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Because I know I'm an addict, and I know I'm an alcoholic.

quote by Jamie Lee Curtis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wednesday's Child (Sheffield Wednesday Soccer Club)

It eats soccer. It breathes soccer. It lives soccer. It fades when it's team fades and it blooms when it's team blooms. It has the letters S.W. permanently etched upon it's brain and it probably even arranges it's Monopoly money in S.W. formations. What is it, you ask? It's a soccer fan. You knew that, didn't you? But it isn't just any soccer fan. It is specifically a Sheffield Wednesday soccer fan. Or addict, for want of a better word.

Yes, of course, even I know about Liverpool, Everton, Arsenal and Man. United fans. They're the normal, run-of-the-mill type but Owls supporters are really Something Else!

I have had the somewhat dubious good fortune of becoming rather well acquainted with one of these strange 'animals' but until today, I'd managed to evade any one-to-one discourse on the merits or demerits of one man's passion for his team. On the face of it, you could say I asked for it. In a weak moment, I queried how his team had fared over the past week or so. It was like asking a hypochondriac the state of his health.

Well, there I was, supposedly having a cup of tea with his wife, my friend Sheila. But Sheila knew the signs and, together with two equally clued-up daughters, had opportunely beaten a hasty retreat into the garden. They had long since paid their dues. Now, it was my turn.

It was a reasonably tentative beginning. It is more than probable that Ken, the addict, suspected I would never stay the course but feeling somewhat emotionally trapped by the knowledge that he had no sons with whom to share his enthrallment of the game, what else could I do but don my interested-looking mask, take a deep breath and settle back to hear him out. By tacit consent, we both knew that I was a victim of sorts. Destiny rides again!

My heart sunk a little when I realised that he was starting from scratch. From the actual day when his team first started playing. His enthusiasm was boundless but somehow I found myself becoming absorbed in what he was saying. His eyes took on a bright, azure sparkle and his mouth was motoring at twice the speed of sound as it travelled back and forth in time. I stared in mute fascination. This was for real! This was the guy's life. Dear Lord, where was I when enthusiasm for anything was dished out? I raised my eyes Heavenwards and found myself looking straight into those of a grey, woolly owl who was peering down at me from a built-in show-case. The Sheffield Wednesday Football Club mascot. I knew I was a gonner when I found myself asking how the Club had come to be so named.

Sheffield Wednesday, as we know it today, Ken told me, came into being in 1867 as the football section of the Wednesday Cricket Club, which had been in existence since 1820. The cricket club had been the creation of a group of Sheffield craftsmen who gave it the name 'Wednesday' for the simple reason that that was the day when they took regular afternoons off to pursue their sporting enthusiasms.

Not surprisingly, perhaps, the meeting at which the football section was formed took place on a Wednesday and this, at a local sporting pub, The Adelphi. Members of the cricket club called the meeting because they wanted a way of keeping everybody together during the winter months but the step was probably partly inspired by the dramatic increase in football's popularity in the town over the previous ten years.

Ken's eyes misted over somewhat as he proudly told me that it had been Sheffield who had led the way in organised football even before the birth of the national FA in 1863. So Wednesday no doubt felt it appropriate to have their own football section. At the very least, it would mean that their players would not be tempted to drift off to other clubs at the end of the summer and forget to return in the following spring.

The founders could not have imagined that the infant football section would become the dominant partner. So strong, in fact, that within sixteen years it would break free and Wednesday Football Club would become one of the most famous names in English football - and a force in the professional game to boot (no pun intended!) Would they also have believed that the Cricket Club would survive only until 1924 and then die through lack of support, so that today, it is all but forgotten.

By now, there was no doubt that Ken knew he had my attention for I was leaning forward in my chair, hanging onto every word. Vortex-like, my concentration was being pulled and drawn into the centre of what could only be described as the secret world of the soccer-addict; a passionate and breathtaking intensity which would encompass anything related thereto, from a humble soccer boot to a moth-eaten ticket to some long-ago and memorable match played.

'Look! ' he said, paging through a well-thumbed book, 'here's a picture of Wednesday's first match at Olive Grove. This site was bought from the Duke of Norfolk. Did you know that? ' As if I would! But no reply was necessary as he pressed on regardless to tell me about how officials at the time were unable to persuade either Preston or Aston Villa to provide the opposition for a match but Blackburn Rovers did decide to accept the invitation to play. Things weren't going too well but I wanted to fall off my chair to show him how thrilled I was too when Wednesday recovered from a three-goal deficit to draw 4-4 but he wouldn't have noticed. He was in another world.

And then he was down in the depths again as he showed me pictures of headlines proclaiming how Dooley had broken his leg at Deepdale way back in 1953. It was to be the end of the big centre-forward's career. Oh, shame, Ken, I said. And I really meant it.

1954-55 proved to be a disastrous season with Wednesday finishing bottom of the table, nine points below relegation companions Leicester City. The Owls won only 8 games, losing 24 and conceding 100 goals. However, Ken assured me, they won the Second Division Championship in 1955-56 with three points to spare and in the following season they finished mid-table. But, oh dear, by 1957-58 they were down again. The Addict's voice faded and I thought he had been called by the angels.

'And then....? ' I encouraged. Momentarily, he seemed to surface.

'Go on, get along with you, ' he said with a half-smile, 'you're not really interested.'

'Oh, I am, I am, ' I protested gamely, whereupon he went on to tell me all about the so-called bribes scandal or betting-coup revelations which broke in the Sunday newspapers of 1964. Not only did Wednesday suffer in terms of its reputation but it also lost two of its best players.

The situation sounded sufficiently grave for me to try my mournful-look but no, it wasn't necessary as The Addict changed course and went on to tell me the good news about how in 1971, that bloke Dooley, (who'd broken his leg 18 years or so earlier and subsequently had to have it amputated) had been made manager of the club. He was still an idol in the city and the folk-hero of Hillsborough. But his magic was limited and he proved that he was as human as anyone else in his lack of anticipated performance.

But Sheila was rattling crockery in the kitchen and the thought of a nice cup of tea was becoming more and more enticing. Escape was out of the question. We still had about twenty years more to work through! There's a limit to a body's endurance and a feminine mind's appreciation of a predominantly masculine interest.

So, a little less stoically now, I went 'up' with the Owls and 'down' with the Owls as we travelled through from one Division to another over a timespan of many years. But much of their pain was to dissolve in relief when in 1985, they reached their highest position for 25 years by coming fifth in the FA Cup semi-Final. Even if they did lose to Everton.

In that same year, Wednesday were to equalise in the dying seconds of the match with Chelsea. They were 3-O up at half-time and I can well imagine how Ken had nearly fallen off his chair when hearing on the BBC World Service later that evening that the game had ended at 4-4. He still hasn't got over the sheer horror of it all.

There was no stopping him now and I just had to give in and hear about how the next time round, Chelsea lost the toss with the Owls' Chairman tossing the coin and the replay going to Stamford Bridge. Wednesday lost 2-1 proving that the Chelsea bogey had struck again. 'We can't even beat a bunch of pensioners, ' the Addict grinned. I was impressed by his ability not to take himself and his beloved team too seriously.

'And last year, you actually visited the Club, didn't you? ' I asked, determined to hastily gobble up the few remaining years so that I could go and have my tea. I knew of course that the highlight of his addicthood had been when Wednesday were promoted to First Division by beating Man. United in the Rumbelows League Cup Final at Wembley and didn't want to go into all that lot again. Like I said, there's a limit........

'Ah yes, ' he replied dreamily. Even he was beginning to tire. But no, not yet. I had a feeling we were about to move into extra time. More like injury-time, one would say.

'Come, ' he said, leading me towards a cupboard filled with everything and anything that could have any association whatsoever with his team. I'd seen it all before and I would see it again, but there's an indisputable thrill of sharing both old-time and current mementoes and memorabilia of a soccer club, some six thousand miles away, right here in the living room of one of its most ardent supporters.

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Breathe

Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.
Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale

song performed by Prodigy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Breath

Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict insane.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psycho somatic addict insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale inhale you're the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale exhale exhale.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict insane.
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, you're the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.
Breathe with me.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict, insane.
Breathe the pressure,
Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psycho,-somatic addict, insane.
Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, you're the victim.
Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale

song performed by Prodigy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Done And Over

You never knew what you meant to me.
But you found out.
But you found out.

I really loved you,
But you didn't believe me.
Now you found out.
To leave no doubt.

But I've moved on and you should too!
Whatever has been done let's call us through.
To be done and over,
Like an alcoholic sobered.

You never knew what you meant to me.
But you found out.
But you found out.

I really loved you,
But you didn't believe me.
Now you found out.
To leave no doubt.

But I've moved on and you should too!
Whatever has been done,
Let's call us through.
To be done and over,
Like an alcoholic sobered.
Done and over.
Done and over.

I really loved you,
But we're done and over.
There's no need for us to suffer,
'Cause we're done and over.
Done and over.
Done and over...
Like an alcoholic sobered.

I've moved on and you should too!
Whatever has been done,
Let's call us through.
To be done and over,
Like an alcoholic sobered.
Done and over.
Done and over.

You never knew what you meant to me.
But you found out.
But you found out.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Unlock That Box!

Everybody knows.
You're behind closed doors.
Wishing to live a life you hide.
But afraid to step outside.

So...
Unlock that box!
You like to peep but get on out.
Too many people keep their wishes swept away.
To have their walls upon them fall...
As they dry to rot and fade.

Unlock that box!
Get out and walk the block.
And stop playing the game with life,
Of love or love me not.

Everybody knows.
You're behind closed doors.
Wishing to live a life you hide.
But afraid to step outside.

So...
Unlock that box!
Or...
Get somebody who will prove,
That you can move and do it!

Don't be neurotic you can do something about it.

Unlock that box.
Why you choose to be neurotic.
Unlock that box.
You can do something about it.
Unlock that box.
You're like an addict on narcotics.

And everybody knows you're there behind closed doors.

Unlock that box.
Why you choose to be neurotic.
Unlock that box.
You can do something about it.
Unlock that box.
You're like an addict on narcotics.
Unlock that box.
Why you choose to be neurotic.
Unlock that box.
You're like an addict on narcotics.
Unlock that box!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Pop Juice

You went there until you crash here
Then woken up to wonder where the night went
Keep breathing it'll come back again
Tonight will be different
We will all be saved
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
So we crashed down in BB's
Keep quiet because the question is elaborate
You need a lawyer, a doctor, a drink
To keep surviving
Keep me firing
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
I don't feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
Feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
Feel like going out
Feel like going out
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?

song performed by Gomez
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Power Of Prayer

The addict trembled, terrified,
Death stared him in the face
And that poor soul was mesmerised,
Transfixed in that one place,
No will to move, not left or right,
With nowhere inbetween,
A dreadful Twilight Zone in sight,
The like he'd never seen...

The addict gulped, held back his tears,
As Death displayed its form,
As Death's wings stretched behind his ears
And he felt cold not warm...
And then Death laughed with utmost glee,
One victim on its mind,
One victim from this life set free
To leave this world behind...

The addict prayed in Jesus name,
For mercy, peace, joy, love
And Death stood back, not quite the same,
As God began to shove...
The man still prayed, his eyes still closed,
Regardless, unaware
That God defended and opposed
In answer to his prayer...

The addict sensed God intervened,
Somehow new life began,
With Death no more the awesome fiend
Because God had a plan...
Thus Jesus saved the man from Death,
From judgment and from Hell...
God's Son... Jesus of Nazareth!
What stories He could tell...

poem by Denis Martindale
Added by Poetry Lover
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Ignoring A Belligerent Drunk

The man won't stop drinking.
Picking fights with his wife every night.
He thinks it is not an addiction.
He thinks it is not an affliction.
But I know better I've seen it before.
I've been down that road of misery, malcontent, depression, and anger.
To live without it is the sobriety that I think he needs.
But the only way to accomplish this is going broke indeed.
His wife could leave him and he wouldn't even take notice.
He is at a loss.
He doesn't know how to treat his friends.
He wasn't always this way.
He picked up a bottle and never put it down.
The alcoholic is no better then the heroin addict.
Their both out to destroy themselves and everybody else.
Sure their methods in the way it enters the body are different
But the effects can be equally catastrophic.
When the junky gets clean they will be alone and not easily trusted.
When the alcoholic gets sober they will be alone and not easily trusted.
Some mistakes once done are not so easily undone.
An excuse is only valid if it wasn't self induced.
Otherwise you are responsible like it or not.
With expectations abroad.
I can say I have taken the higher road.
It is sometimes lonely but it is the one I have taken.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Added by Poetry Lover
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Homophobe

Rewrite of the classic Elvis hit, Hound Dog

You ain't nothin' but a homophobe
Prejudice accusin' and finger pointin' all the time
You ain't nothin' but a homophobe
Prejudice accusin' and finger pointin' all the time
Well, if you knew what was good for you
You'd stay outta my closet
'Cause it's for sure you ain't never gonna be friend to me or my kind

When you call me out
Call me a sex addict pervert and say that all I'm interested in is....
Well, I think we all know better
That's just a lie
Yeah, you call me a freak and say all I'm lookin' for is....
Well, I think we all know better
That's just a lie
Yeah, if you knew what was good for you
You'd stay outta my closet
'Cause it's for sure you ain't never gonna be a friend to me or my kind

You ain't nothin' but a homophobe
Prejudice accusin' and finger pointin' all the time
You ain't nothin' but a homophobe
Prejudice accusin' and finger pointin' all the time
Well, if you knew what was good for you
You'd stay outta my closet
'Cause it's for sure you ain't never gonna be friend to me or my kind

When you call me out
Call me a sex addict pervert and say that all I'm interested in is....
Well, I think we all know better
That's just a lie
Yeah, you call me a freak and say all I'm lookin' for is....
Well, I think we all know better
That's just a lie
Yeah, if you knew what was good for you
You'd stay outta my closet
'Cause it's for sure you ain't never gonna be a friend to me or my kind

When you call me out
Call me a sex addict pervert and say that all I'm interested in is....
Well, I think we all know better
That's just a lie
Yeah, you call me a freak and say all I'm lookin' for is....
Well, I think we all know better
That's just a lie
Yeah, if you knew what was good for you
You'd stay outta my closet
'Cause it's for sure you ain't never gonna be a friend to me or my kind

[...] Read more

poem by Ramona Thompson
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A Musical Identity Crisis

It was a fine guitar.
My dearest possession.
The tool to escape my life,
The life without any prominence or distinction;
The life, a mere proof of an existing biological function.

The only sense was from the music I understood.
The sounds created by those strings over the wood.
The notes would drown me to that world of imagination.
This was all I had for a fascination.
But it was not long that I lost my only passion.

The afternoon still survives in my memory,
The door bangs open, my uncle standing with a face
That gave away his fury,
His red eyes, the smell of his presence
Corroborated our doubts of his untimely alcoholic indulgence.
My mother screamed out Vociferous,
But the guitar did not stop.
I still don’t know-
If the attempt was prosperous
Or the musical protest was a flop?

The reek came closer,
The fingers played louder and faster.
The dipsomaniac spoke-
My price was settled by the dealer.
Enough to meet the addict’s expenditure.

The Music stopped for the last time.
The guitar was snatched and there ended
The play of notes, so sublime.

My mother would not let me go.
The dirty hands pushed her on the floor.
The sight made the anger in me grow
The addict had to be thrown out of the door.
He walked to my mother and kicked her to cry.
I lifted my guitar to give it a different try.
The guitar played a sound again
But this time it was for no musical gain.
The smash to his head made him fall on my feet.
The blood on the floor did not make me feel guilty any bit.

The Music had ended long back,
Now me and my guitar searched the identity rack.
It was not a weapon to kill,
But an instrument to feel.
And I was teased by everybody as Dumb Bill.
But not a boy of murderous skill.

poem by Saptarshi Banerjee
Added by Poetry Lover
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Those Sexual Innuendos

Innocence has blown up in a puff!

Those,
Sexual innuendos...
Can stir things up!
And addict a kid to lust.
With a stirring that corrupts.

All those sexual innuendos,
Can stir things up.
And when children think of chicken...
They want to know if the rooster plucks.
And in what position does a chicken cluck.

Those,
Sexual innuendos...
Can stir things up!
And addict a kid to lust.
With a stirring that corrupts.

Those sexual innuendos...
That stir things up.
Are fed to feed attraction,
With a stirring things up!

And made to trap...
Weak minds to keep attracted.

Those sexual innuendos...
That stir things up.
Are fed to feed attraction,
With a stirring things up!

And made to trap...
Weak minds to keep attracted.

Those,
Sexual innuendos...
Can stir things up!
And addict a kid to lust.
With a stirring that corrupts.

All those sexual innuendos,
Can stir things up.
And when children think of chicken...
They want to know if the rooster plucks.
And in what position does a chicken cluck.

All those sexual innuendos,
Can stir things up.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Me

I hear you talk about your family life
I wish I knew just what that means
I guess my mother never loved my dad
And now I wear it on my sleeve
My sister called me just the other day
It felt so good to hear her voice
My problem is I dont have much to say
I guess she doesnt have a choice, and Im sorry
Look at me Im so pathetic
I cant believe Im just an addict
Ive never needed anyone to help me
Im begging you to please come save me from myself, save me from my...
My mothers always tried to change herself
She never learned to let things be
She doesnt know how bad she messed me up
cause now she seems so fake to me but I love her
Look at me Im so pathetic
I cant believe Im just an addict
Ive never needed anyone to help me
Im begging you to please come save me from myself, save me from myself
If you push me then I wont fall
Ive been programmed to take it all
And shove it way down inside
Like my father (2x)
Im so pathetic
I cant believe Im just an addict
Ive never needed anyone to help me (Im failing it)
Im begging you to please come save me from myself
I hear you talk about your family life
I wish I knew just what that means

song performed by Staind
Added by Lucian Velea
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There Is...

There is...discrimination.
And there is...denial,
On trial.
There is...racists in places.
There is...faces of hate.
And there is...people who fake it,
To celebrate the waste.
And there is...division.
There is...much of it seen.
And there is...violence and crime.
And folks out of minds.
There is...homeless and hungry.
Those jobless who struggle,
And muzzle their pain.
With nothing but strain and those gains down the drain.
AND THERE IS...doubt and confusion.
THERE IS...shared misery.
And if no one has known this...
They don't wish to see.
Because it is there...
As clear as can be!
There is...love everywhere!
And if people don't know that...
They wont and don't care!
There is...fixes to mend this.
And when that time comes...
All grief will be lifted.
Admitted,
And sent...
Drifting away!

Like an addict that's had it...
To send this away.

Like an addict that's had it...
To send this away.

Like an addict that's had it...
With a habit that's bad.
To send this away.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Addiction Scream Banshee Warning

flushing life cells
down addict toilet
prime life gift spoil pit...

waste beauty vitality
swift age addict banshee
slitting veins never curse free...

life gift visions goals
should pursuit honoured be
appointee addict plea escapee...

poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
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Stuntastic

Yeah, I'm a throwback fanatic, Air Force addict
Hardwood Classic, fitted cap to match it
Jeff Hamilton jacket, NBA patches
Team logos on my Jordans, I'm stuntastic
[ VERSE 1: Yukmouth ]
Boombastic, light a blunt and pass it
Rock a Pippen throwback when he ran with Paxton
Rock a authentic Steve Nash Mavericks
And rock a NBA All-Star 32 Magic
'Bout it, 'bout it, match with every outfit
Got two houses filled with Gucci couches
Manolo Timbs for all my spouses
And my mistress in lipstick and throwback blouses
Huh, I hit the mall and dumb out
For every throwback that come out, until they run out
My teeth shine without the sun out
These color Jordans don't come out
Boy, that's why I ball with my tongue out
Nigga
I'm stuntastic
[ CHORUS ]
Throwback fanatic, Air Force addict
Hardwood Classic, fitted cap to match it
Jeff Hamilton jacket, NBA patches
Gucci interior, H2, I'm stuntastic
Throwback fanatic, Air Force addict
Hardwood classic, fitted cap to match it
Jeff Hamilton jacket, NFL patches
Aston Martin with mink carpet, I'm stuntastic
[ VERSE 2: Yukmouth ]
I hit the mall, tell em:
"I want this one, this one and that one
Especially that black one"
Throwback version of Bo Jackson
Throwback Laker befo' Jackson
Then 'hit the freeway' like Tone Braxton
Rappers want beef, the chrome blastin
Leave his dome sackin on his lap
Me fallin off, it won't happen
Boy, get back then with the mack man
I sold crack dodgin cops like Pacman
Rap-A-Lot 'fo life' like Mack 10
This fit won't come out, so stop askin
Iced out like the Aspen in Dapper Dan fashion
Now, Louie, Timbos, Gucci to Benzo
And Jay, Burberry to a

song performed by Yukmouth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stuntastic

Yeah, I'm a throwback fanatic, Air Force addict
Hardwood Classic, fitted cap to match it
Jeff Hamilton jacket, NBA patches
Team logos on my Jordans, I'm stuntastic
[ VERSE 1: Yukmouth ]
Boombastic, light a blunt and pass it
Rock a Pippen throwback when he ran with Paxton
Rock a authentic Steve Nash Mavericks
And rock a NBA All-Star 32 Magic
'Bout it, 'bout it, match with every outfit
Got two houses filled with Gucci couches
Manolo Timbs for all my spouses
And my mistress in lipstick and throwback blouses
Huh, I hit the mall and dumb out
For every throwback that come out, until they run out
My teeth shine without the sun out
These color Jordans don't come out
Boy, that's why I ball with my tongue out
Nigga
I'm stuntastic
[ CHORUS ]
Throwback fanatic, Air Force addict
Hardwood Classic, fitted cap to match it
Jeff Hamilton jacket, NBA patches
Gucci interior, H2, I'm stuntastic
Throwback fanatic, Air Force addict
Hardwood classic, fitted cap to match it
Jeff Hamilton jacket, NFL patches
Aston Martin with mink carpet, I'm stuntastic
[ VERSE 2: Yukmouth ]
I hit the mall, tell em:
"I want this one, this one and that one
Especially that black one"
Throwback version of Bo Jackson
Throwback Laker befo' Jackson
Then 'hit the freeway' like Tone Braxton
Rappers want beef, the chrome blastin
Leave his dome sackin on his lap
Me fallin off, it won't happen
Boy, get back then with the mack man
I sold crack dodgin cops like Pacman
Rap-A-Lot 'fo life' like Mack 10
This fit won't come out, so stop askin
Iced out like the Aspen in Dapper Dan fashion
Now, Louie, Timbos, Gucci to Benzo
And Jay, Burberry to a

song performed by Yukmouth
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm Sick Of It

I'm sick, sick, sick of cigarette addiction
I'm sick of movies and their dishonest depiction
That smoking is glamorous, sophisticated and cool
When what it really is is something that rules

The cigarette addict from morning to night
And all the hours in between, they can never take flight
From the constant nagging fear that they must inhale the fumes
Of a deadly poison that will lead them to their doom

A cigarette addict can barely do a thing
Without a cigarette, it's got them on a string
They have to smoke it now, it just cannot wait
And then, another and another, they've really taken the bait

A cigarette addict is as helpless as a lamb
On a frosty hillside with no mother to keep it warm
Their mind is so confused that they actually believe
A cigarette is their saviour, they are so deceived

(Sydney, Australia - 2003)

poem by Alessandra Liverani
Added by Poetry Lover
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Thank You Father - Prayer For A Healing

Father, first of all know how much I love you and appreciate you
in my life. Father you never leave me, always there to see me
through. This week Father you were ever present in not only my
life but that of my daughter and I thank you for what you did for
her this week. She now understands what I’ve been telling her
for quite sometime. There you were Father showing her what she
needed to see, giving her the inspiration she needed and filling
her with positive energy enabling her to go after her dream with
the gifts that you gave her so long ago. Thank you Father God for
always being present in my life.

Father I ask you to touch the life of a sister poet and her husband.
I know you know who I’m speaking of Father, so I won’t mention
any names. I speak of a sister poet who lives a difficult life dealing with an alcoholic husband, but you know Father she is
standing by her husband, taking one day at a time.

Today Father I pray for a healing for this man, help him to give up this addiction in his life, help him to see the light, to realize
what is happening to his wife, to know that he is going down hill
and needs to fight his way back into the real world. This man
Father God is living as you know, in a haze, so I pray for a healing.
I pray that you step into their lives and show them your power.
I know there isn’t anything that you can’t do, you’ve showed me
that over and over Lord, now I ask that you do the same thing for
this couple. She is tired Lord, tired of looking at her husband,
asking herself-why-. I’m sure this man wants to give up this
habit, but he doesn’t know how Lord, but Father with your help, he can do it. Father God he needs a helping hand. He has the
support of his wife and with your divine power and the blood of
Jesus covering them, they will find the strength to move on and
leave this alcoholic addiction behind them.
Father I ask that you talk to him, show him the way, inspire him to
want Jesus to be the center of their lives and to have a wonderful
relationship with you Father God. Only you can help these people Father, only you can tear away the dark covering and shed a bright
light within their lives. Father God, I pray for all others that may be suffering from this addiction, I pray that you enter their lives and give them a healing as well. I know you know best Father and
I leave this with you for you are the all powerful, the all knowing
and the master of the universe.

Thank you Father for everything you do, I thank you in the name of your son Jesus-Amen

Written: Sept.21/2007

poem by Melvina Germain
Added by Poetry Lover
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When I Booze

When I booze
I cruise into a world where I never win but loose
Losing momentarily every sight of my intellectual views
As I suffer from the undesirable up and down blues

Champagne, wine, beers and spirits I abuse
O! dear - There are so many alcoholic drinks to choose
And I speak of this as if it is news
But I do give the perfect snooze
While others stand by and accuse and provide undesirable reviews

When I booze
I hope my actions will be excused
For I could be a total screw
I know that this is bodily abuse
When I see one appear as threes or twos
And I talk like flies with their sounds of ooze
Leaving all those around me feeling very amused

When I booze
I become bold in the midst of my crews
Swimming in unearthly spews and in and out of loos
Demanding regularly my next mixture of alcoholic brew
I have even awoken to find myself covered in tattoos
And I'm always soberly left dazed and confused
As I try to digest and diffuse

But when I booze in moderation
Acquired is good health and life elongation
And I smile for I know
Tomorrow my livers will face no condemnation
And I shall stand and smile knowing that yesterday
I was no fool but rather I was a charming sensation

Copyright 2012 Sylvia Lovina Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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My Baby

You see I go by the name of Kan the Louis Vuitton Don
I'm with my home girl
Who need to hook me up with some of her home girls
Yeah, Janet Jackson
We back, baby
Don't matter what they say baby
They just don't know my baby
And how I feel about you
'Cause you're so ooh
So many said we'd (never)
Never know love like this (but)
They never felt your kiss (felt your kiss)
And how good your touch could be (so)
Many a days I face the pressure to walk away (way)
From what the people say (people say)
B-Section
Baby(baby) these butterflies they never lie
Been thru so much pain before (and)
Baby (baby) - I had to try
'Cause you're not like most guys
And I ain't ashamed to say that you're my...
Hook
Baby (baby)
Don't matter what they say baby (baby)
They just don't know my baby
And how I feel about you
Baby (baby)
Don't matter what they say baby (baby)
I won't let go my baby
And how I feel about you
Verse 2
When you look in my eyes
I wish you could read my mind (and)
And know how I feel inside (feel inside)
And hear what they say about you
Just because they can't see (see)
You're more than enough for me (why)
Why can't they just let us be (can't they just let be)
And leave us alone
B-Section
Hook(2x)
Rap
I go by the name Kanye Omari
And I wrote this just to say I'm sorry
I have foreign cars and houses
I have porno stars and spouses
You tryin' to stab one like Jack the Ripper
I was tryin' to stabe two like Jack the Tripper
My nigger Tone been locked for a minute
He come home he

[...] Read more

song performed by Janet Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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