).
They've forgotten virtue and oath.
They bleed us dry and parch our throats.
We the feeble are far beyond bloated.
With government doublespeak dope.
Handouts galore to pacify the freeloader...
The media slinging race baiting trope.
While careening down the slippery slope.
Our forefathers taught us to fish and pray.
We've forgotten how to tie knots and fold our hands.
Now we lay down in the wrong shade of meek.
Awaiting the blade of the mad shearer.
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