Sleep Fishing

It's the oldest battle fought,
taking place in film history.
Rest is haunting my every thought
and sleep won't cease its whispering.

What I need is an energy shot
mixed with some nitro-glycerin.
Sleep's whispers have me caught
and my eyelid paralysis is at the whim of the fisherman.

Boredom; A Fragment of Time

As I watch a drop of condensation

Roll over the "u" in "Nutritional Facts"

Ms. Freeman's room harbors conversation

that stays formally relaxed.

My Nike high-tops rest

upon the inanimicity of the wooden desk,

the same tangibility upon which I test.

I try not to laugh at the subliminal jest.

Just formulate a mental LOL,

then let out a sigh. Oh well.

A long-hand ticks, another spent second

another deceased moment my conscience has been beckoned.

Beckoned to establish absence. To establish vacancy.

Is it obvious? Do I exude boredom so blatantly?

Nocturnal affairs

As the sun goes down and the light of day fades

Is when I hit the town for the night’s escepades

First thing’s first, I lay a fake bed

With blankets for my body and a pillow for my head

Then so slyly I get dressed

My heart pounding at the thought of my impending quest

The real question is how to leave the nest

It must be perfect, I can’t afford second best

Should I creep down the hall of the creaking floor

And slither outside past the squeaking door?

No, no, that path is too so-so

I will glide into night out my window

And pull it closed oh so slow

Then slide past the holly bush that every summer overgrows

You may say I’m quite something, sort of an expert

But I do this every night after im tucked in, like a dress shirt

And as soon as I’m out onto the street

I run, feeling the heartbeat of the concrete beneath my feet

Having problems in my head I try to delete

Because ignorance is bliss, oh so sweet

I aim to erase my troubles, struggles and stress

With a burn in my throat and a cough in my chest

And at last I am able to breathe

I can breathe the fresh air

Can’t you see? I can breathe

I inhale the feeling of sweet relief

Because at last, at last I can breathe

And with my lounges full of air

We paint the town red

Because now I don’t care

About dark thoughts in my head

And with caution to avoid criminal indictment

We scour the town for a bit of excitement

Because tonight I want to get crazy and funky

Like a supercharged, sugar-rushed, adrenaline junky

Because life is so full of boring-

Oh wow. Its already morning.

Back to our homes we all go

Slide past the holly bush that overgrows

And slip out of night through my window

And get undressed oh so slow

And then lay on my bed with a clear head

And enjoy my last breaths filled with relief

Because a whole day is a long time not to breathe

Poetry In Motion

Why do they say poetry in motion?

I think it’s quite the redundant notion

Because what could be more animated

Than the magical words you’ve created

Poetry can be real fast

Words I say already past

Poetry can be real slow

Like watching a stream as it flows

Poetry can be quite deep

These acid raindrops, into my heart the seep

Poetry can be quite light

A soaring balloon reaching great heights

Poetry can touch your soul

It reaches to grab you and as it takes hold

It moves you in ways you’ve never been shown

My words start to encode, your mind will explode

Into chunks everywhere like grass freshly mowed.

Poetry can be a symphony

Causing an inner-self apiphany

It can be the twinkle in your eye

The sparkle in the tears from which you cry

The changing of moral on which you rely

Poetry can give you wings. Let you fly

Up above the clouds- oh so high

But unlike Iccarus you will not fry

See, in poetry you cannot die…

Unless of course you wish to die

In which case poetry can happily oblige

So you can breathe your last breath, sigh your last sigh

Poetry reminds you that you’re not just ‘some guy’

You are you and you lead your own life

Through and through the pain and strife

Because your not just ‘some man’, you’re a poet

And god dang the world better know it

You may not be loved you may not be prized

But you will sure as heck be recognized

And let haters hate, ‘cause that’s what they’ll do

They’re just jealous of me and you

Because poetry is like a ball of clay

It changes shape with every word that I say

Poetry is all of these and more

It shivers your bones and rattles you core

Poetry can do lots, but most of all

It helps me break through the cell wall

To a great place of inspiration

Solid thought, unhindered contemplation

And all you need is a drop of pure imagination.

Style of Rhyme

I’ve been spittin’ rhymes since the Jurassic times

Life gave me lemons but I prefer limes

I’ve been spittin’ rhymes and fantastic lines

Am I the only one with a voice? Y’all are acting like mimes

I’ve been spittin’ rhymes since the time of dawn

Since the dawn of time, I’ve been spittin’ rhymes

So now I hear other poets writing without rhyming

And I think to myself, oh no! Oh blimey!

Such a catastrophe couldn’t have worse timing

Because I realize I can’t write without rhyming…

Ok let’s see if I can quit

But I don’t like this very much, it seems like every single word just doesn’t quite… fit

NOOOOOO!

It seems I just cannot do it

It seems there should be nothing to it!

Am I right or not, back me up on this one

It seems not rhyming should be more easily done

But I believe that words should have homophonic endings

If not it leaves the though hanging and pending

Words will dilapidate past such tense

Because not finishing thoughts doesn’t make that much               .

See what I mean?

Free verse is obscene!

In a fight, free-verse is lanky and lean

Rhyme is a mean, keen, fighting machine

Using rhyme you feel strong and stern

Your mind will churn with total lack of concern

Through the list of rhymes you will turn and turn

Until in your mind each rhyme will burn

And once you discern all but one will be sent to the urn

At last your brain can temporarily adjourn

So I urge you to try it just once, one time

And you will forever be hooked on the style of rhyme

Attitude adjustment

When it comes to life your in control

your choices should never be a dice roll

your decision should base con's and pro's on

but whatever your choice life always goes on

don't get frustrated, deflated, depacked

life is 10% events and 90% how you react

your attitude is all you've got

so don't get down and don't get hot

stay chill and cool and you'll find what's sought

happiness is free and already bought

unpackage it anytime any place

and you'll find a smile on your face

when your backed in a corner don't get sore

because in every corner there's a hidden door

and you have the key, just grab it dude

it's not your logic or wit, but your attitude.

Shanika Williams

While corporate haunchos are making millions

The world population reaches 10 billion

We live in a country that owes others trillions

But worst of all, a story quite small, of a girl named Shanika Williams:

Her plan was quite simple, to go through life

Be a child, a student, a woman, a wife

She was on the path to make her name

To have riches and luxuries, fortune and fame

That is not what became, she lost sight of her aim

Because out, out went her flame

She then got pregnant, dropped out of school

Started waiting on 40 acres and a mule

On her five dollar couch is where she laid

In her mom’s ghetto apartment where she stayed

She flips through a water-logged classifieds

With a fatherless baby waiting inside

But no one will hire a highschool drop out

So she continues to wait for her baby to pop out

10 years later at the local salon

Shampooing hair to provide for Tysean

Her nine year old son and reason to breathe

Who kept her going since he was conceived

She gets let go from the cosmetics institution

And resorts to methods like prostitution

But one night she decided to ride the wrong dick

And a couple months later becomes quite sick

What she derived from that one man

Was like everything else, not part of the plan

She couldn’t be sure but she thought she had AIDS

But she can’t even a afford a box of band-aids

So on her five dollar couch is where she laid

In her ghetto apartment where she stayed

With her and her son unfed and unpaid

She remained on the couch and decayed.

Mimes

Some Reallllllllly old stuff. Don't judge me.

They’re disgusting, vile, putrid things

Dressed in black and white.

We see them everywhere we go,

To the left and right.

They creep up on you

Without making a sound,

So whenever it’s silent,

You know there’s mimes around.

They’re planning and plotting

A great revolution

By pritting and protting

 the worlds pollution.

Now that we can’t hear them

 or smell them either,

they can sit back

and take a breather.

But then there’s a battle,

A gigantic war,

Mimes VS. Humans…

8 against 4.

Because there are many mimes

10 trillion to be exact

There is 12 in every house,

And that’s a fact.

And if the mimes win

And we are in defeat

Mimes will rule men

We will bow to there feet.

But if the mimes lose

And we are victorious,

They will have blues

Oh, won’t that be glorious.

Until that day comes

Have a good time

And never- I said never…

Trust a mime.

McDonalds

This is some oldschool stuff right here. Like 6th grade old school.

The fun, playful,

 joyous dream,

Of going to McDonalds

is not all that it seems.

Fast food is an evil

And mischievous scheme,

If only you knew

 it would make you scream.

The BigMac isn’t getting rid of beef,

It’s making us as dumb as our commandeering chief.

It also makes us fat and super obese,

Beause we eat the whole thing instead of a piece.

With the lettuce? They deep fry it!

What about the French fries? Don’t even try it!

Well, what about the chicken and the icecream too?

One gives you AIDS and the other the flu!

So next time you’re thinking of eating a BigMac,

Try to take a tiny little snack.

Because if you choose MickyD’s

All that fatty beef & cheese

Goes way down straight to your thighs

Please don’t get me restarted on fries.

And when you think inside your head;

“Put a smile on” or “I’m lovin’ it”

You know that you are close to dead

And you should probably try to quit.

Everyone knows there’s something wrong

When they here a funeral dong,

And that’s what will become of you

Man- if only you’d have listened to yours true.

My Confined Mental Basement

Living beneath this tyrant oppression

Can definitely cause major depression

Which leads to drugs, legal? Probably not,

So you can rebel, or feel what’s sought.

But these drugs oppress you themselves

Which makes it hard to put them on the shelf

And you ask yourself rhetorical questions

Like why you partake in these horrible sessions

But can’t you see? The answer’s quite clear

When you sneak out, smoke pot and drink beer

It’s not to feel effects of those activities

It’s to feel the effect of what happens inside of me

Call it what you like, euphoria or serotonin

But that doesn’t explain why I get the jonesin

Science can’t describe, and neither can I

What makes me jones for that sense of high

And I still have yet to find a suitable replacement

That will release me from my confined mental basement

Where I’ll remain, until I find the key

That unlocks my imprisonment and sets me free

Although I don’t have the key, I see between the bars

What others take for granted will soon be ours

Me and my mind ponder in unison

For the hidden key that will set us free soon again.