Home » Poems » Best » Mark Peterson » Best Mark Peterson Poems

Best Poems Written by Mark Peterson

Below are the all-time best Mark Peterson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

American Idle

You can have it all, if you don't need nothing 
Keep the good vibes rolling, if it helps with one's loving 
It's like a whole EDM festival, coming from your mouth 
Not like those turntable dudes, down in the deep south 
I thought DJs had had their freestyle spinning last days 
Like Catholic church priests and their unholy friggin ways 

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday 
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day 
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE 
Then screams to three, to come on back inside 
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel 
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland 
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal 

They say, ‘I'm the new messiah’. Thanks, but, I don't even try 
Thanks to so few, excluding the ones, who waved me on by 
I'm sort of creating, a brand new hype and buzz 
Full of pure clarity, with a dash of man-made fuzz 
When the beat stops, from its fast-talking pace 
We all like to flop and drop that friggin bass 

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday 
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day 
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE 
Then screams to three, to come on back inside 
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel 
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside never never, friggin Disneyland 
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal

A shout out, to all my southern conquistadors and homeward bound homie’s
Ignore all the Los Angeles doomsayers and Hollywood snapchat phoney's 
Elevator doors always be jammin' and then coming to a closure 
We all like a moment, of shy mouth miming, with very little exposure 
From a worldwide hit or an Aussie Whispering Jack golden classic 
From the sound of a crackling frisbee, made from nothing,
but pure black plastic 

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday 
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day 
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE 
Then screams to three, to come on back inside 
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel 
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland 
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

Dirty South 3rd Coast

I asked the question, where ya bounce? 

My mami was lazy peepin on the new big tymer, cruizin' thru town 

She said he was crunk, like out of this world 

They were just poppin' the trunk and keeping it real 

My boys were sketchin' and should've just chopped it up 

My favourite souljas, now goin' to Angola for a 187 on the third coast 



You think she's all that 

But ya girlfriends so stupid 

Da first time she used a vibrator 

She cracked her two front teeth 



The third coast is where people get crunked up, be grilled out and ride on slabs 

Down in Texas where they wear those big belt buckles and jam to screw 

Those cowboys just pop and splash everywhere, over the hood 

That's what ya don't know, 'bout da dirty south 3rd coast 



They have some crazy RRRS parties 

Drive some fine B-riches and cars with gold grillz 

As well as sporting huge silly fat RRRS rims 

Backwash swamps and even some back alley gators 



I get my corner boys to sell da home-made ice cream 

I'll make sure they don't come anywhere near your cut 

I also sell on eBay, a little one kilo of high flyin' kite 

I've also tried to sell the sweets on corners of my streets 

But the boys try the stuff, before they sell and get so really cromp 

I can't have em leanin', ya all know what I be meanin' 



You think she's all that 

But ya girlfriends so stupid 

Da first time she used a vibrator 

She cracked her two front teeth 



After the show we caught the dude that slapped my sista and made her face hot 

But before we wrecked him, we visited the famous White Castle burger spot 

Where we ate those famous but small burgers that only cost 35c, cheaper than pot 

The popo said, is you trazy, we just smiled and kept on eatin' the lot 

The cops tried to grab us, but they didn't have nathan on us. What ya got? 



They have some crazy RRRS parties 

Drive some fine B-riches and cars with gold grillz 

As well as sporting huge silly fat RRRS rims 

Backwash swamps and even some back alley gators 



Ya gotta love southern hospitality 

Depending on where you go in the south 

It could be a, ‘Hi, let me get that for you dear’

To, "If you don't stop staring at me I'm gonna shoot you in the face" 


So I know the ledge and have got an edge 
Over all the other big tymers down in the dirty south 3rd coast.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

Thoughts From the Ghetto

I see ya got sum papers today 
We could smoke a li'l sum, on da way 
You ever been wit a black gurl or r'ya gay? 
Well I know a few, that'll suck for a buck 
They do something strange, for some change, when ya suck

Went to a former co-worker's house to smoke da dope, after work 
His patio furniture was in the backyard, for us to sit on, I felt like a jerk 
There was a rusty, seat-less and underworked exercise bike 
An old wooden dining room chair, that I kinda like 
Even a leaking, 5 gallon Home-Depot bucket, purchased by li'l Mike 

I'm not some closet psychopath 
I've got a job, you know 
i'm a backyard dentist 
An artist of sorts 
At least for da mob 
The money's good, if you know your math 

Everybody's acting like gangs are a new phenomenon 
Almost everyone in the USA is affiliated in some way, with an ancient gang from Babylon 
We've got the FBI, ATF and the LA bashful police department, that were all illegally installed
Far out Religious groups, Democrats, Republicans, barbering da same old bull, just to keep us enthralled 
Everybody's obliged to and got to, have their own little clique 
Friggin’ always gang-banging, in their own subtle way, it makes me sick 

For the record, about all those so called crimes 
I was convicted on two counts, of sexual abuse 
In the first degree, for offensive touching, without consent, no excuse 
I've been shot at, more than five or six times 
By some dudes who were nervously hanging about 
You know, just like a Starsky & Hutch comedy stake-out 

But my God is great, he sure has the knack 
He let me come straight back, wid out no flack 
So, I've been selling crack, at the high school gate 
Since i was in about, i'd say,"ninth or tenth grade" 
I don't know where this journey will end, maybe way before it's due date 
So, i've already started digging my grave, with an old rusty, but trusty spade.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

American Alien

I walk ‘n’ talk like a citizen, but feel like an American Alien. 
I’m Canadian born, brought up by a Philadelphian. 

Falling asleep at 3 AM, rising after noon 
Instant fame and riches, happening way to soon. 

Always being told to keep my head down; 
On the road from town to town. 
Pleasing the crowds, appeasing my manager. 

Sometimes I think, I’m just riding shotgun. 
If I ever broke my melody making, 
crab claw pickin’ fingers 
I’d be out on the street, 
              ^^^ 
like all my other, 
              ^^^ 
unfortunate s.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

Us Heroes

You can call us all, including our dog, your hero men   
So when you need help quickly call 9/11   
Rescue we try and save you we hope, from Gods sun filled heaven     
but sometimes we lose out to the devil in this ash scattered hell     
Climbing the steps and spraying the fire, that nobody's skin should've felt     
Bringing you out, one by one, just hold on tight to my safety belt. 
    
We are there to protect you, not to distress you     
Dressed in blue, pistol and taser at side, all in full view     
We arrest the speedsters, traffickers and all the gangsters     
Let the judges decide if the sentence should incur extra time for visitors     
Your lawyers, barristers and familiar jailbird friends     
Will testify, use false alibi to get you off and to make amends. 
    
We're racing to the scene with the medicine in the back     
Inside bed, needles and portable CPR machine, just in case of a heart attack     
We will revive the dead, patch up a sore head and even help mother with newborn     
So let us through with ease and don't for a second put your hand on the horn     
For one day, it might be you or your family or even a long lost friend     
That is waiting for the moving medical miracle machine in the end. 
    
We dress in disguise, mainly in tree green and dirt black     
On the back of tanks, falling from the sky and we won't take any flak     
We're here with orders from the guy at the top     
So don't get upset at us, when we come back with a hop     
We fight to protect the freedom of all mankind     
Just doing our job and hoping not to leave, anybody behind.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

Founding Fathers

I have flashbacks of you, from when I was so young  
i thought you left me, to explore this vast galaxy, for mankind  
You taught us how to survive on this big banged up, revolving planet  
Leaving your footprint for us to use and making us all very bemused  
 
Is that you our founding fathers, in the bright night sky?  
Are you coming home, just to check on us or for a final goodbye?  
Show us your calling card, but don't let us all lose our mind  
Tell us where you went and why you left us all behind  
 
You made structures out of large stones and pointed bricks  
Black and white men from all over, have drawn images on their wall  
We study lost language that we can't truly understand, at all  
Heavy hauling and perfect angles, were they done using a bag of tricks?  
 
Is that you our founding fathers, in the bright night sky?  
Are you coming home, just to check on us or for a final goodbye?  
Show us your calling card, but don't let us all lose our mind  
Tell us where you went and why you left us all behind  
 
Moe's lambs and Chris's hens always fighting over their goods  
While those wandering dews, slip through to form geometric cracks  
The worlds weak, struggle for food and carry their beds on scorched backs  
as the Earls and Dukes, live behind security gates, in phoney neighbourhoods  
 
Is that you our founding fathers, in the bright night sky?  
Are you coming home, just to check on us or for a final goodbye?  
Show us your calling card, but don't let us all lose our mind  
Tell us where you went and why you left us all behind

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

This Is Killadelphia

Do you want all those dudes hangin' in front of ya momma's crib?

Keep yo' churrin' off the streets and away from where the big boys fib

I'm the king of hardcore and deserve a whole lot of respect

My girls got a badonkadonk butt, it's so ballerific, it's what I expect

I told her to stay the hell away from my precious new hooptie

She tried to give me the third, but I just waved the no finger and popped her booty


Pimpin' aren't easy man, it's just that I've got that pimp juice, all the girls be wanting

Art lovin' Landis, was the best damn scratcher & foolin' all the museum high pillows

The women from the hood, come work for me, b'coz they're all the ghettos widows

The jury couldn't charge him, but the so called art experts keep up their taunting

Some have so much ice on their hands, I could do a figure eight on my skates

If he would only paint his own, he would truly be one of this centuries greats


They told me if I don't pay, they're gonna pop a cap in my RRSS

Man, I am RRSS out this month. I ain't got no kinda funds, I be on the nut, like glass

These streets are crazy out here, it's just the way, it's the nature of the street

While the popos and bulls are dancin' like great white sharks

Barbering to us and cuttin' us no slack, be real with me son, damn narcs

But we don't like to look like a punk in front of our boys, that'll be defeat


Gangsta’s killing cats for real, all over the hood, where they don't belong

Damn your pimp juice, your game is too strong

He's the drug lord out here, the big boss dog

The rest of his crew are little more than corner boys

We are the ultimate big tymers, me and my son, cruisin' in da fog

My boo be real and we be ballin-outta control with our toys


The cars windows were so dark, I could've got shot by a gun

All the backstreet junkies now payin' for the big guns on the run

We just heard Boom Boom Boom, we know not to bother

Is he a relative? Yeah man, it's her dead brother

We don't see anything, it's the hoods mentality

Everybody's a curb side lawyer, but when we go to court, we lose that ability


Man, that chickenhead was booey, I want my 50 bucks back

Chickenheads will always be on the prowl for some easy berry stack

A thug is a way of life, made bad choices, now tryin' to survive

This is Philadelphia, where we won't & don't shake hands to the jive

Last year we were also known as Killadelphia

So go home, breeze and call it a night, without no fear.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

No Tides

Why can't oceans just flow, like a gentle river stream. 
instead of crashing into shore 
and then going back for more. 
Is it just me, thinking out loud, after a long and vivid dream. 

Couldn't it just trickle to the edge, without a noisy and almighty roar... 

Ships and boats, would never be tipped over and sunk 
Girls on the shore, would rarely see, a ripped surfy hunk. 

No whitecaps to look at, 
no tides to ruin... 
sand castles on the shore. 
Precious marine life swimming and crawling...wherever it wanted 
Not getting tossed all about... they'd be happy 

But it's all too challenging to function...oh dear ... 
We still need the orbiting moon to be there... 

That's what my dream forgot to fully figure out... until just now.

Details | Mark Peterson Poem

Gutted

Blood on the street and blood in the drains,
Lifeless bodies laying ‘bout the dead end street,
Strange odour coming from the corpses crib.

Unpleasant scene of the awful truth,
The bloodshot eyes and the twisted youth,
Scent of burnt skin, foul and stench,
Then the crackling sound of ones burnt flesh.

What is the reason for the killer to commit?
For the knife to slit, murderer ought to admit,
For the victim to rot, to lay in just one spot,
Sure is a strange and gruesome plot.