Tag: poem

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A Beastie Boys Sonnet

Doing the least but I go on stage LAST

No sleep ‘til Brooklyn I’m on my way NOW

Can’t pay a ticket but I still roll FAST

They read the car’s plates NOW, but don’t slow DOWN!

Intergalactic on repeat FLYIN’

To another PLACE deep in outer SPACE

Pass the Brass Monkey cuz I’m just TRYIN’

I said I felt ill my homeboys said GREAT

HATERS stay tryna sabotage my LIFE

Fighting for my right to party mad LATE

I can’t keep it down dude I’m filled with STRIFE

All of my neighbors are in bed by EIGHT

Posse in effect but we have bad KNEES

Maybe just sit around and smoke some WEED!

– RSM

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Time Is Never Time At All

It’s a roller coaster that doesn’t care if you’re strapped in, no discretion.

Sankofa’s in a twist – got you upside down, speeding forward, but still looking back when

we lose our sense of direction.

Off the rails of this crazy train, it’s a chaotic scene to be in between the safety harness

and your seat –

“I wanna go again!” We flirt with danger on repeat,

we spend it for thrills, make sure we have the quality version for our loved ones,

Waste too much of it – or so we think, measure everything with it, use it to chart the stars, moon, sun;

It’s a dictator, an angry god, we all follow along to maintain, trying to not let it get away,

And we don’t even know if it’s a ‘real’ thing, or if it was just all made up one day.

Origins – a mystery if you keep digging, some say now it can fold or be like strings,

We all follow it blindly, until our nightly solace is disrupted by the songs our alarm clocks sing. – RSM

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Bad Bitch Part 3

Miss Independent, that’s what they call her

Heads turn wherever she goes, but none of them stall her

Whether she’s walking , running, driving away

She got time for no MAN at the end of the day

Marathon Bae out here lookin’ FIERCE

Out of your league, boo, you ain’t getting near

The Baddest Bitch alive just doin’ her thang

Got these fellas’ heads spinning like a boomerang

Timeless, ageless, this Queen can’t be stopped

So keep on killing it just like you thought! – RSM

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Arm Rest Ash Trays

As a young child (as one does) I imagined quite a lot and explored with my mind and hands;


So oddly enough I became randomly enamored with empty ash trays in the arms of the backseats of old cars –


It was like discovering a little hidden pool or crawlspace in an otherwise bland landscape.


Beneath the fake wood as my mom drove us around in my grandfather’s 1970s landboat

I found a world of wonder in these mini metal trap doors originally meant for other people’s cigarettes.

They were clean and unused, though still a bad look for kids to play in –

They were (in my mind) little hot tubs, bunkers, a random place to put my fingers,
somewhere where I could put my toys as they came along for the ride.

I became fascinated by hidden ash trays, almost like an art form it felt like finding the smallest of elegant little spaces

that harked back to a time and space when the adults in the room were not only the only voices, but tobacco filled, gritty sounding voices that carried like the feeling of rubbing your palms against loose gravel.


While I learned the lyrics to ‘It Takes Two’ by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock and my light up sneakers flickered brilliantly, I still yearned to know more about yesteryear,


and like a tiny early 90s archaeologist I always searched for the hidden compartments until I found them – the ever classy built-in ash tray; an unlikely calling card to my childhood.


They’re all but gone now, surviving only in especially well-preserved chariots of the mid to late 1900s, but for a time they were an iconic part of my world – a call to love the world for what it was; a place to explore. – RSM

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Punish Me With Bliss

Give me what I want until I can’t stand it anymore

Tell me all is well to the point where it sickens me

Lead me to ‘the good place’ that’s really ‘the other place’

Take the wind out of my sails

Let the weather be perfect until I wish for a blizzard, and yet it stays perfect

May my scores be so perfect and records be new and improved every time

Until they’re rendered meaningless.

May I be undefeated to the point where I am begging to taste defeat.

Kill me with kindness, but don’t let me die. – RSM

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Clear Minded Journeys

It’s been a mighty tame decade for me compared to the former,


The straight and narrow much more accurately traced.


Along this road of life, I’ve turned the proper corners, and


this wholesome behavior gives way to days when I appreciate my senses, laced


with nothing but my own starting 5, playing to perfection; a trip with nothing but a sober head on a swivel,


Slowly, so surely surveying a straight edge’s point of view on the realm of reality we can accurately perceive – “raw-dogging life,” if you will,


can yet yield experiences far more valuable than one may estimate.


Just take a look at where these words took you – somewhere far and distant, deep into another person’s psyche.


One’s five senses alone makes quite the experience, no matter what add ons you prefer.


Life at its base is trippy as shit. – RSM

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Space-Time Sublime

Shakespeare (for example) is read across centuries and continents;


countless human eyes have bounced off of his words.


Little squiggles communicate language, keeping his hundreds-years-old thoughts relevant.


Reading is telepathy, according to Stephen King at least,


A mind and time bending set of decorations.


It’s a plug-and-play for the brain, far from lame,


From your own latest tweet back to the book of Revelation.

Illustration, photography, images decorate space


while music miraculously decorates time.


Video games take you within while being without – immersion, gone wild,


and the world wide web brings it all together in space-time, sublime.

Sure, criticize it, hyperbolizing it’s negative effects, if you desire, but,


A million multiverses exist within each of our minds and we’ll all leave a “tech footprint” before we die,


So have at it, fam! Enjoy yourselves with the media we consume, create, and share to our peeps,


It’s a wild dream we’re living on our ever-growing collection of screens.

How else could I get these words out for all to see?


Do you really think a 20th century publisher could reach the masses like a website can, or an account on IG?


Embrace, don’t hate, on the times we experience, ‘now’ is all we have anyway, friends.


Everything in moderation of course, take breaks, touch grass, vibe out, sleep in –


But I hope that you’ll enjoy the modern marvels that we all use, cuz damn,


I think Shakespeare would use every creative tool at his disposal if he had a Tik Tok or an Instagram!

Dalí would have a field day, given the chance
and wouldn’t mind the trolls shunning his work at first glance.


It’s beyond a tech network, it’s a realm, a world of imagination-based vibes.


Enjoy this multi-sensory dance of space-time sublime. – RSM

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Victory

How does one claim it?

Is it only as temporary as your next bout?

Or does at least one moment of joy suffice, potentially through one’s last days?

A better word is ‘happiness,’ I think, because it can also be achieved without competition

nor any witnesses, it can be just you, having a feeling deep within –

an excitable peace, a love for existence,

or like a hummingbird’s wings it could be constant, consistent,

a warm, lovely feeling that doesn’t go away,

it comes and goes with sports, and so it does with everything else;

and when it’s yours, in your heart, mind, soul, whatever you believe your ‘self’ to be –

then it’s yours.

Enjoy it. Love it. Don’t go around it or be above it.

Take a step back and feel yourself soar. – RSM

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Flying Toward The Sunrise on Christmas Morning

It’s been a while since I’ve spent Christmas in The Bronx,


but when I stroll back in and take my coat off, I feel lost within the familiar.


My oldest memories, just me and la familia –


Throwing miniature present ornaments into the tree and seeing where they land,


Decorating our tree as well as hula hoops with lights to make a wreath


to hang out on our balcony, and from the streets beneath


it made such a grand stand in the sky, burning bright for blocks, our Christmas parties were rockin’,


Sega Genesis and N64 games stuffed in our stockings,


The adults drank coquito and danced the night away –


And as the sun shines today onto my airplane’s windows, I can’t help but feel some kind of way.


As the world evolved and revolved we resolved each year


To persevere – through the dark times and the bright ones too, to spread cheer,


Whether it’s toys, new floors, or new iPods,


what’s always mattered more are memories

made, mainly a mix of family, friends, food,

laughs, and smiles on Christmas Day. – RSM

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The Great Nothing

A violent storm brews on a sunny day, internally,

a disconnect between the thoughts I think and the world I see,

the great nothing attacks with calculated poignancy

and a million little no ones have their fingers pointed back towards me.

 

A lot of names it goes by, the DSM gives it definitions galore,

an idle mind be wildin’ out, creating fake,

demonic children running around my inner self’s candy store –

breaking down all the shelves, they’re giving the clerk hell,

until I restart my mind it all subsides, this grand swell

of my mind’s river finally dies down. Sometimes it takes a nanosecond,

other times the inner storm rages all day, and I just gotta lie down.

 

Nothing motivational here, just an expression of

my thoughts, breakdancing sideways, inside of a closed confessional,

chaotic combinations coming to crux with the pressure from

not the atmosphere, but reality/society/these phantom obsessions, bro. – RSM