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Dribbles and Grits to Crumpets and Bollocks: Poetic Dribbles that Signify Nothing

Poetic Dribbles that Signify Nothing

I decided to throw in some of my old poetry in between writing prompt posts just because I wrote these poems years ago and only a handful still don't suck to me. Well I'm hitting it one at a time. Anyway, you can't tell me you never have done that, create something epic whether it's a poem or song, or a painting or even took a photograph, think of yourself as a creative genius of geniuses and then years later be like, "What was I thinking? That sucked!" Yeah, most of my creative endeavors are like that, but I still look at some of my poetry like, "Hey, now that's some genius shit right there I don't care who you are..." I know I may be the only person in the free world who thinks my shit is awesome when it might be shit, but anyway, now it's published on my blog where it can be better appreciated than some journal who publishes poems about violins on a nightstand. Just so you know, I wrote most of my poetry with Nas playing in the background, giving it some form of rhythm jazzy like. Maybe only in my head, this bitch has rhythm in my head.

Commas were placed sporadically to indicate a slight pause for air.


a jaded servant faded into a moment
a momentum ascending falling upwards into a different plane
awing over the big bang, bawling for a coveted reason
look into the crystal globe, inspire Socrates gold, inquire what the future unfolds,
mold His image,

the dust to create,
the lust to destroy

ants worked diligently in skyscrapers
disappearing underground
a stock exchange of ups and downs,
nothing but a bunch of clowns
sifting through a sieve 
of money power and greed
selfish in each's own
rising above each other
falling below each other
tripping into another
devising heavens
spawning hells
cartels of pyramids so grand
like sunbeams connecting the heavens and earth,
but look deep inside, the pyramids hide, tombs of rotted souls
amour eternal amor
evolving to an infernal opiate
myopic minds blinds the subconscious minister
and whines about all that is sinister
while heaven diminishes to the upper east side of hell

the bed that was made for the suckers to lie
for the weak to cry
for philosophers to wonder why
and the raven to sigh forevermore
no, not in me, because the heaven I create is worth fighting all the hells for


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Dribbles and Grits to Crumpets and Bollocks: Poetic Dribbles that Signify Nothing

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Poetic Dribbles that Signify Nothing

I decided to throw in some of my old poetry in between writing prompt posts just because I wrote these poems years ago and only a handful still don't suck to me. Well I'm hitting it one at a time. Anyway, you can't tell me you never have done that, create something epic whether it's a poem or song, or a painting or even took a photograph, think of yourself as a creative genius of geniuses and then years later be like, "What was I thinking? That sucked!" Yeah, most of my creative endeavors are like that, but I still look at some of my poetry like, "Hey, now that's some genius shit right there I don't care who you are..." I know I may be the only person in the free world who thinks my shit is awesome when it might be shit, but anyway, now it's published on my blog where it can be better appreciated than some journal who publishes poems about violins on a nightstand. Just so you know, I wrote most of my poetry with Nas playing in the background, giving it some form of rhythm jazzy like. Maybe only in my head, this bitch has rhythm in my head.

Commas were placed sporadically to indicate a slight pause for air.


a jaded servant faded into a moment
a momentum ascending falling upwards into a different plane
awing over the big bang, bawling for a coveted reason
look into the crystal globe, inspire Socrates gold, inquire what the future unfolds,
mold His image,

the dust to create,
the lust to destroy

ants worked diligently in skyscrapers
disappearing underground
a stock exchange of ups and downs,
nothing but a bunch of clowns
sifting through a sieve 
of money power and greed
selfish in each's own
rising above each other
falling below each other
tripping into another
devising heavens
spawning hells
cartels of pyramids so grand
like sunbeams connecting the heavens and earth,
but look deep inside, the pyramids hide, tombs of rotted souls
amour eternal amor
evolving to an infernal opiate
myopic minds blinds the subconscious minister
and whines about all that is sinister
while heaven diminishes to the upper east side of hell

the bed that was made for the suckers to lie
for the weak to cry
for philosophers to wonder why
and the raven to sigh forevermore
no, not in me, because the heaven I create is worth fighting all the hells for


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