Tag Archives: Innovative

Passion for my pen

Though I am a poignant orator every thought is coded
My brain is bloated and I must relax to unload it
Mental laxatives ease the flow a bit
But that which I must write about I don’t know of it
So I write about writing, fighting with each pen stroke
My words are so sick they say I’ve got pen stroke
My usually wealthy lines are unusually broke
My brain chokes gasping around for circumstances, mitigation, opinionated litigation, metaphoric irrigation, call it exploration for inspiration and STOP
Pause and rewind, there aint no set top box for these rhymes just words and rhythm patterns that drop like Greek platters
Smashing the subterfuge of platitudes with my virulent attitude and breaks through with a rage
See my mistress hip hop is in the ice age but I look away as it rips out that page and re-adorns itself with respect
Pause for effect, and respire
Get back to be being more than a dry humping full figure fronting function for hire
With a pen that adorns you in figure hugging attire,
Fit for any purpose person, Aryan or Persian to elevate and inspire
See I was built to fight fire with fire and cool flow
Yet that which I must write about I don’t know
For though I am a poignant orator every thought is coded
My brain is bloated and I must relax to unload it with bite
For the passion for my pen with the mystery of Zen
Only seems to ignite like a belligerent light
When I cross swords and unite with poetic Kryptonite
See the passion for my pen only seems to ignite when I cross swords and unite with poetic Kryptonite
The passion for my pen only seems to ignite when I cross swords and unite with poetic Kryptonite
Who is she?

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Filed under Random Poetics

Twitter Inspirations: The Man Who Cried

Digging wells in search of wealth he found his slickness in the mire

He lost gems, lost friends, the games biggest insider became a pariah

When prudence beat him down he became his own town crier

Ringing bells in his own head he was eye weary and head shot

Too many legs locked when he should have kept his legs locked

Love was like an expensive watch lost at high tide

The light house was only visible when this man cried

See his inner man died and he sought resurrection

His Easter weekend was a time of inspection

His demeanour, his complexion had morose inflections

Yet his resurrection would be a new collection built to last through time

A new creature built by intelligent design with a new mould to define

All because he was the man that cried

Once again thanks to CandyAcidReign for lending my poetic soul some breath. This time I watched the video and left things to germinate before writing this piece. Much love and respect to your works.



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Filed under Art