Posts Tagged ‘street poetry’

If Blake could see this:

The industrial wasteland,

My city has become.

Like its sisters,


Across this spiritually thin country,

Prostitutes excommunicated.

Waterways contaminated.

No clean hands will touch her again.

The skeletal remains of factories,

Lay strewn about,

Shattered fragments everywhere,

Lots littered,

Buildings riddled,

With patterns of glass-less windows,

Broken by a seemingly random nature,

Towering in defiance; offering no compliance,

To the natural laws.

Something so unnatural,

So destitute.

Haunted by the ghosts,

Of a thousand men:

Who gave her every wish,

Every dream,

Every nuance of energy,

Their very hope resided with her..

The place that would in one day,

Terminate all hope.

A holocaust of hope,

You could say happened that day.

And what of the survivors?

Those who lost everything?

Families wounded so deep.

Fatally; but slowly.

Those who stayed;

Yet, knew this town would yield nothing but more pain.

And a multitude of bastard children.


With little hope left for their future.

Those abandoned by the Fathers’ of Industry.

The giants of the earth.

Children that know better than ask,

“Is dad coming home at last?”

And what would we say to William if he was here?

… that painter, that poet, that seer…


“We thought someone else would figure it out down the line?”


“We thought the children would take care of it in time?”

Or would we just stand and look stupidly,

At the face of this prophetic force,

Then try the terrible truth,

“That we knew it was never to get better…”

“That we knew it was only to get worse…”

“There would never be any “fixing” of it…”

“That we were there to cash out, before it collapsed in on itself.”

“Better the future than us, William. Better them than us…”



When I first started writing on WordPress, I had a target goal in mind: to search the artistic WordPress community for like-minded individuals and start an artistic conglomeration of street artists. What is a street artist? Well, that is a difficult question to answer. I’m not sure that I can even answer this clearly. There’s the street artists like Banksy and Fairey. Which further begs the question: is a street artist just a graffiti artist? What is street art? Maybe, I can not answer that directly either. But what I can safely say, is that I will know it when I see it. Now, I can tell you what street poetry is. Basically, street poetry is spoken word in written form. It is an interchangeable form with its sister art, the spoken word. Street poets write about the social issues and injustices of the world around them. They write about the real. The real shit that is happening around them and to them. This conglomeration of like-minded artists will be called The Ninth Circle.

In the Divine Comedy, Dante poetically illustrates the Ninth Circle of Hell as the domain of the traitors that betrayed their fellow-man. The politicians and bureaucrats and judges and papacy. Not much has changed here in the 21st century. It is our dream; to gather a conglomeration of disenfranchised-starving-street-artists to help those, still lost in the darkness of the ninth circle, and artistically aid their ascension from that circle to achieve their true potential.

Our goal will be to create a non-mainstream movement in painting, poetry, writing, music and any other artistic endeavor that is creatively aligned with the Circle’s agenda.

And what is our agenda exactly? To create pure art and help others create a pure form of their art by providing them a network of other street artists that offer creative support, collaborative efforts from our other artists, and promotion from a social network able to reach thousands when all the artists of the Circle pool their publicize resources together.

We accept everyone with work that is artistic and relevent to the world around us.

We don’t have to supplicate or compromise our works to a system that sees profit as the only merit that art has to offer.

We will always support our brothers and sisters in the Circle.

With a unified effort of considerable talent, we will create an artistic movement that operates and changes on its own terms, and must be recognized by the mainstream.

If one makes it, we all make it.

Nobody who puts in an artistic effort gets left behind. NEVER…

Join The NINTH CIRCLE; for soon, we will be legion…

Carl-Paul Henneman

The Forgotten City

Posted: December 3, 2012 in Poetry
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Disconnect me

From the very fabric of reality

Know thy enemy

Drag them around on their knees

You can smell them bleed

A child unaware of this cabal

Perpetuating economic slavery

Help me

Rewire the fire of my synapses

Readjust me after the relapses

Rework my fried circuits

Help me

For I am sick

Sick of myself

Sick of being sick

Of everyone else

Where is our GOD?

We are on our knees

Help me

Your children are suffering

They are on their knees

Help me

I am so sorry

Your poetry is not what I’m living

Is not what I’m seeing

Help me

The Art of Being Nobody

Posted: December 2, 2012 in Poetry
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Don’t accept it is what it is

Or you will never change what it is

If we’d do what it is we want

We would make these guys stop touching kids

The world will make you feel crazy

Like you’re the only one seeing this

There’s a homeless man down the street

He got no insurance; he’s real sick

Everyday I just walk on by

Might as well give him a hard-swift kick

It is only getting colder

Even though the ice is getting thin

Living a life not worth living

A heart atrophy is setting in

Feeding on fear; hoping for change

The whole mentality needs to flip

& everyday I get older

Anticipate this apocalypse

Not being something I’m not

I will be what I am

If that is not what you had

Intended me to be

Go take it up with your own

Fail-safe identity

Sitting up high; looking down

Who are they to judge me?

Because I’m here striving for

A complete honesty

Let us rip the tape from our

Brothers’ & sisters’ mouths

They can all keep on laughing

But the truth will come out

We are just playing our parts

When in ourselves we doubt

You can keep riding this bus

But it wont change its route

I am not a part of this world

I never was







Street Poetry

Posted: November 27, 2012 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

Spreads across the streets

Like a disease of the concrete

It’s in the polluted air that we breathe

& the dark confessions we speak

It’s the messiah of poverty

Healing the broken hearts that bleed

Giving the forgotten a reason to believe

Helps the liars find a moment of honesty

It’s the addicts’ only recovery

The poor animate daily its poetry

Sets a fire under their tragedies

It’s what the slum thinks when it dreams

The rhymes of the hard times

& everyone knows what they mean

Makes the blind see the signs

And the ignorant realize

Words of a lost world in a city

It is the divine comedy