The "Official" Poetry/Freestyle/Remix Thread

yo hold up, lemme grab the mic an roll up, a tight one, burn quick then fuck it ill blaze another hun, i kill niggas for fun, when imin the right mindstate, freestylin is like fishing for sharks with you as my bait, dont hesistate, never late, always blate-ntly disrespect you, a few left in my tech foo, my style is new ill fucking kill you

(bump)
 
..And in the end, it all becomes clear:

some people die, and some remain here.

For life is a twisted, and perilous track.

Mind dull as a spoon or sharp as a tack.

Who knows what lies around the next turn?

How many things we still have to learn

Before life makes sense to this feeble brain?

With nothing to lose, and so much to gain

I try my best with the things that I've got

compared to some others, it's not a whole lot

but you can't help the hand you've been dealt.

So learn not to regret emotions you've felt.

times being hurt, and opportunities lost.

Happiness rules all, but at what cost?

Live to be free of guilt and sins.

Life isn't a game; nobody wins.
 
heres a bit of my stuff:

What Cedric Said

(to me in my sleep)

The selection came so beautifully

because of what Cedric said to me;

whispered to my hard pillow

I found ever so quaint, but ever so

comforting.

Because of what he said; I have learned

so much. In spite of an array of misused

language. Just let me feel!

What the people making the music feel!

Wow, that is just special. How does my

own speech amuse me so well.

I'll wait here just long enough so that no

one between a tooth or a hair can glean me

of my country. Strip them to the spiders so

that no one lives, and give me a profane high five

for that. We are not threatened! Oh, oh how foolish

you have become.

For god's sake, he speaks of chalk outlines.

He whispers about lost ghosts of a future to befall greatness.

He took the veil off his endless pain, and shouted about a

bed of asphalt.

He spoke at length, describing the faults of the daughter of

Miranda, going on to pour me a soup of ice picks.

(They, like nothing else, were personified)

He told me this: It is for you alone.

I knew this statement was valid and credible,

unlike the apocryphal main stream, who by this time,

I had completely written off.

And when you travel the length of the universe

and end up right here where the journey was started,

no more than a decade ago

You, and I;

(We) will remember what Cedric said.
 
Salmon are American Fish

Acquaintance is such a satisfying word

when keeping star dust in mind.

We often do not take crushed ribs into account

when every grain of strength is being used.

I was once told not to stare at the ground,

but also not to do the opposite or I would go blind.

Keeping these instructions in mind

I looked strait ahead, and all dreams came true

For a fraction of a second.

As soon as it is possible to watch the pavement slip by,

existence becomes like swimming with salmon all winter long.

How I would love to see a rainbow trout

after all these determined fish.

Just swimming in the same swirl, taking the stream as it arrives,

Enjoying vacation.

When I saw one of these brilliantly colored slender animals ahead,

I found my gills had gone once again and the water was suffocating.

But champagne has a way of curing these diseases.

As I left, I was shaken by unimaginable guilt and happiness.

I must have forgotten something, something small,

like a pillow in someone's arms, or smooth glass in my hand.

But what did it matter, at least one soul is overflowing.
 
I dig it. Some word choice stuff that I would've done a lot differently, but hey that's why it's your stuff and not mine. Good stuff.
 
i rap... ill put sum shit up. i still remember tha last thing i freestlyed to sum black kid at my school who raped about how he smoked purple hae and was "sicker than aids"

heres what i said

son that wack rap shit that you kick is a little inaccurate you fagget bitch,

all the shit that i spit is strictly legit, im a lyrical pro just know this shit.

fresh outta boston my crew stays flossin, houses so big you niggas could get lost in. at age sixteen my flow is mean, and you dont know shit till you smoked my green. we hit fat blunts of bc chronic then we kick back in the pad sippin on gin and tonic.

thats all i remember. thats not verbatim but it went sumthing like that.
 
well i have almost 40 pages of ryhmes so i'll pick out some bits for you guys

i'm drawing a blank in black ink

stop to shake, work out the last kink

crows circle the feilds and we watch a little more of the mast sink

break the last kink of this chain

modified to accomodate more than 1000 words in this frame

i want you to keep in mind that the next one is a true story and is all sad and emo

maybe some things that are latent are what they seem

because the fact is it can get so beautiful likes a young girls dream...

she dreamed her mother was dying and needed the golden fruit from out on that tree

when she went outside there it was, plain to see

she picked the fruit to appease her mother's needs and returned to her side

shewas so frail she could be killed by a breeze

the girl got on her knees and gently placed the fruit in her mother's hand

she was too weak to hold it, it fell out with her last strand

the girl felt that as the fruit rolled away

her heart and soul followed, ;eaving her body astray

the girl woke up and died in the next 3 days

it's a sad story and it makes you feel alone

a dream about her mothers death was actually about her own

and thats the power of the subconcious, an enigma that you can't even write

i wonder if she knew those two days she had already lost her life

of course in retrospect it's so easy to connect her death with her dream

because if nothing even happened i doubt we'd have seen

you're tightening up the turnekit

pockets in the process of learning it

they're empty like the sockets of skulls at the furthest depths

i resent to play devil's advocate

hipocracy is not about right or wrong, more a matter of respect

how can we see it when we're always in the dark

the bridge between you and us is built of tissue thats why it's ignited with a simple spark

burning bridges between you and your nation

but you cover it up with public relations

i don't care for your reaganomics

reverse robin hood, steal from the poor, give to the rich

becasue you give me a lot less than you restrict

and we give you a lot more so where the fuck is that logic

while the clock ticks there is no effort to stop it

if you'rein a sinking ship don't you try to clog the holes?

theres too many holes, not enough fingers and toes

our songs linger inprose, the singers have nowhere to go

i guess thats how it goes, we no longer have roles

constitutional rights? wait what are those?

forget about that here's the patriot act (this is what you chose)

oh well, i suppose, i mean what could it hurt?

lest see.. for you i've got it written in prose

privacy? forget about that the CIA needs your phones

the prez needs the press to stop exposing what they expose

can we protect our country from our country when we're up too out nose

in blood from the hands of the administration

you can't spell unity from separation, you're missing a "u" and a "y"

thats why i ask why you are separated from i

now i don't even try to understand the plan

iguess thats why im just a man and you are the man

perhaps we need a best country in the world act and a justice act too

how many contradictions can we point at you?

good thing we got them coming out the wazoo

enought to print them out on the sides of our nukes

the whitehouse is stained like this no longer blank page

it can't be washed away by the rain from the cloud that enshrouds your stage

meh it's not that good

 
stop fartin kid, ill curb stomp you like edward nortin did, im crazy should prolly tighten my lid, but fuck it id rather live than give
 
Thoughts of a Wasted Youth

Blood runs through my veins like a capillary

Pulsing into my heart as if a tributary

Anger flashes through my eyes – I am lost in frustration

Tears drip down my cheeks as my body’s libation.

I can feel my muscles clench, my voice starts to drone

Never in my life have I felt so alone

My body shakes, lungs groping for air

But what’s worse – does anyone even care?

 
The Intelligent Anarchist

Burn it down.

All the fathers who abandoned their wives and kids

For Florida with the office secretary with the big tits

Burn it down.

All the overweight ones who whine about their size

While they eat their fucking Big Mac and fries

Burn it down.

All the innocent people killed every day

Without care, as if there is no peaceful way

Burn it down.

Everyone who accepts their institutionalized lives

Secretly excited when death finally arrives

Burn it down.

Those who call me an immature fool

Just because I give a damn about our consumption of fuel

Burn it down.

All the people who go to Ikea for a nice afternoon

Who’ve never really seen the sun or the moon

Burn it down.

But.

Under no means.

Ever.

Burn.

The Books.

 
No

No, this isn’t coming out right

I scream to myself In the middle of the night

I have emotions! Why can’t I express them?

I was hoping this time I’d write a real gem

But no, I am left bored, unable to put into word

The things I’ve seen, the voices I’ve heard

Am I a damn robot, void of articulation?

Only capable of drugs and masturbation?

Am I a burnout, slowly fizzing away?

Not a care of the dangers that lay my way

Damn it, no! I refuse to wind up a bum, letting life go by

There’s got to be more to existence then getting high

So no, I will not just fall apart

Hell, maybe I’ll pursue a career in art

But I’ve been saying this every day

I mean, is it really better to burn out than fade away?

 
For What?

I’ve been thinking a lot about the American Dream

And I’m wondering if things are really as they seem?

I can’t watch these ants – just marching on and on

See people’s dreams disappear from dusk to dawn.

They’ll probably call me a fool, just a stupid youth

But no one else can see the truth

That we spend our whole lives working, ears closed and eyes shut

All I want to know is: For What?

 
im not gonna quote everyone but they were nice.

it's good to get this going again, it's nice to see that there are talented people on here in other areas than skiing.
 
damn i wish i got HBO so i could watch more. those were sick. i wish more people around me could write poetry or like any rhymes. everyone thinks that if u rhyme you're trying to be "gangsta" and if you write poetry then you're a fag. i gotta try to bring it back.
 
ok well today marks 6 months from the night my dad was shot, so my family met for dinner so we could be together. it was around an hour drive each way so i had some time to think. just wanted to try out a new rhyme scheme and see what happens.

if my life was a movie, i wonder what song would play,

on august 25th 2006, the most horrible day.

hours later, the 26th, my dad passed away,

hit by a bullet, but no not a stray.

came to the hospital, they said he'd be OK,

last time i ever listen to what a doctor has to say.

what music would they play in the background at the wake?

camera focused on my face, watching as my heart aches.

zoom out, watch my whole body tremble and shake,

still thinking, "my dads not gone, this is a mistake."

going back now, what song would set the scene?

when i almost died, parents tears would fill the screen.

not a normal asthma attack, the worst they've ever seen,

could've been a death before i was even a teen.

but they didn't give up all the doctors did convene

nebulizer saved my life, im still here because of that machine.

moving ahead now, what song would i hear?

when the wheel fell off my bike, chin split wide and clear.

blood all in my hands, but my house was no where near

finally looked in the mirror and i knew it was severe.

i could see my chin bone, the skin did dissapear

if it wasn't for the helmet i doubt i'd still be here.

what song would finally play in the restaurant where we ate?

family together excpet one, 6 months from the shooting date.

normally he'd be coming, so dinner could await,

but we know he's not coming back, he's not just working late.

waitress asks if it's a special occasion, but a painful mood we won't create,

6 months closer to heaven- where we will again all conjugate.
 
https://www.newschoolers.com/web/forums/readthread/thread_id/241250/

the reason i say "not a stray" was because it wasn't some gang members fighting or something. this guy shot purposely at our car.
 
Questioning

It’s a Friday night and I don’t feel so well

Been filling my mind with thoughts of Heaven and Hell

I keep thinking about losing my virginity

Then my mind reverts back to the Trinity

What am I doing in life? What do I want to be?

Does God really care about you and me?

Again I think about women, and now I grow sad

But how does God separate the good from the bad?

I am tired of questioning, I want answers now

I think as I wipe the sweat off my brow.

 
It May Not Be Love…

It may not be love

But,

It sure does feel good

And

Hell, I want to love you

But I find myself afraid

Where that may take us

And

I want to have those lame

“One Month Anniversaries”

Just to make her happy

But it may not be love

And

How all my problems just seem to

Melt like the glaciers

When you just give me a grin

And

I like that you care when I smoke pot

Saying that I am “burning

My life away.”

But it may not be love

And

I even like those phone conversations

Even though I start to nod off when you tell me a story

About how silly you were as a kid (But it is cute)

But

It may not be love

Right?

I mean

It can’t be love.(?)

Oh shit,

Now I just scared myself.

 
thanks dude. i like how this is pretty much our own personal thread haha. whatever. hey, if you don't mind, i could really use some critical feedback. i'd be happy to give some, if you want, too
 
yea at first i was gonna post it in nsg but then i realized too many people would just do things like "i took a poo, woohoo, look at you." i'll let it die until i come back with some new stuff.
 
masturbate, masturbate it is fun

masturbate, masturbate chew some gum

masturbate, masturbate until your dry

masturbate, masturbate do it with guys

 
Apoem for creative writting about my writting process and what I think about when writting.

i need a title too so if you have any suggestions just throw em out there.

I need to stop procrastinating

All the over contemplating.

Stop waiting for a revelation

One that would make or break this situation.

But why stop

I already know this is going to be a flop.

So I'm still waiting

With my interest abating

Yet this writting is so sedating.

I hope I'm creating a work somewhat aesthetic

Maybe even poetic.

Please don't be too apathetic.

 
Classic J-Kwon homemade remix

one, here come s the 2 tot he buckle my shoe

all the cows in the field wanna say moo

takin laxatives so i gotta go poo,

now im in the bathroom makin numba 2

 
old:

a beautiful mind is always questioned and skepticized

proccessing millions of synapses a second which is more than i can say for the rest of you guys

the best of you guys can't calculate my rotations

trudge and hike your whole life in a quest for brains end

my head is heavy thers too much on my mind

holding on trying to comprehend it's own design

a one of a kind one in a billion influence near divine

i'm a needle in a haystack run through with a thread

not finding my way out of here is my greatest dread

the string in my head holds me back

getting tangled ad snagged in cluttered creativity and fact

to back philosophical evaluations up you need experience and observations relatin to problems we've been facin

racin for a slice of happiness most of us deserve

meanwhile i'll get lost in the words, looking for the best way to say how i feel and find hope secured

you'll find it well served that life continues to hide her face

doesnt want to giveclues of her design for fate

and you'll find her everytime with joy, piose, and grace

as long as you have the right lines to trace

and my thoughts will process til she confesses her essance

stop the presses those that live life to the fullest through joy and stresses are the real professors as long as they have the logic to examine their own messes

learn, thats the quintessential realization

live your own life and quit fakin

new:

it's her turn to speak, long pause, her stomache sinks

she says she gets lost, she can't think

but theres something about the way she draws that blank in black ink

the only time we hear her good is on the page

and from what i can see she just wants something to take her away

but you never would have guessed, she looks fine on the outside

simple, very pretty, maybe a little shy

she always wanted a guy to hold on to and understand

but it seem every one wanted to go no deeper than in her pants

so she's frustrated, nobody to talk to nobody to listen

her mom's always gone, dads on a mission

hated the war, it took her father away

she always painted blue skies but kept the ground she stood on gray

thats why she loves birds, they possesed the ability to glide on the wind

to go where ever they want, above everything she hated malls, chain stores, fast food and buildings

she just wanted to leave, sprout wings

she says "how can i follow my heart when it leads such a jagged path?"

if you don't stay on your toes, follow close you'll never know the half

what's more than that, your words are math and when you add them up it's hard to subtract

find the difference, of what you said what really meant something

and capitolism creates people hell-bent on one thing

we all know what thqat is right?

but somehow i don't give a fuck about it under the moonlight

because when i look up it's hard to have my chin down

and thats all she does, she looks up, without a frown

she looks up from whre she is

up to where her ideals live

and i feel like my side peels

all i want is my eyes sealed

and my hands slip and my stomache reels

the sad drips as we make our deals
 
Haha, we always have freestyle battles. This is one of my favorites from a few weeks ago, I'll try and remember it as best I can...

I challenge all present to a freestyle battle,

I'll cut your lines up like a farmer does cattle.

I spit lines you can't touch, my diction never wavers,

I hit as hard as Ali and as I'm smooth as John Mayer.

Throw down if you think you got the best of me,

I'll chop your lines up like a vasectomy.

 
i can't get to a compuuter much, but i got a new thing i wrote at school. i'll try to type it on monday. keep em coming.
 
ok this isn't what i was working on, but it's from earlier last year when i just went on a ranting rampage to my friend about hw and people and stuff.

i don't know if anyone else thinks this way, but when i was told in elementary school and even now in HS, that i had to get ready for the 'real world,' i just go crazy.

"You have to prepare for the future, it's a long road ahead,

the real world is coming, so listen up's" what they said.

But if this ain't the real world, what are we living in now?

If this ain't the real world then please tell me how,

My life now doesn't matter, this is just time to prepare,

trials and trebulations, and i shouldn't care?

I'll tell you what's real, the day of my birth,

yea i'll tell you what's real, my existence on earth.

And if you tell me the 'real world' hasn't even begun,

I'll tell you my story-my life as just one.

one child who seems way ahead of his time,

one child expressing his thoughts through a rhyme.

one child who witnesses all that's wrong today,

one child who's ignored, his thoughts tossed away.

one child who's the future, yet nobody cares,

wisdom pours out my mouth, and everyone stares.

too intelligent for most so they let it pass by,

then problems arise and they wonder why.

always respect your elders but don't forget those under you,

because as much as you hate to admit, we're intelligent too.
 
yo yo yo

the sun is blazin makin me want to just stayz in

the snow is taking up all these rayz and gives it no chance to stay in place for any more dayz

The snow is sticky just like some dank i smoked before we showed our passes to da lifty

these high speed lifts are pretty nifty but nothing like my ride who could mob up da hill going fifty

my rhymes is reel not something that i would steal

like an arab in a store that sells pipe bombs jacking that shit to just to die for da religon islam so i would recomend you just leave calm before your a part of the tragedy that was portrayed by my song

jeajeajeajeajea

im way beter at it when im high or drunk for the record
 
i see some things but not enough to write a lot

if don't have anything to write about you can't get writers block

becasue you can't get to a place where you have nowhere left to go

if you never start you have everywhere you know?

so then where do i go?

drop the beat and rock the fast pace or escape that face and keep it slow?...

so welcome to the place to be, the only person here is me

don't worry about a dj or an emcee

and if you're a cut above the rest, the best, or anything less

stand up like you wanna make a mess

or sit down like yo we gotta take a test

fill in the buble next to the phrase that makes the most sense

A. gun on the waist of a highschool student

B. like John Lennon in his grave singin "dear prudence"

C. the people walking with nothing but their coffins

D. other people watching with no intent to stop them

(or) E. none of these

people like tree that aren't swayed in the breeze

leave them in the sea and we'll see who sinks or swims

which leaves will be the ones that hang on to the limbs?

in times where i don't say much i say it a lot louder

gonna need a lot more than a moat to keep me out you watchtower

you say it's sour but i think it's bitter sweet

 
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