Afro-punk

Afro-punk

Mochali

Afro Punk Writers

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Afro Punk Writers

For those who create through the written word from poetry to fictional writings! Come and share your talent!

Members: 239
Latest Activity: 15 hours ago

Discussion Forum

Sumayyah Talibah

Blogs and websites 6 Replies

Started by Sumayyah Talibah. Last reply by Darryl Dawson Feb 4.

Ghettopunkrocker

What are your writing projects? 36 Replies

Started by Ghettopunkrocker. Last reply by Sumayyah Talibah Jan 31.

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Kairoe Memphiss Comment by Kairoe Memphiss on February 5, 2010 at 8:37pm
I thought he was done with me.
But I'm his vice now, apparently.
Yay me.
Trebs Comment by Trebs on February 4, 2010 at 8:08am
I've just revised this poem again. It's called Tonight. Constantly looking for constructive criticism!

Midnight

The road alone.
Busy cars asleep, traffic lights directing ghosts.
Not one person is present beneath a semi lit moon
Which shines gold pale.
Following the path of streetlights glowing so bright as if envious of stars.
Down the road I listen to the symphony of insects.
Each bug harmonizes.
Breathing the cool air my hair stands at attention to a gentle whooshing wind.

I wonder.
Will I remember this after soul and body separate?

Most people have told to dwell on the imagery and make it longer. I agree, what do you guys think? Be honest!
Drew Comment by Drew on February 3, 2010 at 8:53pm
i've half a mind to retire from all this hear-say intell of open clefts equating to center pyres. these flies fluttering amidst wonder of what the parlor hides, remind them of the cautionary tale to mind arachni hosts, and keep an open eye on the hiding of their insides. sculking and sulking amidst trash. face hidden shower-head low on the blunt end of abashed. luke-warm beads of to the bed and bath, and in the droplets fail to fill the gap, the scene segues center stage to the tap.

of course i've taken a tumble or two into the saber's garden. i've trip-wired into onlookers napalm like, and failed to beg pardon. and by the time the explosion came full circle, i was left craddling questionmarks, while canting cursery retorts to the debt of ends. and the response i got was a dial tone from lady luck, while karma keeps as a bitch just wanting to stay friends.

indeed, i've entertained the notion of making motion to the world's exit. but as Sarte said, these shackles etched with my name say i'm stuck with the sentence of being free. in [LoVe] one and one equals one, therefore i and myself had best tote our steps passed this wishing-of-wells, and siphone the strength to suffer this heart's mega-ton. if hell is held by others, by our conscience, by our [LoVeRs], then if theres rapture to be had its via embrace of one another. rather than feeding the frenzied tryst, with an affixed crucifix and razor attached to our wrists, lets severe these shackles and retire whilst setting some mint condition pyres...if you catch my drift...
Sabrina M. Comment by Sabrina M. on February 3, 2010 at 8:16pm
We are the youths
We permeate the pretentiousness of the present day
The rebels badge was the first pinned on to our
Unconventional attire
We match miniskirts and mohicans
Like shot-gun marriages of style
We don’t conform
We bleach hair blonde
And the other most offensive hues
Paying angry and aggressive dues-
We ink it black
Tattoo crucifixes and angels to our backs
Something like a new religion
Bawl the hymns
Of rock Gods
Synth is our syntax
Petty crime and pac-man are our prose
We rifle tirelessly through racks and racks
And racks
Of vintage clothes
As if to take the dress of our
Vulgar predecessors
And resurrect their spirits
Through equally poignant,
Equally punk,
Equally intimidating deeds
We trade in
Drugs and diet pills
We subdue with our language
And our modern, uncommon turns of phrase
And slang that straggles
And struggles just to reach the aged ear
Our frequent sex and sordid ways
Will more than likely shock you
We rip our denim
Kohl our eyes and pierce our ears and skin
Poison ourselves from within
With alcohol and ecstasy
‘viva forever’
‘impossible is nothing’
‘live the dream’
Our social haunts
Are summer days
And a haze of dingy alleyways
Be careful as you tread
You are standing on our street
When you cross us as our eyes meet
You will learn to
Fear us
We shake our fist at the world
And piss on the walls of society
We take disobedience as our vocation
An unorthodox administration
Self preservation? Not our obligation
As radicals we rot foundations
We’ll live and die against the nation
Fuck your Oxford education, sings,
the anthem of a generation.
Drew Comment by Drew on February 3, 2010 at 5:21pm
@ Jose Reyes:

dude....that SUCKS. i'm soooooo sorry. i know how that feels. i once lost about two years worth of prose, poems, and short stories i had compiled. its one of the most dissapointing, frustrating, depressing, and irritating things a writer can go through. it'll really be tough for awhile. i couldn't look at a page for like weeks after it happened to me. but honestly, you'll get it back eventually. a true writer is never disheartened to the point he doesn't write again after an unfortunate turn of events, he merely uses it to create better material. hang in there man. listen to music, watch your favorite movies, and just wait for that spark to come back.
Jose Reyes Comment by Jose Reyes on February 3, 2010 at 5:45am
I just lost nearly a years worth of work on a book. Now inspiration escapes me....I looked at the screen for bout an hour today and nothing. Maybe I'm still in morning.
Kairoe Memphiss Comment by Kairoe Memphiss on January 20, 2010 at 7:22pm
Fear

I am not afraid of my follies.
I am afraid of not being able to overcome them.
I am not afraid of my mistakes.
I am afraid of not learning from them.
I am not afraid of changing. I am not afraid of being influenced. I am not afraid of being wrong.
I am afraid of being stagnant. I am afraid of becoming someone else. I am afraid of not being me.

I'm not afraid to sin.
I'm afraid to sin and make someone doubt my faith.
I'm not afraid to die.
I'm afraid to die already dead, and not die for true life.
I'm not afraid of Satan. I am not afraid of devils. I am not afraid of broken people.
I am afraid of God. I am afraid of angels. I am afraid of saints.
I am afraid that I will shame them.

Place your fear in the right place.
For if you fear what I fear, there's not need to fear me.


(Thanks Jidah C. :D)
Jidah C. Comment by Jidah C. on January 19, 2010 at 11:22pm
hey. everything you all are writing is brillaintly beautiful but why don't you try posting it in a forum. and leaving room for something else.. idk. what..but something.
roxy stardust Comment by roxy stardust on January 15, 2010 at 6:38pm
i'm looking for a very rare book... its called Times 17 and it was written by gareth penn back in the 80's thru a private publisher. let me kno if there r any book collectors that i can contact concerning the book... thanx!
gemgem Comment by gemgem on January 11, 2010 at 8:26pm
Catch chapters one, two and three of the novel I'm serializing "A Lesson In English" on my tumblr page http://purplepassages.tumblr.com/

It follows the ins and outs of the lives of a group of London teenagers, think kids meats skins but with more black people

any way check it out http://purplepassages.tumblr.com/

peace love and hair grease.
 

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