#1
They say musicians have the most creative minds, and so do poets. Leave your best poem down here, or not. The choice is yours
Fact: 90% of people clicked here
Quote by Trowzaa
Why do teenage girls walk around in odd numbers
because they can't even

Quote by Trowzaa
Fake burp until you properly burp


#METAL
#2
Choice
We live on the daggers edge
Safety and security to one side
Risk, peril and danger on t'other

Choice
Both agony and ecstasy
Locked in the vice of indecision
How to get one and leave the other?

**** it, I'll just buy Rich Teas.
Quote by Diemon Dave
Don't go ninjerin nobody don't need ninjerin'
#3
i bomb atomically
socrates philosophies and hypothesis
can't define how i be dropping these
mockeries
lyrically perform armed robbery
flee with the lottery
possibly they spotted me
i don't know why i feel so dry
#4
This thread is shit
Unlike me when I lick clit
I can spit sweet over a cappella beats
I don't touch toes cos I can't grasp defeat
My style's like you're on lsd
Erryday I'm ballin like a UAE sheikh
#5
can't spell rap without crap
Quote by ErikLensherr
Did you hear about the cockney Godfather?

He made them an offer they couldn't understand.
#7
There once was a thread in the pit
That was unabashedly shit
It was never once locked
Even though it sucked cock
Regrettably I'm posting in it
#8
the ninety-five
bathed in moonlight, below glassy skies
of beauty and nothing
above seas of fury and sordid ill-ease
had moved on to rap
and hip hop

but i
not i
#9
I froze your tears and made a dagger,
and stabbed it in my cock forever.
It stays there like Excalibur,
Are you my Arthur?
Say you are.

Take this cool dark steeled blade,
Steal it, sheath it, in your lake.
I’d drown with you to be together.
Must you breathe? Cos I need Heaven.

Powerful stuff. You get the double meanings, yeah?
#11
I guess I'll post the only serious response?

Slumbering one night alone
Velvet dreams my mind did drone
Smooth and almost as if at home

All the scenes were painted vivid
Shapes and colours I knew so well
Every moment, unrealistic
Until I heard the droning Bell

Rivers of fire swarmed upon me
Yet my blood had frozen cold
Chasms blazed symphonies of judgement
To a Crescendo that would not grow old
And through the bell that loudly tolled
Screams of rage, hate and devastation
Leather wings cracked the tones
Deafened them without hesitation
Breaking through the smog and smoke
Eating greedily wisps of vapour
Seven heads Grinning gleefully
Extravagant Horns
Lavish Crowns
A tail that mocked my lithe form
An Aura that mocked mother nature
Heavy steps came ever closer
Clawed feet imprinted soot and soil
Cruel and malicious tongues did toil
All my wrongs cast before me
Spilled upon the molten floor
No life was given to scream for mercy
#12
Flash that buttery gold, jittery zeitgeist
Wither by the watering hole, Border patrol
What are we to Heart Huckabee
Art ****ery suddenly
Not enough young in his lung for the water wings
Colorfully vulgar poacher, out of mulch
Like I'm a pull the pulse out a soldier and bolt
Fine, sign of the time we elapse
When a primate climb up a spine and attach
Eye for an eye, by the bog life swamps and vines
They get a rise out of frogs and flies
So when a dogfight's hog-tied prize sort of costs a life
The mouths water on a fork and knife
And the allure isn't right
No score on a war-torn beach
Where the cash cow's actually beef
Blood turns wine when it leak for police
Like that's not a riot it's a feast, let's eat
will someone carry me across ten thousand miles under the silence
#13
mm.

it's five a.m and i think
i was almost alive today;
watched a woman plant
a seed, fingers gently
prodding the earth

                         (i take another
                          drink,

                          spinning.)

and there was the rain,
cleansing the concrete
of the month's grime and 
dust- buried deeply in its 
tired and aching pores

                         (i take another
                          drink,

                          spinning.)

i stumble, body weighed 
down with its own 
treasure trove of ghosts.
..uncertainty. knees scraped and
bleeding like memories

                         (i pick
                          myself back up,
                          
                          spinning.)

i'll always remember your
laugh that could turn
me into the sun 
and mountain-plaited
rivers;


i'll always 
remember the
Artesian woman in
her garden-
singing,                  spinning.


this isn't my favorite, but the rest of my shit is abstract, lengthy, or generally depressing as all fucking hell

with that being said i hate writing tbh
Last edited by Dregen at Aug 7, 2014,
#14
The Waiting



From a dream I am awakened,
I lie there incapable of movement,
Sweat pouring down my face,
Listening intently to my fate.

The high-pitched shrill of a siren,
Hearing it come closer,
I cling to my family,
For whom are the reason I survive.

We, together, listen to the Sirens,
Now very close, the only thing we do is pray,
We voice every word with passion,
Though we had not knowledge of what to say.

The sirens are here now,
But soon they pass,
A bit of reassurance,
Though I know they'll be back.

From a dream I am awakened,
Paralyzed with just my mind,
I wait and it passes as always,
This will happen until it is my time.
#15
wrote this recently for my creative writing class:


Only the sea and the sky never change
They never falter or break
Unwavered and out of the world’s range
Not hindered by their own heartache

The sea is restless
Wandering in collision
Unaffected by duress
Unaffected by religion

The sky is long
It wanders its own track
It sings its song
But it never goes back

Faceless forms that are ages old
Colorful forms that fade to gold
this house is bitchin
#17
Verse 1]
Do not tread, mortal, near the pond
For there is a creature from beyond
His eyes glow with the fires of hell
At being evil, he does excel

[Chorus]
Hector the devil duck
If you see him you’re out of luck
He’ll end you and all you love

Hector the devil duck
He will peck and it will suck
He’ll end you and all you love

[Verse 2]
My words are irrefutable
Though he may look cute...able
Do as this beast demands
Or he’ll peck off your hands

[Chorus]

[Odd bit]
No!
Do not approach the bird of dread
He won’t accept the gift of bread
Can’t you see he’s prepared to shred?
He’ll peck your arms, he’ll peck your head,
Only last week he murdered Fred,
Go to the pond over the hill instead,
You’ve gone mad, he’ll peck you dead!

He’ll peck you dead, he’ll peck you dead
He’ll peck you dead, he’ll peck you dead
(Repeat until audience is driven mad)

[Chorus]


#18
Quote by stratkat
We have an entire forum dedicated to this called song writing and lyrics.

Poems are accepted there.

I assumed that was only for actual song lyrics and stuff not poetry. Also that forum is rarely active.
this house is bitchin
#19
Idk how it is, but I seen regs in there I saw when I was 15.

It's just stagnant. I used to post my poetry there all the time when I was in high school.

Hell back in teh day people would even put up chapters from books they were writing for critique.
#20
I was crucified on the cross when I was eight
I had nothin' to look forward to except to graduate
I ain't got any friends and I ain't got any time
All I got is pussy sittin' on my mind

You better believe I'm twistin' up this rap shit
I'm goin' all over town, going crazy doin' backflips
I don't know what I'm sayin', and I don't know why I'm prayin'
Because I'm my own god, ya know what I'm sayin'?

I don't know where I'm goin', I don't know how I'm havin' sex
I don't know why I'm banging my best friend's ex
But I'll come out strong with no remorse
I get struck the **** down and get back on my horse

Niggas try to tell me that they think they know shit
When they comin' up to my face they bout to get hit
Bitch, cuz I don't **** around, and I got to town
When I'm nailin' that pussy, lickin it up and down

(Chorus)
Hands in the air for the Class of 2012
Hands in the air for the Class of 2012
We made it
We maaaaade it

It's amazing how much we can relate to the crucifiction of one of God's men
Free Ali
Free Lard
#22
this thread gets more traffic then the S&L thread, which is where this should belong
My Soundcloud

My beginner rig:

Epiphone Goth G-400 SG
Line 6 Spider IV (Don't judge me, I was young and stupid)
Stagg SW203N
Yamaha APX500
#23
Jazz

a poem by Kristen

Phat beat, fresh from the street,
The cat on the horn is ready to go.
Rhythms and grooves will make you move,
Sweet syncopation drives the show.

We don't mind a wrong note as long,
As you do it up real good like that.
The drummer is there, he does it with flare,
Hear that funky brushing, ratatatat.

You walk in the door, 4 to the floor,
Hear that bass rumble and quake.
Walking the distance, no resistance,
The cats in the house shimmy and shake.

The dude on keys, plays it with ease,
Like he was born with with extra hands.
The old 88 never sounded so great,
Swinging with the hippest young band.

The old trumpetier has been at it for years,
The veteran in for a session.
What he lacks in youth, he makes up in smooth,
He could really teach the young cats a lesson.

5 guys by day, slaving away,
Working hard all day long in their neighborhood.
But come the night, their band is out of sight...
It's just too bad that they're really not that good.
There's no such thing; there never was. Where I am going you cannot follow me now.
Last edited by theogonia777 at Mar 5, 2015,
#24
I really
Hate
Poems that are just
Stories where the line changes
At random times
And they have no
Beat or rhythm
And are just
Shit and pretentious
And dont make
Much sense
Either
Some idiot
Would probably count
This post as
A Poem
I have nothing important to say
#25
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd
#26
Quote by JackSaints
I really
Hate

Poems that are just
Stories where the line changes
At random times
And they have no
Beat or rhythm
And are just
Shit

and

pretentious

And dont make
Much sense
Either
Some idiot

Would probably count
This post as


A Poem

Fixed.
#27
I feel so vulnerable when you put me on the spot like that.
I get a feeling of emptiness that churns my stomach and paws at the emptiness demanding for food to be invited into my mouth, chewed in a beastly way broken down by my enzymes, then sliding down my esophagus by my muscles contrasting and expanding till it reaches its destination.
But it’s alright. I like it in a weird hungry way.

Is it alright if I learn your ways?
If I place myself in your life
would you mind looking forward to seeing me?
Is it alright if I ask these questions? Or would that be unorthodox to your natures.

Let me carve your thoughts with nature and cope with this unfinished sculpture. Let these illuminating vines cover my walls and turn them into a work of art.

Open to reconnecting
and reconnecting to the thought of loss.
I can’t describe the way I feel about that because essentially I know nothing of my emotions.
I know they exist.
So when you ask me how I'm feeling I say
"I exist."
Let me plant a chip in your skull so maybe I would be able to understand you emotions.

But yet again I am to cold and decadent in my own cannibalistic ways to manipulate my brain to come up with a coherent thought on the subject of empathy.

I know nothing of your emotions.
I know they exist.
So when you ask me what I found I say
"you exist."
I become weak and vulnerable when you ask me these questions. They make me cry because I have to face myself

but it’s alright
#28
Quote by ultimate-slash
*weak imitation of visual experimentation in poetry*

Fixed.


There isn't nearly enough punctuation in that to trick me.