BMF's Urban Hang Suite

NeonSubtlety said:

just saw this thread for the first time, and it made me miss spoken-word. I used to write it all the time--it's more fun, if you ask me. But, i just spent the last 45 minutes seeing if i had any of it left in me. This is what i came up with:



Rocks knock at the window
and even stones thrown sound soft
when tossed by those hands—
like Midas, if clouds were currency,
you’d touch gold and make puppies,
touch misers and make Pappies,
lay hands on sinners and make them see
how simple things can seem
when you know how soft grass is.

In neutral, we drift
shift to drive when we can’t see lights,
daring Wednesday night to stop two dreamers.
Our breath teeters on the edge of fog
as your old Fairmont sings a song.
Air streams into a melody,
metal percusses in the back seat,
upholstery snapping a backbeat,
and our eyes smile and hum along.

Headlights stripe the lake
And we make beautiful shadows, taking
each others' hands and creating castles.
“This way,” I say
jumping quickly and taking you with me,
hands squeezing tightly,
braving cold if it might be,
closing our eyes and praying,
like it’s the first time we’d felt water.

But you crack embankment like pavement,
playing hide and seek in the deep
before you surfaces sideways.
You kiss if kisses are lifeless,
sleep if sleep is dreamless,
smile even if meaningless,
and you feel how soft the grass is,
creating castles with your hard hands
in a headlight silhouette.

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BlackManFux said:

Dude, I don't wanna meet you, but I like this poem!

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DarkSidEclipse said:

Don't worry man putting this stuff on paper instead of leaving it inside keeps me so uhm ....I guess Normal and even keeled hahaha

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BlackManFux said:

I feel you. I'm the same way. That was a nice piece!

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DarkSidEclipse said:

Thanks yours are too. I have some more lighter easier stuff coming up later.

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DarkSidEclipse said:

Walks in and heads right to the stage. Grabs a stool and takes a seat and places his guitar across his lap. Plays a few bars, and picks a few notes. Tunes it into the key D and then picks up a slow to moderate rhythm. I wrote this for a dear friend of mine. A friend who decided to take the cowards way out and couldn't finish the game. I'll try to make it all the way through this time.

Take my hand
I'll lead you there
I'll relieve you from
pain and despair

So come with me
Into the depths of hell
and together we'll ring
the devil's bell

What is my name you ask
Ha I say my name...
My name is Razor Blade
I can cure your pain
make you invincible
I'll never leave you

Don't be afraid
I'm your friend
and ill lead you to meet
the perfect end

Just pick me up
Ill do the rest
Shall we put your misery
to the test

You hate your life?
thats why I'm here
so come with me
to quite your fear

What is my name you ask
Ha I say my name...
My name is Razor Blade
I can take you high
make it all go away
I'll never leave you

It wont last long
I'm kind and cruel
I'm not a weapon
I am a tool

So use me well
I beg you please
To end your sorrow
And life's cruel tease

So do this simple task
Ill help you, I'll be nice

What is my name you ask
Ha I say my name...
My name is Razor Blade
I will bring you down
I will break you and
burn right through you
This won't hurt a bit I swear
You wont feel a thing
Just close your eyes
Goodnight my sweet friend
My name is Razor Blade
You'll never wake again

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JessiePi said:

Hey J, loved the confliction in your second poem!
The ever-present battle between the heart and the mind...
Lol, and the first one you posted.... I'm gonna try to be a good girl and opt out of critiquing that one...

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BlackManFux said:

It could be, it might be
Possibly
Am I? Really? Why me?
Come on J.
Fight it.
Don't need this.
Enough going on.
Write a song about it
Then just leave it alone.
She doesn't feel the same.
Does she? Have you asked much?
She'd say if she did, bruh.
Assuming ain't enough, man.
She doesnt. I know it. She can't.
She won't.
But man,
What if this is all in the plan?
I'm sinking on sand.
Wearing this facade called man.
Afraid to be weak.
But if this is weakness
Then why am I beating so strongly?
It's wrong. I shouldn't even be pondering
Wondering....emotions fuck it up.
Yeah, I agree, they muck it up.
Make it hard to see clearly.
Oh dear me...this thing is trying to consume me.

I could be, I might be.
Possibly.
I can't see
How this could even be
A remotely good thing.
But then again, I must be,
Cause all I think about is...
Wow!
Damn....I think I am.
My heart has decieved me
I'm feeling kind of queasy
Went against my mind
Now I find myself facing
Thoughts of me saying...
And then her rejecting.

I am. I'm sure.
Definitely.
Guess we'll see.

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NeonSubtlety said:

11:30 at Barley's


If jealousy wore clothes,
mine would shop in the children’s section.
It’d rock knee socks and a calculator watch,
L.A. Gears that light up when you walk,
and fucking He-Man underoos because
my jealousy has ambition.

It’s new to the world;
it doesn’t know its place or its name.
Squinty-eyed in the new light,
crying when left alone and frightened,
a titan of egocentrism with just a tint
of connivance and manipulation.

And you walked in,
laying your chin on that squirting flower.
Happiness bubbled inside
your insides and tides of victory
wash ashore when you see me there,
and salute my childish envy.

Your eyes are slavemasters,
lashing at boundaries in a circle around me.
Our fourteen months don’t matter,
and the only thing left is shattered pride
and this guy, the winner who just picked
at his nose and flicked it.

So fuck you and your handbag;
I’m sure he’s a superhero in bed.
You can have that table and this bar,
not far is a quiet corner where me and jealousy
can play darts, order a pitcher, and wait.
Because girls always need a new handbag.

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NeonSubtlety said:

Thanks, man. It feels good toying with rhythms and rhymes in my head again. At some point, I might go back and revise. But for now, I'm just glad to feel like writing.

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NeonSubtlety said:

What I like a lot about spoken word is that form and technique aren't nearly as important. It means that the vocabulary you choose and the sentiment you include are all the more important. Unfortunately, it's hard to get a sense of how people's writing would sound when they read it. But, it's worth the task.

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NeonSubtlety said:

What I like a lot about spoken word is that form and technique aren't nearly as important. It means that the vocabulary you choose and the sentiment you include are all the more important. Unfortunately, it's hard to get a sense of how people's writing would sound when they read it. But, it's worth the task.

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BlackManFux said:

I agree. Rhythm is the first thing I usually find myself looking for when I read a poem. Then I go back and read the words.

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Honey123 said:

The Rhythm does that for me as well. I found myself counting sometimes syllables when I am writing a poem. Those are the times I seem to get more frustrated.

I have been enjoying the spoken word poems though. I find that they are more from the heart - from that moment. Definately works.

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BlackManFux said:

Honey, your avs are giving me cardiac arrythmia.

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NeonSubtlety said:

some of my favorites:

bassey ikpi

shane koyczan

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