Archive for the Hip hop Category

23/30 Democracy Now. (16 bars)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on 04/29/2015 by spikedaeley

Warning so explicit they like, “How explicit is it? “

I’m like “Have you ever witnessed the scope of folks indifference?”

They like, “Damn. I bet that shit is wicked can I get me some?” I’m on it

I’m not sure when I’m done you’re gunna want it.

Let’s be honest, tomorrow’s not a promise it’s a lie

More accurate a half-truth, they stare at me like statues

I’m like damn, did someone break your smartphone?

Aren’t those, tickets for the “We All Got Scars Show?” (thought so)

Me I keep mine open then adjust my daily dosage

Of self-medicate, levitate, simmer for a moment

Then it’s on again, battle with my rattled self-confidence

Brush off compliments like dirt off my shoulders (like wow)

Definitely fortunately fortunate but

Cynical as exiles with invitations from governments

A sucker is, born so frequently it might surprise you

My culture is, more poisonous than even I’d surmised boo


22/30 Olde Man Winter vs. Plague Doctors (it reads better in double-time)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on 04/29/2015 by spikedaeley

Quoth the raven, nevermore
Nevertheless, I never sweat fresh killing floor
Remnants, ghost like a murder of crows
Evidence of the dark side of the force
Calculate how many daily pounds of flesh it takes
In an attempt to pay off the debt overlords
Is that really all they want from me now?
Open a sewed up vein and bleed out
Pour some on the floor for those that came before then
Pour a lil more for souls drawn and quartered
I know those wide lips ain’t really smiling
I know the look of an animal when it’s cornered
Scorched earth, yeah, got plenty of it, every
Fight or flight risk adds a penny to the bucket
Cauterize the scars and unturn the stomach
Pardon my bizarre outlook or confront it
No sweat off mine, so many so-called threats
Brain dead on arrive, cases like mine,
get scopes with red lights and FED types
who put fresh coins over eyes.


13/30 Terminal Velocity (Lots of verses this year, can’t complain)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on 04/19/2015 by spikedaeley

Terminal velocity be the policy

Uncle ‘Cid and Molly, no apologies

If you follow me, you’re bound to get incepted.

Riddle with the Sphinx, wild out, leave him headless.

“See you at the crossroads”

where the lost souls go to talk shit and politic

holes full of holes and their bottomless.

Gas bottle rag match solace kit,

one day less till apocalypse,

better hope your god doesn’t not exist

Can the dark and light mix?

Can our avatars put this sabotage behind us?

Can we kill the violence with some science and some kindness ?

Can you spare some canned goods with cash in a vice grip?

I don’t really think so.

I don’t think these people really seeing other people.

50 years ago they wanted segregated gene pools

some still do, unbelievable

“I don’t think it means what you think…” inconceivable

as Mankind’s planetary raping spree. Now we full tilt

cup overflowing still, built to spill, wool quilt

over windows to the soul and it’s

such a great joke to the folks that’s controlling shit

I wish they wood like Groot, 5D time loop, split infinity

post traumatic symphony of imagery

trade the ecstasy for the agony and misery

I’m sure your social media is far more interesting.


12/12 Apprentice (12 bars for number 12)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , on 04/15/2015 by spikedaeley


Apprentice bent his spoon out the depths of his cocoon
Set his awestruck expression on a stolen breath moon
Read the message in the view, stood bemused for a few then
Wept like it swept up his brilliant red balloon
He said I hope you never scope the vertigo I know
Wide-eyed stare from highs faux unreachable
You think you hit the pinnacle, you think you’re so ill
You’re just a 15 minute man-made mountain molehill
I can see you know it well spelled in crumbling of citadel
The penny toss that lost itself before it hit the wishing well
The minstrel selling blood and tissue calling it her calling
The eerie calm they felt just seconds before the missiles fell

8/30 (No prompt. Just a short 8 bars for my 8th poem)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , on 04/09/2015 by spikedaeley


Parkside by the money martyr shrine parasites

Blood type the kind to heart spark your dollar sign

Carve night into amulets, RockStar Amethyst

Starscape immaculate, tarnish it? Sacrilege

Scatter shatter petals at the altar of the fragile

Battle like the laughter of the devils can’t collapse you

Put the mass grave tattooed landscape past you

And ask who would do this if they didn’t have to.

17/30 Easygo. (Prompt was to write a poem of greeting)

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo with tags , , , , , , , on 04/21/2013 by spikedaeley


Indoor fireworks tranquilize my typewriter pulse
with the fanfare of spoon in ice cream bowl
and buttgroove in desk chair. Greet the aimless
overcast with the contented smile of the lazy avoiding
work. FuzzyKitty paws at the door to fleeting sunlight,
but comes back discouraged and hungry. Day is
looking easier, slowly slipping into her nightgown.

Ice Cream Tankas! 11/30

Posted in Hip hop, NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on 04/12/2013 by spikedaeley

Witness to pure joy.
Nature’s miracles entrance.
Winter’s kiss in spring’s
marriage of cookies and cream.
A universal language.

In thirty-one flavors
there are thirty-six chambers
still to decipher.
The Wu-Tang Clan and ice cream
ain’t nothing to fuck with son.

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