transfered from another poetery thread by mettro My shoes grip the pavement as I walk down the hill towards downtown. My arm, tightly tightly around my backpack... In a quite failed attempt to silence the metalic clashing inside. I feel someone poke their head out their window and watch me fade into the distance, but I'll be back, the second they're gone... My heart speeds up as I approach my target, a brand new white wall placed on a dark street. As I walk along it, I hear it wisper: " Mmmm, you know what they'll say... They'll punish you... Come..." I drag my fingers along it, feeling it's nice smooth cement. The clinging in my bag pack seems to speed up and rage out of control, growing louder and louder. How is it that no one hears this? The unzipping of my backpack happens quickly and I gasp as the air of the left over fumes escape their prison. I reach my hand in, and without searching, the can LEAPS into my palm. The clinging stops as I hold it still, looking at it, and then back over to the wall soon to be full of life and emotion. My arm takes control of itself and starts shaking the can violently, my eyes widen as my heart races. I point the can at the target and begin the war. Kneeling, stretching, bending, and performing the dance so many of us have. The fumes cover my face, and it's like an old romance, carresing and filling my cloths with an aroma only I can truly appreciate. One letter left to fill in... I see the shadow of a lamp post appear... A car is comming... COuld it be the cops or some old lady driving home from church? I can't care now... I have a job to finish. I fill in the last letter, as I can hear the can gasping, knowing perfectly well that it's almost empty. I drop the can and make a break for and alley on the other side of the street. As the car turns on to the street ( now filled with fumes, and a new image to wake up to), I dive into the pitch blacvk alley, waiting for the car to drive by. The car seems to slow down as it approachs my alley, but I know it's all in my head... Or is it? The car drives by, and a grin creeps across my face. I take a step out of the alley and begin my walk home... The empty spray paint can still sounding through the street as it spins below the war scene.
i wrote this about graff tweakin straight balls... the gyft of gravity hiding his efforts by night exposing his product by the days' lights moving crisp and with the fluid thats with the darkness supporting the foundation of roots that are his along with their others' a family of strangers with a common way of life to each a different style,but each swim in the same pool of art, live our runs run our lives admire the "us" creations...
ther 1nce was a graffiti tagger,hu was toy and a bit of a fagot,he lined ewok,then lost his cock,litle bich deservrd wat he got
this is from Banksy but ik like it alot so thought i'll post it up Imagine a city where graffiti wasn’t illegal, A city where everybody could draw Wherever they liked. Where every street was awash with a million colours And little phrases. Where standing at a bus stop was never boring. A city that felt like a living breathing thing which belonged to everybody, not just the estate agents and barons of big business. Imagine a city like that and stop leaning against the wall it’s wet. :lol:
Are you fuckin' serious, holmes? Take away the beats in Hip-Hop and what're you stuck with? Urban Rhyme&Poetry.
i had a dream.. that one day.. you can come up to a wall, with any color of paint.. and destroy the mothafukka ************************************* this thread isnt that lame, there are a couple of good verses in here. Give them a break, what they are doin has once inspired us all in one way to grab this game, and for them to recycle the culture is just maybe for persperation or maybe just freestyle. There aint no freedom, we are under controll, unless we just kick back and say "what the fuck" somethimes
heres something i wrote las year, for my school poetry magazine "Graffiti" the graffiti on the wall A mass and jumble of vibrant colors and lines. Heroglyphics to the untrained eye Is this what you call art, or trash? Pick up the can, smell the fumes Creativity is in your hand A hidden message only the artist understands Graffiti is a art But some people cant see, they call it a mess, and point out the flaws and imperfections Without a second to understand, a solid swipe from the roller They paint it over In black and white, plain as the day But he shall come back, sneeking through the night A modern day ninja, paint it up again, they wont go down without a fight. Inspiration on the wall Graffiti shall never fall How do you see your world? In Black and white Or color?