I already posted this in my thread, but decided I liked it a bit so here goes:
I am an artist
Art is the mind
Whatever's on the canvas
Is just the shadow
The hide
The hunted, beaten, former
Beauty
These winebottles
These eraser shards
These scribbled notes
These old, unwashed dishes
These chewed pencils
This emptiness
That's my evidence
That I am an artist
These scrapped sketches
These ugly paintings
These scratches on this desk
These abandoned stories
That's my evidence
That I'm not a hunter
No Inspiration
The coffee stains on my pants
Provided nothing but hurt
The sadness of a pink waiver
provided nothing but time
My leather folding pocket
provided nothing but change
I search for inspiration
through 8ths and dimes
they provide nothing
and just eat time.
I have no inspiration
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Originally Posted by Arcadic View Post
scumbag
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My love is like a red, red rose
Frowned upon and laughed at
I love folk
anarchic
at once home in a tavern
and a celestial anomaly
Oh, to be able to speak Scots!
My Robbie impression isn't shabby
as I'm the only student who gives a damn
in this whole facade of a church of literature
Let's study the rebels and great questioners
and reflect in the proper academic mode
HEAT DEATH (Amory McKeever - IcecreamMan80) 2/22/12
Now we started out as friends
in close proximity
unbreakables can only bend
and fall in love with gravity
but when the two became a crowd
we pushed heavenly bodies away
took to the skies like rocketships
blasting off into the fray
However massively attracted
explosions of emotions sent me
the force of course redacted
my light too distant to see
by the time it reaches out to you
I'll be a memories polaroid
don't matter now that I shined true
my former self is just a void
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():
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Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
The first five lines are taken from The Story of Thugnificent episode from The Boondocks. The material belongs to Aaron McGruder and the owners of The Boondocks. The rest of this poem is original. This is intended to be a bad and stupid rap, as Grandad from the Boondocks does not "spit hot fire"
Eff Thugnificent (Rap Beef)
Old punk ass nificent never went to high school
that's where he's a mother mother mother mother fool
momma was a fool, daddy was too
Wanna be like thugnificent, don't go to school fool.
yeah. yeah.
Thugnificent got a bit to learn about *****es.
Ballin' hard in Do It Big trip, they call me Mr. *****es
Thunificent rappin' about butt cheeks
After that, all he has is itches.
Squeak Squeak Squeak
Mouse mother ****er.
Silly ******.
now my finger's on the trigger
blastin' your punk ass back
back to the stone age
you ain't ever gettin' paid.
You just mad cause your ass is dumb
First thing you do is pick up the gum
you should just go back to the slum
Thugnif Thugnif thugnif
Dorthy
You ain't even worthy
of being in my neighborhood
so get out for good.
yeah. yeah. yhea.
You just mad cause your ass is dumb
First thing you do is pick up the gum
you should just go back to the slum
Thugnif Thugnif thugnif
You dick riding Obama
but you ain't know ****
all I was doing was getting lit
and the cops ran up my house
took my loase
cause Obama didn't legalize the ****.
yeah yeah yeah.
Behind the veil, I could watch your shadow
dance all night long to the music of my heartbeat,
and when morning invades,
when the sunlight washes the shades of your silhouette,
I will tear the veil down like a wolf,
so I could see the beauty
that will wash the shades of my silhouette
this troubled heart and troubled mind
with dedication ate away
the very thoughts of their design,
the sweet insides that made them fine.
such dismal depths they've come to tread,
lost through the rot of night and day.
a dream they begged of me instead,
but no such joy i knew to shed.
so labored on those mangled things
formed not of hope, but wasted clay.
to what end, still they plucked their strings
but failed to rouse a voice that sings.
the world i had come to despise
then suddenly became anew.
i tore apart my sad disguise
the moment that i saw your eyes.
electric! formed of love and life,
they invaded my armor through.
the shock of beauty conquered strife
where in my bones had been so rife.
forgotten joy was mine to share,
and as you know, i shared with you.
that hope untaught, that hidden care,
i found again within your stare.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I'm a progeny of ****ing prodigies,
listen up this how hip-hop aughtta be,
spittin visuals audibly, bout to insert this hard part of me,
and do it in your earhole, rhymes beatin through the heart of me,
Yeah I'm a swag storm, bout to end this swag drought.
Your ****ing *** born, now homie what're you about?
The fearless surrealist shaved my stache' but I'm still tha rap Dali,
turnin phones into lobsters when i make soup outta molly,
don't stress on me don't flex on me i'm Ivy league out of your league,
yo dumbass nastier to think about than siamese jodeci,
hopefully, yeah hopefully,
yo ***** will keep approachin me,
cause i'm supposed to be unquestionably the hottest star your eyes can see,
Listen up bruh, yeah listen good,
best keep your mouth shut, walking through my hood,
spit so hard best call this drool,
act a fool, dawg I wish you would!
I'll have a banquet with your face, use my fork to pull your eyes out,
eat your tounge with some bbq, don't speak, No Doubt.
That's what I'm about. Straight bout it bout it.
Master P life philospohy you best believe i'm rowdy rowdy.
Howdy, howdy........
to all you ****ing hicks.
Hide behind your camo bruh I know you stay attached to that dick.
Hatin on my swag when yo oil gettin checked, dip stick,
yo ass is lower than grass bruh, i'm talkin dog ****.
So when I rap you best get wit it cause i'm sick wit it,
straight digits to yo face when you get get hit wit it,
i'm quick wit it and quick witted,
slick wit it and da **** wit it,
so hide your kids and yo wife before yo life gets ended.
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Official Moderator of The [Gutter]
Think the MtgStaff is just swell? Join today! You too can be involved in an 8 year grudge and delete nearly 9000 of kpaca's posts!
His gun is all he knows
These streets are what he calls home
Moving from one block to the next,
Whatever the night may bring, another test
He's got no one to love, no one to call his own
The feel of the Beretta in his hand is the only sign he's not alone
Some call him a jack of all trades
Killing hits just to get paid
He prefers the term "mercenary"
Living without sanctuary
His life is the standard tragic story
Of a thug who found his peers deploring
He had to raise himself, his momma was no good
And his daddy ran off, he just another hood
Then momma died and he was all alone
The needles in her arm scattered all around the home
Her path deterred him from going the same way
He vowed to never be a dope fiend, he decided to play the game
And so the game he joined was crooked as could be
But if it weren't, then could I tell you this story?
Of a man who went from nothing to naught
Did you really think he wasn't gonna get shot?
It was a cold, dark night like not too long ago
Windows down, fingers running through his afro
He shot the wrong person's brother, a regular old G
"Mother****er, don't you know you messin' with ME?"
He leapt out the car, his Beretta drawn close
But then came the hail of bullets, he could only dodge most of 'em
He died alone that night, hot lead in his chest
And he never would have guessed that that night would've been his test
The test to see if he would survive beyond then
But most of us don't expect death because we don't know when
Our times are near, but if we did?
Would we live our lives differently instead of like his?
But we're not the focus of this tale, it's him
The cold moon looked down, the stars seemed dim
And in the last breath of frosty-aired night
This man looked down at his hand, gripping tight
His Beretta was the only friend that he ever knew
So how suiting that its cold steel bid him adieu.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
Working Title
You say you hate Shiria Law
But you love Rick Santorum
You say you're pro-life
but you support the death penalty
You say you love small government
but you regulate the bedroom
You say you're a Christian
but you want to bomb the Middle East
So what do you believe?
Or do you even believe anything say?
Because I certainly don't.
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Originally Posted by Arcadic View Post
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
how must I measure hate;
in a passing of years
with daily a wish
that fastly I'm passing away.
far be it boasted length;
this volume of salt
seeping caves I collapse
over minute hand nicks of the blade.
weightless like promises given;
dense as my own destiny.
bury me down in an answer
to a question the sphinx never gave.
Her fair face, painted like a clown,
bears milky cheeks that tears run down
Her full and supple crimson lips
fall at each end in sullen dips:
an exaggerated cheerful frown
Sable silk robes, the finest made,
are pierced at chest by protruding blade
From deepest wound, escapes a flood,
her case and core both stained in blood:
a pious price profanely paid
She bears the true essence of art,
a beauty, when she is apart
Her hands each hold a heavy mass:
in one, shards of reflective glass,
in other, fragments of her heart
Now her return, it does confuse
what once could only be good news
For mud must cover the terrain,
since rivers can't flow without rain
And still, I welcome home my muse
i stare, yonder at the Mountains;
a dance-hall for the Sun and Sky;
each Peak draped in Red and Violet and Gold and Love-
and the Hours slip,
slip,
slip, away;
and the Night
is forced
in
to Day
Twas harrowed in the fall
and sprouted in the spring
surely the center of it all
such a spoiled little thing
now mash under his feet
till it becomes the pulp
never will it taste complete
still we gulp gulp gulp
and stumble drunkenly along
making senseless talk
singing worthless songs
yet claim we walked the walk
more important we should know
like chardonnay before the wine
that grapes are meant to grow
not wilt along the vine
Come rain or come shine
the digger dug a new sprout
with patience and love devine
but we worked and wore him out
so wrenched his tired hands
broken calloused over skin
whom pulled the soil over man
to sow the seeds again
and again and again no more
will he try to make it right
the most bitter chablis to pour
is the one that ends a life
so what will he cork and cask
if it's all of rotten fruit
not even worthy of a flask
tucked into satans boot
Burgundy - Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80) March 2012
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():
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Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
I’ve asked a forest or two to bare their roots,
many shook their leaves, more inclined to show their rings,
to brag of where they were and how they survived the harshest winters.
None knew how they got there.
But I’ve met an exception; a tree identifying more with a rolling stone,
with roots exposed and buried in several states’ soil. With beginnings and endings
dictated by a three year difference. Greenville. San Antonio. Phoenix.
Each a story leading to a definition perplexing that simple question;
“Where are you from?”
Her branches extended and invited to anyone willing to partake of the shade,
harnessing no preference except their company in this Midwestern heat;
Unashamed to eagerly hang with the black oaks, dogwoods or maples.
Taught as a sapling to find those roots and hold on.
Floods are frequent and unpredictable,
at some point you’ll have to follow them home.
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():
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"I'm not your friend, I'm just a man who knows how to feel."- Brand New
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I am an artist
Art is the mind
Whatever's on the canvas
Is just the shadow
The hide
The hunted, beaten, former
Beauty
These winebottles
These eraser shards
These scribbled notes
These old, unwashed dishes
These chewed pencils
This emptiness
That's my evidence
That I am an artist
These scrapped sketches
These ugly paintings
These scratches on this desk
These abandoned stories
That's my evidence
That I'm not a hunter
Draft it on Cubetutor!
The coffee stains on my pants
Provided nothing but hurt
The sadness of a pink waiver
provided nothing but time
My leather folding pocket
provided nothing but change
I search for inspiration
through 8ths and dimes
they provide nothing
and just eat time.
I have no inspiration
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
A delicate pinnacle-
Perfectly fleeting
Then it rolls; plummets
Sweeps away the dreams of peace
Consumes the homeland
So once, cast adrift;
Now returns- abandoned
With giddy sorrow.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
My love is like a red, red rose
Frowned upon and laughed at
I love folk
anarchic
at once home in a tavern
and a celestial anomaly
Oh, to be able to speak Scots!
My Robbie impression isn't shabby
as I'm the only student who gives a damn
in this whole facade of a church of literature
Let's study the rebels and great questioners
and reflect in the proper academic mode
Rush_Clasic's submission was withheld due to failure to vote in PRC Round 149.
Poems withheld:
your eyes by Rush_Clasic
she tells me
she's cold
staring at
my clothes
avoiding
my face
whatever, here's my jacket
guys don't get cold
Draft it on Cubetutor!
Cold; repressed; condemned
Lost; cast adrift anon
Outcast’s salvation;
Warm; expressed; accepted
Found; cast adrift anon
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Now we started out as friends
in close proximity
unbreakables can only bend
and fall in love with gravity
but when the two became a crowd
we pushed heavenly bodies away
took to the skies like rocketships
blasting off into the fray
However massively attracted
explosions of emotions sent me
the force of course redacted
my light too distant to see
by the time it reaches out to you
I'll be a memories polaroid
don't matter now that I shined true
my former self is just a void
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
The first five lines are taken from The Story of Thugnificent episode from The Boondocks. The material belongs to Aaron McGruder and the owners of The Boondocks. The rest of this poem is original. This is intended to be a bad and stupid rap, as Grandad from the Boondocks does not "spit hot fire"
Eff Thugnificent (Rap Beef)
Old punk ass nificent never went to high school
that's where he's a mother mother mother mother fool
momma was a fool, daddy was too
Wanna be like thugnificent, don't go to school fool.
yeah. yeah.
Thugnificent got a bit to learn about *****es.
Ballin' hard in Do It Big trip, they call me Mr. *****es
Thunificent rappin' about butt cheeks
After that, all he has is itches.
Squeak Squeak Squeak
Mouse mother ****er.
Silly ******.
now my finger's on the trigger
blastin' your punk ass back
back to the stone age
you ain't ever gettin' paid.
You just mad cause your ass is dumb
First thing you do is pick up the gum
you should just go back to the slum
Thugnif Thugnif thugnif
Dorthy
You ain't even worthy
of being in my neighborhood
so get out for good.
yeah. yeah. yhea.
You just mad cause your ass is dumb
First thing you do is pick up the gum
you should just go back to the slum
Thugnif Thugnif thugnif
You dick riding Obama
but you ain't know ****
all I was doing was getting lit
and the cops ran up my house
took my loase
cause Obama didn't legalize the ****.
yeah yeah yeah.
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
Behind the Veil
Behind the veil, I could watch your shadow
dance all night long to the music of my heartbeat,
and when morning invades,
when the sunlight washes the shades of your silhouette,
I will tear the veil down like a wolf,
so I could see the beauty
that will wash the shades of my silhouette
Chapter 2- Tearing the Veil
this troubled heart and troubled mind
with dedication ate away
the very thoughts of their design,
the sweet insides that made them fine.
such dismal depths they've come to tread,
lost through the rot of night and day.
a dream they begged of me instead,
but no such joy i knew to shed.
so labored on those mangled things
formed not of hope, but wasted clay.
to what end, still they plucked their strings
but failed to rouse a voice that sings.
the world i had come to despise
then suddenly became anew.
i tore apart my sad disguise
the moment that i saw your eyes.
electric! formed of love and life,
they invaded my armor through.
the shock of beauty conquered strife
where in my bones had been so rife.
forgotten joy was mine to share,
and as you know, i shared with you.
that hope untaught, that hidden care,
i found again within your stare.
Closet
pretend, distend, and bend the light,
but prisms can't ever be right.
Deny, or fight?
professed allies?
self-centered lies.
The same: not-same. a different name,
the years of blame,
exquisite shame.
new self, new start;
fake self, true heart.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I'm a progeny of ****ing prodigies,
listen up this how hip-hop aughtta be,
spittin visuals audibly, bout to insert this hard part of me,
and do it in your earhole, rhymes beatin through the heart of me,
Yeah I'm a swag storm, bout to end this swag drought.
Your ****ing *** born, now homie what're you about?
The fearless surrealist shaved my stache' but I'm still tha rap Dali,
turnin phones into lobsters when i make soup outta molly,
don't stress on me don't flex on me i'm Ivy league out of your league,
yo dumbass nastier to think about than siamese jodeci,
hopefully, yeah hopefully,
yo ***** will keep approachin me,
cause i'm supposed to be unquestionably the hottest star your eyes can see,
Listen up bruh, yeah listen good,
best keep your mouth shut, walking through my hood,
spit so hard best call this drool,
act a fool, dawg I wish you would!
I'll have a banquet with your face, use my fork to pull your eyes out,
eat your tounge with some bbq, don't speak, No Doubt.
That's what I'm about. Straight bout it bout it.
Master P life philospohy you best believe i'm rowdy rowdy.
Howdy, howdy........
to all you ****ing hicks.
Hide behind your camo bruh I know you stay attached to that dick.
Hatin on my swag when yo oil gettin checked, dip stick,
yo ass is lower than grass bruh, i'm talkin dog ****.
So when I rap you best get wit it cause i'm sick wit it,
straight digits to yo face when you get get hit wit it,
i'm quick wit it and quick witted,
slick wit it and da **** wit it,
so hide your kids and yo wife before yo life gets ended.
His gun is all he knows
These streets are what he calls home
Moving from one block to the next,
Whatever the night may bring, another test
He's got no one to love, no one to call his own
The feel of the Beretta in his hand is the only sign he's not alone
Some call him a jack of all trades
Killing hits just to get paid
He prefers the term "mercenary"
Living without sanctuary
His life is the standard tragic story
Of a thug who found his peers deploring
He had to raise himself, his momma was no good
And his daddy ran off, he just another hood
Then momma died and he was all alone
The needles in her arm scattered all around the home
Her path deterred him from going the same way
He vowed to never be a dope fiend, he decided to play the game
And so the game he joined was crooked as could be
But if it weren't, then could I tell you this story?
Of a man who went from nothing to naught
Did you really think he wasn't gonna get shot?
It was a cold, dark night like not too long ago
Windows down, fingers running through his afro
He shot the wrong person's brother, a regular old G
"Mother****er, don't you know you messin' with ME?"
He leapt out the car, his Beretta drawn close
But then came the hail of bullets, he could only dodge most of 'em
He died alone that night, hot lead in his chest
And he never would have guessed that that night would've been his test
The test to see if he would survive beyond then
But most of us don't expect death because we don't know when
Our times are near, but if we did?
Would we live our lives differently instead of like his?
But we're not the focus of this tale, it's him
The cold moon looked down, the stars seemed dim
And in the last breath of frosty-aired night
This man looked down at his hand, gripping tight
His Beretta was the only friend that he ever knew
So how suiting that its cold steel bid him adieu.
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
from the far corners of memory
drifting like petals of rain
in soft dappled sunlight
I live in a time of never
the ifs and fancies dance silent
like so many bitter wasn'ts
on a concrete floor
You say you hate Shiria Law
But you love Rick Santorum
You say you're pro-life
but you support the death penalty
You say you love small government
but you regulate the bedroom
You say you're a Christian
but you want to bomb the Middle East
So what do you believe?
Or do you even believe anything say?
Because I certainly don't.
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
in a passing of years
with daily a wish
that fastly I'm passing away.
far be it boasted length;
this volume of salt
seeping caves I collapse
over minute hand nicks of the blade.
weightless like promises given;
dense as my own destiny.
bury me down in an answer
to a question the sphinx never gave.
Her fair face, painted like a clown,
bears milky cheeks that tears run down
Her full and supple crimson lips
fall at each end in sullen dips:
an exaggerated cheerful frown
Sable silk robes, the finest made,
are pierced at chest by protruding blade
From deepest wound, escapes a flood,
her case and core both stained in blood:
a pious price profanely paid
She bears the true essence of art,
a beauty, when she is apart
Her hands each hold a heavy mass:
in one, shards of reflective glass,
in other, fragments of her heart
Now her return, it does confuse
what once could only be good news
For mud must cover the terrain,
since rivers can't flow without rain
And still, I welcome home my muse
a dance-hall for the Sun and Sky;
each Peak draped in Red and Violet and Gold and Love-
and the Hours slip,
slip,
slip, away;
and the Night
is forced
in
to Day
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
and sprouted in the spring
surely the center of it all
such a spoiled little thing
now mash under his feet
till it becomes the pulp
never will it taste complete
still we gulp gulp gulp
and stumble drunkenly along
making senseless talk
singing worthless songs
yet claim we walked the walk
more important we should know
like chardonnay before the wine
that grapes are meant to grow
not wilt along the vine
Come rain or come shine
the digger dug a new sprout
with patience and love devine
but we worked and wore him out
so wrenched his tired hands
broken calloused over skin
whom pulled the soil over man
to sow the seeds again
and again and again no more
will he try to make it right
the most bitter chablis to pour
is the one that ends a life
so what will he cork and cask
if it's all of rotten fruit
not even worthy of a flask
tucked into satans boot
Burgundy - Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80) March 2012
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
many shook their leaves, more inclined to show their rings,
to brag of where they were and how they survived the harshest winters.
None knew how they got there.
But I’ve met an exception; a tree identifying more with a rolling stone,
with roots exposed and buried in several states’ soil. With beginnings and endings
dictated by a three year difference. Greenville. San Antonio. Phoenix.
Each a story leading to a definition perplexing that simple question;
“Where are you from?”
Her branches extended and invited to anyone willing to partake of the shade,
harnessing no preference except their company in this Midwestern heat;
Unashamed to eagerly hang with the black oaks, dogwoods or maples.
Taught as a sapling to find those roots and hold on.
Floods are frequent and unpredictable,
at some point you’ll have to follow them home.