Written Freestyle #7

If I spit the facts to you,
will you even give a damn?
Will it make a fucking difference
to that idiot Uncle Sam?
Will you be able to dream in color
after they decide to rape your spirit?
Do you fear it; Can you clear it;
or have they already taken your
heart to the inquisition to spear it?
After you hear my spirit,
are you still going to be a snob?
Don’t call me an Uncle Tom
because I regard you as Grandma Bob!
You think that your elitist
because your looks and clothes
are the cleanest;
but you can’t see the meat of my intelligence
is the phatest yours the leanest!
I’m tired of this game of whose got all the money
and the tightest honeys;
the republican’s egos are placebos
that’s why they think their day is sunny;
but that bullshit comin’ out ya’
is too watery and runny.
It’s comin’ out ya’ ass so fast I through it
so funny.

Alexandre (Ale-Shaun Dre)
The Jesus Christ of Space Funk
and Leader of The Revolution

Written by Alexandre

Poetry | No Comments »

There was a little poetry game on the Church Of Lazlo Forums in which one is to write a limerick somehow pertaining to the previous poster in the thread.

Here are a few I posted:

There once was a tall goofy guy
who Chronic will NEVER get high
he talked shit on schwag
and can’t hit my bag
I could share with potsnobs, but why?

Bucho spins tracks from the 80s
He tries to pick up on the ladies
he makes a drunken mess
and wakes up in a dress
and feels as hungover as hades

I’m not envious of you in the least
for on italian sausages I never feast
while you may be gay
I don’t swing that way
I’d rather have a snatch filled with yeast.

Italian’s a dirty pig fucker
I heard he once slept with a trucker
To pay for the gas
he offered his ass
and his anus does no longer pucker

Poetry | No Comments »

Alice in Austin Beauty

Visions of a weekend

and long sunny hair.

A reminder of how you and I are

an exercise in futility.

Humility has set in

and cockiness has been humbled.

Though I may stumble,

I haven’t fallen down the rabbit’s hole.

I dream about her though,

I wish I could forget her…

but I can’t.

She is my Fountain of Youth

and I am Pizzaro.

Alexandre
The Jesus Christ of Space Funk
and Leader of the Revolution

Written by Alexandre

Poetry | No Comments »

i sincerely apologize
for the things i will write
just trying to help what’s inside

i’ve got this bigot in my head
it was placed there with religion
and it sustains through politics

those without demons
and those who know how to please them
powers of either
and those who may be the reader
unlike any else
hypocrites are as cold as hell

sorry now for what i might say
it’s in what i see everyday
never meant it to be this way

i’ve got this bigot in my head
creeping my thoughts to illiberal
and it’s accepted in our world

unable to see
i would be the one to unsheath
what you find forlorn
ironically double-edged swords
unlike any else
hypocrites are as cold as hell…

Written by Mr./Mrs. Whorely

Poetry, Uncategorized | No Comments »

Mechanical Wretch

Robots marching to the beat

of a drum, fixing what they

think is obsolete or broken.

They feel the pressure that

they’re under the gun;

ignoring all logic,

the march to the beat

of a drum.

The beat of a drum…

The beat of a drum…

whoring our progress,

they march to the beat of a drum.

Sun light quenching, gunfight mentioning

on CBS news, with Connie Chung’s

hands clenching. Ten more lynchings,

money grubbers pinching profits

of the year while our souls cringing.

Robots marching to the beat

of a drum, fixing what they

think is obsolete or broken.

They feel the pressure that

they’re under the gun;

ignoring all logic,

they march to the beat

of a drum.

The beat of a drum…

The Beat of a drum…

whoring all progress,

they march to the beat of a drum.

Insides Outside, something’s not right,

Chaos’ light is burning too bright.

Twelve round fistfights,

lowblows and earbites;

are encouraged so both teams cheat,

and the crowd has a good night.

Robots marching to the beat

of a drum, fixing what they

think is obsolete or broke.

The feel the pressure that

they’re under the gun;

ignoring all logic

they march to the beat

of a drum.

The beat of a drum…

The Beat of a drum…

whoring our progress,

they march to the beat

of a drum.

Alexandre
The Jesus Christ of Space Funk
and Leader of the Revolution

Written by Alexandre

Poetry | No Comments »

The pain of pasts still left undone
The tyranny of guilt
A deep regret inside someone
With these, that cross is built.

A cross is but to crucify,
To wash away ones sins.
But some will give in to a lie
that the martyr is not them.

They attempt to pay all guilty costs
And for their young, their sin is meant
To try and fix all that they’ve lost
but on the innocent.

And those who haven’t done this wrong,
who haven’t missed this time
are forced to carry on so long
their parent’s guilty mind

For not of cause and not of will
and nothing they would choose
Regrets…mistakes…will take their fill
In that growing child’s views

And mother, father’s hope remains
and moves their lives past here
for baby now has all their pain
and suffers all their fears.

“You best not mess up what you’ve got
don’t repeat my mistakes
I’ll make you learn all that I’ve taught
but couldn’t seem to take”
“Pay no mind, sweet ugly child
to my hypocrisies
For you will do just as I’m told
and I’ll take what you please.”

“And through your life I will be free
and make up for the lost
but if you mess this up for me,
YOU’LL have to pay the cost.”

“So go make mommy, daddy proud.
be pretty, smart and clean
Embarrassment within a crowd,
Will make mommy, daddy mean.”

“Follow mommy, daddy’s faith
and never curse or swear
Goddamn you little foul ingrate!
You took my dope from here!”

And parent was the name of God
on the the lips of every child
But now the boogie man is law
and young hope is defiled.

For them, survival’s all that’s left
when wrought with all these trials
the issues and the sins now kept
by these modern day messiahs.

Written by The Italian Writer

Poetry | No Comments »

the rough, sticky moist texture
of crystals
and pieces of green nugget
getting stuck beneath my fingertips
as i peel it apart
the stratigic placement
of small chunks of green heaven
in a small over used, blacked metal bowl
the cool feel of blown glass
pressed tight to my lips
the sound of bic flint grinding;
flame igniting
the soft bubbling sound
as the smoke slowly fills the chamber
the heavy, almost violent bubbling
as the stem is pulled out
and my lungs are force fed
a relaxed smile
the burning sensation
that builds up in my lungs,
as i fight back
the urge to cough,
but as they say,
“if ya don’t cough,
ya don’t get off!”
so i cough,
and i get off,
for these are just a few
of my favorite things.

Poetry | No Comments »

white
the color
of vivid visions
of higher self
glowing holy aura of heaven on earth
inside me

same
color as
lines of powder
cut so thin and fine
as to avoid the familiar
burning sensation
in the back of my nose
(even though i hope it still does,
i need the pain, that’s why i’m
here)

one color
two extremes
my life as it is
best
and
worst
of both worlds

i guess.

Written by Hashmander

Poetry | No Comments »

Sapphire peeking out from behind bronze
They create sparks, unresistable
A kiss, oxygen to the flame
Your hands feeling my body
That warmth brings me in from the storm
Watching the blazing fire
Watching as our passion grows
Caution should be taken
The fire is too hot
But like a moth I cannot resist your flame
Headfirst I dive into the heat
Knowing the pain, the burns, the lessons
My heart screams “this is right!”
My mind shouts “he’s leaving you out!”
The electricity runs through my pulsing veins
My eyes open to see that blue
As my mind yells out “no!”
All I can say is “yes, yes!”
Laying in a pool of sweat
I remember all the questions
The questions htat continue to go unanswered

Written by Miko Hamano

Poetry | No Comments »