deepundergroundpoetry.com
Puddlecum
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
Noah’s flood blows cud
From cattle too energetic and spastic
To get frenetic and past it.
Instead of slipping in the head over-agitated
Dread masticated mental masturbation
Layers of dead material…
I’ll school you in kaleidoscopic tools from zero,
Trade you slugs. Psychotropic drugs
Bring out my anti-hero.
I sling and shout my soul
To Nero Wolf, elastically outlasting
Linguistically twisted,
Spiritually synergistic
Clearly without fear
Of interference from the full sphere
Of experience you just missed it
In the last missive whispered to the mistress.
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
In every moment I’m fully honest,
On it, infinite, for the win of it!
Coming undone in tongues,
Fast nerds running backwards
Would shun chronically
Like Miskatonic University
Theocrats warning you cats
About Niggurath the Black
Forest Goat of a Thousand Young.
I’m the father figure psychopath
Of flak attack wars that
Float millions of illin’ like Mao Tse Tung.
But fuck his cultural abuse,
I’ll sculpt what I choose.
Have to pause
Feeling the passion like Pavlov.
Stealing the action.
Override internal controls,
Lowrider beats roll,
Growing tighter as quickening listening
Trains my brain glistening.
Piston shots disciplined
In incremental spots I pop off
Are subliminally developmental,
When aspiring to get higher,
Requiring minimal effort
And like criminal sports fully accidental.
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
Should we present it all as the original call?
The high mileage of Gaia dancing on the tiles
Chose me as her man of style
To speak indiscreetly.
Since I was a lost child she’d speak to me,
When it costed more to speak out of turn
Then be fleeced, beaten and churned
With cigarette burns.
From pain and betrayal the world stood still.
The reign of tales fictional, abstained from the sale of traditional
Absolution from the seeds of pollution
In abuse’s loco, choke-hold mobile confusion.
But no local yokel my collusion
With Hell’s inclusion moved to introduce
A world where every word was proven in
Meant without relief obtained
I opened my eyes to Gaia wide.
Proffered my torture for the pure
Suffering of her own childless nothing ring
Left for me to bring.
Laughed back of course at every note
Like Niggurath the Black Forest Goat,
Pounding the bruises for fun
Like her thousand young,
Did you think I slipped that in just for fun?
Or spit bombs on the brink of tipsy?
Forget my own no-victory history as a young’un?
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
A young one into a young gun.
It was why Gaia’s tongue
Didn’t heal me none.
But I learned to steal thoughts some,
Rotten cacophony popping out of me,
Ammo whole from an animal soul.
Cannibalizing hopes handling the dangling
At the end of my own rope,
Don’t let your brain get too excited
You weren’t trained to hide it
From MY eyes. I stole a succubi
Rolled to set her free, she scolded me
For naievete, split my tongue in three
So now Gaia’s other mother,
Laid in as a maiden, atoned as a crone
Takes three chances to shake my tree
Dance through the honesty of my mental vomit-spree.
If only humans could zoom in
To manage hearing the language as it forms before me.
The lore torn from universal language
Without rehearsal entangles reborn in angles.
Mournful I stand, mangled from my hands
The improv is robbed from flow
Reckoning my fate is to beckon late
To give choice to the noise
That through my voice is second rate.
Wrangled each verse flows
Off what the cosmos knows.
I suppose my prose
Only adorns lore from the core.
But it’s awful warm and sore
In the early story to tell,
Don’t worry we still haven’t left Hell,
Just leave it to me to cleave Mephistofolese…
I got tired of his hot breeze so I re-wired his A/C.
A vigilante hired to retire
The fate parted escape artists
Who were smart enough to depart scot-free.
Injustice and hushed wishes
Popping in my eyes,
Rhythm dropping in my stride,
Impervious to terminal issues,
Spurious ‘cause I’m turning into
Something furiously true,
Past curiosity’s blues
Fired up to blast like Lilith’s Cheshire Cat.
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
Noah’s flood blows cud
From cattle too energetic and spastic
To get frenetic and past it.
Instead of slipping in the head over-agitated
Dread masticated mental masturbation
Layers of dead material…
I’ll school you in kaleidoscopic tools from zero,
Trade you slugs. Psychotropic drugs
Bring out my anti-hero.
I sling and shout my soul
To Nero Wolf, elastically outlasting
Linguistically twisted,
Spiritually synergistic
Clearly without fear
Of interference from the full sphere
Of experience you just missed it
In the last missive whispered to the mistress.
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
In every moment I’m fully honest,
On it, infinite, for the win of it!
Coming undone in tongues,
Fast nerds running backwards
Would shun chronically
Like Miskatonic University
Theocrats warning you cats
About Niggurath the Black
Forest Goat of a Thousand Young.
I’m the father figure psychopath
Of flak attack wars that
Float millions of illin’ like Mao Tse Tung.
But fuck his cultural abuse,
I’ll sculpt what I choose.
Have to pause
Feeling the passion like Pavlov.
Stealing the action.
Override internal controls,
Lowrider beats roll,
Growing tighter as quickening listening
Trains my brain glistening.
Piston shots disciplined
In incremental spots I pop off
Are subliminally developmental,
When aspiring to get higher,
Requiring minimal effort
And like criminal sports fully accidental.
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
Should we present it all as the original call?
The high mileage of Gaia dancing on the tiles
Chose me as her man of style
To speak indiscreetly.
Since I was a lost child she’d speak to me,
When it costed more to speak out of turn
Then be fleeced, beaten and churned
With cigarette burns.
From pain and betrayal the world stood still.
The reign of tales fictional, abstained from the sale of traditional
Absolution from the seeds of pollution
In abuse’s loco, choke-hold mobile confusion.
But no local yokel my collusion
With Hell’s inclusion moved to introduce
A world where every word was proven in
Meant without relief obtained
I opened my eyes to Gaia wide.
Proffered my torture for the pure
Suffering of her own childless nothing ring
Left for me to bring.
Laughed back of course at every note
Like Niggurath the Black Forest Goat,
Pounding the bruises for fun
Like her thousand young,
Did you think I slipped that in just for fun?
Or spit bombs on the brink of tipsy?
Forget my own no-victory history as a young’un?
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
Because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
A young one into a young gun.
It was why Gaia’s tongue
Didn’t heal me none.
But I learned to steal thoughts some,
Rotten cacophony popping out of me,
Ammo whole from an animal soul.
Cannibalizing hopes handling the dangling
At the end of my own rope,
Don’t let your brain get too excited
You weren’t trained to hide it
From MY eyes. I stole a succubi
Rolled to set her free, she scolded me
For naievete, split my tongue in three
So now Gaia’s other mother,
Laid in as a maiden, atoned as a crone
Takes three chances to shake my tree
Dance through the honesty of my mental vomit-spree.
If only humans could zoom in
To manage hearing the language as it forms before me.
The lore torn from universal language
Without rehearsal entangles reborn in angles.
Mournful I stand, mangled from my hands
The improv is robbed from flow
Reckoning my fate is to beckon late
To give choice to the noise
That through my voice is second rate.
Wrangled each verse flows
Off what the cosmos knows.
I suppose my prose
Only adorns lore from the core.
But it’s awful warm and sore
In the early story to tell,
Don’t worry we still haven’t left Hell,
Just leave it to me to cleave Mephistofolese…
I got tired of his hot breeze so I re-wired his A/C.
A vigilante hired to retire
The fate parted escape artists
Who were smart enough to depart scot-free.
Injustice and hushed wishes
Popping in my eyes,
Rhythm dropping in my stride,
Impervious to terminal issues,
Spurious ‘cause I’m turning into
Something furiously true,
Past curiosity’s blues
Fired up to blast like Lilith’s Cheshire Cat.
See muddled mum, befuddled some by a puddle of cum.
I rarely edit so spare me the credit
I throw away my plays
because it’s the divine that rhymes through me today.
Published 1st Jul 2012
| Edited 30th Jun 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 0
comments 6
reads 222
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
1st Jul 2012 5:27am
Ok I see you. Great wordplay, cadence and multis. Have to ask, you put your shit to music?...think it would sound like fire over a beat, and if people arent catching on to you written, think it would make perfect sense lyrically... Not to say it shouldnt be on paper, but to me it reads as like a thousand bars crunched together rather than poem. But dig your reference points, your well versed, and look forward to acquainting myself more w you.
2nd Jul 2012 1:28am
Most of my shit isn't supposed to be writ at all. Off the tip of wit my jaw just absolves my stress, revolves and tests, evolves to jest and turn clean blessings from mean street lessons a gleam indiscrete that lets me invest in the subconscious phonics (specially on chronic, the subliminal rhymes beriddles my mind and honest it gets ahead of me every time) and clear the project that mobs me like a logic-based lock that keeps my hands cuffed, my beats handle the bust and run complete when I can untangle and trust wrangle the flow to bust. Hence the flame isn't spent the game is better sent when I can just begin and sin, rend and go on like a zen koan... but freestyle doesn't see tiles and rules as anything but wiles to tool around and refile, so there's alot missing when the sound is lost. That's the cost of it being written 'stead of live like it was blown the first ride.
2nd Jul 2012 2:54am
Dig it bro.. I feel ya really do. Freestyle rhyming prob my favorite artform. Would love to hear it. Record something if you could,even acapella. Dig your mind how you think, and pretty sure can hear what your writing, jus would be dope to hear hear it
16th Oct 2012 3:29am
I appreciate the listen... some of the words like those chosen from H.P. Lovecraft stories are hard to pronounce... and harder to rhyme... in other words if you can hear them in your mind, they work waaaay better than idle reading. This one was another freestyle piece I spit and then hacked it out on paper immediately after, which is why much of the rhythm is based on what part of what words link together.
A capella is maybe the only way I can seem to get stuff recorded as I naturally spit off-beat, which means creating my own rhythm. It works for some artists. There are dub-step rappers and ska artists who sing that way, but it means that rather than singing OVER a beat I have to flow from the top of my dome and THEN find a score to lay tracks over it. This has kind of made me reluctant to post anything I recorded because ALL of it is a capella. It all sounds so... basement and street corner quality, which serves me fine in the bars and the neighborhood spots, but as an artist I keep wanting to post something polished.
A capella is maybe the only way I can seem to get stuff recorded as I naturally spit off-beat, which means creating my own rhythm. It works for some artists. There are dub-step rappers and ska artists who sing that way, but it means that rather than singing OVER a beat I have to flow from the top of my dome and THEN find a score to lay tracks over it. This has kind of made me reluctant to post anything I recorded because ALL of it is a capella. It all sounds so... basement and street corner quality, which serves me fine in the bars and the neighborhood spots, but as an artist I keep wanting to post something polished.
8th Oct 2012 11:59am
10th Oct 2012 6:42am
Thank you for giving my work a chance. Some topics and styles are abrasive to many ears and I appreciate anyone willing to give it a read or listen.