Thread: Poetry of CoLd BlooDed

Lions of Nyabingi

stones in darkers forward Zion turn
star so hot make I and I burn
our bredren, our sistren
Red.
man and beast, a kingdom established
Babylon step fi da flame of da chalice
no time fi be vexin'
Red.
I ignorant strap'd wit' more dan teeth
Jah knows I wrap'd wit' sore an' grief
but still comes first light
Sight?
be no fear of da fearful loathing
for it seems only days since I plant stop growing
feel no way, 'tis but a word
Seen?

...Rasta, sit down wit' ya sun and ya skins
forget da bald heads, Bandulus and sins...

...think pon ya gates and da heavenly stars
whole heap of dem wolves can't see past dere yards...

...tings all I rey, da I ly smoke fi Zion
who said sheep can't turn into dem Lions...

...until dat moment, youth, keep on dis glove
for da bad flames burn like a star; One Love.

Those Big Marshmallows up in the Sky


They look so soft,
oh, how I would love to touch,
but nothingness is never enough.
Always wandering and lost.

Gentle creatures,
the simple mind plays visionary
with beanstalks and turtles eating berries;
pure white zebras.

They look at peace,
forming the masterful mythical heavens,
but only they know - the true number sevens.
Like wool, or like fleece.

The shapeshifters,
expanding to the fuel of human fire,
let it rain black with human desire;
our ash filters.

They look disturbed,
regardless of their feathered mass,
terrified, terrified, letting no light pass.
Not another word.

Horsemen, nightriders,
signifying the end of the world diseased,
wet with the passion of a woman unpleased;
the flames grow higher!

...where did they go?
I once saw them in the playground up high,
those funny big marshmallows up in the sky.
They'll be back, this I know.



Those bipolar big marshmallows up in the sky.

How Many?

In the world's world...



How many sirens will sound in the night?
How many children are taken on sight?
How many tears are being shed like snakes skin?
How many wars will be fought - who will win?
How many people are dying in sheets?
How many people are rats of the street?
How much potential is going to waste?
How many people are lost in sore taste?

How many sounds are going unheard?
How many students are forgetting their words?
How many drugs are flooding our fields?
How many colours are found - who will yield?
How many minds are mashed into dirt?
How much is insanity and what is it worth?
How many Gods live beyond our stars?
How many roads are simply too far?

In a world's world.
Still smiling.

How many youth see to their first kiss?
How many smiles are curving closed lips?
How many ants climb to the top of the hill?
How many steps have been - who ever stands still?
How many woman are turned into mothers?
How are you my friends, sisters and brothers?
How many souls are so perfectly matched?
How many memories grow on the flats?

In a world turned on its shoulders.
Always smiling.

Just noticed how many views I actually have on this thread...

Thought I would thank my invisible audience for following me along. I know you're all out there. Hopefully my poetry has opened some minds and provided some new questions - and if it hasn't, may there be a similar influence somewhere along the paved lines.

Originally Posted by CoLd BlooDed

Just noticed how many views I actually have on this thread...

Thought I would thank my invisible audience for following me along. I know you're all out there. Hopefully my poetry has opened some minds and provided some new questions - and if it hasn't, may there be a similar influence somewhere along the paved lines.

It has <:

I hate commenting on the good stuff, ClouD's writing, your poetry, Carousoul's art~

It's all amazing, all of it. I just can't find the right words to compliment them

Maybe one day I'll actually be good at putting words together. So thank you, and keep it up. :]

Maybe Cloud, Carousol and myself should do a poetry/art/writing compilation...

Many sincere thanks, by the way, it truly means a lot. And I can understand where you're coming from. Sometimes it's difficult to try and say what you want to say when commenting on an artform... because you have to be able to speak in the particular artform.

Keep reading, keep thinkin'.

On the Hillside

On the hillside, minds innocently running, bodies parallel to the blanketed stars. Smiling, pointing with our elderly fingers to a multitude of caricatures - forms constantly changing to match our resonance. Our frequencies. But isn't that just it?

It's as if they're only there to acquire us. Existing not as true beings but like pseudo-opaque, two-dimensional paint stains barring us from the light. Yet we acknowledge them anyways, even going so far as to identify them with things of the past. Phantoms on center stage, acting out in an invisible play.

On the outside, like scientists prodding over a microscope, like therapists peering through a padded cell window, we look bacterial - we look crazy. Acknowledging the non-existent on the hillside. On the hillside, we are normal and everyone on the outside is crazy.

We are the scientists, psychologists, and leaders of the occult. We are normal. We are conspirators, presidents, and Gods. We are normal. We are children, we are adults, we are everything in between. We are normal.

On the hillside, we look at vapors and laugh at their resemblance, even though it's a trick of the mind. Nobody will ever see their True Form, not even those who already know. Questions rush to mind... if they simply exist as frequency matchups, do they exist at all? What does that say about us?

We are... normal.

A Tribute to Dionysius, the Hellfire of the '60s - Part I

the cute girl sitting outside the bar
underage & mother deceased
neon glow casting pale
beauty
in summer night.

the man behind black-rimmed glasses
genius & incredibly fucked up
oft misunderstood w/tales untold
beautiful
in the bathroom mirror.

the elderly asleep on retail couches
withdrawn w/life trauma
insightful & wiser than anything, yet
beauty
in dreamscapes.

not something
you could ever
know without
already knowing.

Originally Posted by no-name

It has <:

I hate commenting on the good stuff, ClouD's writing, your poetry, Carousoul's art~

It's all amazing, all of it. I just can't find the right words to compliment them

Maybe one day I'll actually be good at putting words together. So thank you, and keep it up. :]

That's how I feel.

I don't want to look like a dick and say "Cool, man" every time.
Cause TBH I'm kinda gay for your poetry.

Haha, don't worry, I completely understand... except the bit about being gay for my poetry. As in what, inferior? I appreciate all feedback and no feedback, friend - I am indifferent. But thank you for being part of my invisible audience.

You have some very unique poetry that makes me smile,
It's rather easy to say that I quite like your style,
And when reading these kindered words on a screen,
I find your poetry has made it's own scene.

But seriously I like the depth, the descriptions and the perspective you put into your writing.

Originally Posted by CoLd BlooDed

Haha, don't worry, I completely understand... except the bit about being gay for my poetry. As in what, inferior?

Naw I mean I really like it.

I must say I really liked 'How Many?'
especially this part of it:

Originally Posted by CoLd BlooDed

How many minds are mashed into dirt?
How much is insanity and what is it worth?
How many Gods live beyond our stars?
How many roads are simply too far?

Really great stuff man, as always.

Originally Posted by Elis D.

I don't want to look like a dick and say "Cool, man" every time.
Cause TBH I'm kinda gay for your poetry.

And I must say, that just made my night.

Thanks, LSS. I can provide the explanation for that one if you'd like. It's pretty straightforward. And appreciated, Elis.
_____________

You there, yes. You.
I can see.

Pick up the phone, intergalactic calling you at home from another planet,
No dial tone? Maybe you're just spaced out like acid.
No need for racket simply ask and thou shall receive that
all wrapped up like a diseased rat in quarantined plastic.
Cool drastic, mentally trapped at the bottom of the waste basket, you're like trash kid,
tripped for three, the epit-o-me of neuron blastin fooled you into burning cash
faster than a match lit.

To be continued.

Looking forward to what tonight brings forth my friend. Have fun, and be safe.

Some jams me and my buddy did last night.

The Freestyle Jam

Singing

I love the poems, the rasta one is one of the best I've ever read

The singing/freestyle jams are raw but entertaining and I love the melodies!

Keep it up

A Tribute to Dionysius, the Hellfire of the '60s - Part II

To think I truly forgot
what this is—a lie
& to think I understand
is a myth

finding it increasingly difficult
to keep this pen in my hands
followed with words I
couldn't possibly
understand.

Irrational; irresponsible,
no focus w/extra focus
& thoughts dribble from tongue

doing my best to keep my
spirits alive, in another
world I would
have
died.

problems & complexities
people w/ personalities
forever entwined.

associate with morning breeze
thru parks bench and ocean beach
a synonymous greeting of
affection caressing
your every curve.

It's always busy.
always.
something that shakes me to my center core
something that fills me with uncertain
flavour
something
something that
always.
It's never quiet.

lost a father to brainwash
mirroring myself unto
his fucking fate.

(a single penned line scribbled, capturing seven minutes of
Riders on the Storm.)

Although I only read a few of these, they are very well written. Keep up the good work.

Thanks Exhalent, your feedback is appreciated.

Freedome

Free me from filth,
from rock, from silt
Free me from sin,
from stone and from guilt
Looking outward to hills
where the house has
been built

Give me a star, a moon,
and sand.

Free me from pain,
from disease, from strain
Free me from plague,
from age and from game
Looking up to the sky
where the waxing
moon wanes

Give me a pen, a pad,
and a brain.

Hierarchy of Earth and Stars

There's a reason why we are here...
we are based off senses.

Humans,
thought.

Dogs,
smell.

Bats,
sound.

And still,
dirt.

CB.. I really liked Freedome.. a lot.

But I gotta ask you about "Where the waxing moon wanes".

Was the apparent contradiction in those words intended?

Yeah, it was intended. In this poem, the house is me. The waxing moon is me.

Thank you.