Is he the Rimbaud of our times?

I close my eyes and seize it
I clench my fists and beat it
I light my torch and burn it
I am the beast I worship...

And I know soon come my time
For in mine void a pale horse burns
But I fear not the time I'm taken
Past the point of no return.
Wage war like no tomorrow
Cuz no hell there won't be one
For all who deny the struggle
The triumphant overcome

Trips to where, few have been
Out of thin air, upon high winds
Rites begin when the sun descends
Have felt what few will ever know
Have seen the truth beneath the glow,
Of the ebb and flow, where roots of all mysteries grow
I am below, so far below
The bottom line
Transmitting live, transmissions rise
From the depths out of controlled by
Suspended glance of an unblinking eyes
Imminent gaze cast 'pon the path that winds
'Pon the path I find, and claim as mine
To ride the waves, of unrest
Made to make me shine as a testament
To why the ways of the blind will never get
Shit but shanked by my disrespect
Dismiss this life, worship death
Cold blood night of serpent's breath
Exhaled like spells from the endlessness
In the bottomless wells of emptiness
Channeled to invoke what we represent

Secret order
Elitist horde of
Creeping fire
Seizing power
Riders of the lupus hour
Eye on palm
Time is gone
Moonlight drawn
Fly til dawn
Sacrifice to rise beyond
Deep inside the violent calm
Of the coming storm
In blood sworn
To glorify and for life adorn
With all that dies to become unborn

I close my eyes and seize it
I clench my fists and beat it
I light my torch and burn it
I am the beast I worship...
I am the beast I worship

In the time before time eyes 'bove which horns
Curve like psychotropic scythes
And smell of torn flesh bled dry
By hell swarms of pestis flies
Vomiting forth flames lit by
An older than ancient force
That slays this life with no remorse

The spiral storm
Of flames inside
The torch I raise
The force I ride

Feel my vessel go up in flames
Flesh torch lit by thee unnamed
Direct connection to the source
Vestment of unnatural force
Forever burning black torch
Wisdom of the old and true
Possessed by the chosen few
Shining to reveal the ways
Of a darkness that pervades
All that is and ever was
Inferno of witches blood

Worship is not on bended knee
Nature knows not of mercy
To pray is to accept defeat
Power pisses on the weak
Bow and beheaded by the beast
Beggar on a bitches leash
Scum is desperate for relief
Worship is the way I ride
Witching currents through the eye
Of storms that force the false to die
Worship the flames with which I rise
Into apocalyptic skies

Other urls found in this thread:

youtube.com/watch?v=UQm8qpexnjo
youtube.com/watch?v=_PN2knPbBEI
youtube.com/watch?v=haintp62aO0
twitter.com/NSFWRedditImage

Harsh winds flay mine flesh to bone
In splintered skeleton I roam
Wastelands with not to call my own
But the path I walk alone
The hunger burns, within my gut
As my bones turn into dust

And I know soon come my time
For in mine void a pale horse burns
But I fear not the time I'm taken
Past the point of no return
Wage war like no tomorrow, know well there wont we one
For all who deny the struggle
The triumphant overcome ...

I close my eyes and seize it
I clench my fists and beat it
I light my torch and burn it
I am the beast I worship...
I am the beast I worship

Rimbaud was an edgy teen who went on a bender across Europe with a man over twice his age pounding him up the ass the whole way because he thought that was the only way to become an authentic artist. I really don't see how mc ride compares to him at all.

>Close my eyes and sees it

wow

Remove
>Dismiss this life, worship death
>Cold blood night of serpent's breath
>Exhaled like spells from the endlessness
>In the bottomless wells of emptiness
>Channeled to invoke what we represent

and you have a radical nietzschean

>I close my eyes and seize it

I actually think these lyrics are quite good.

MC Ride was born in the wrong era. 2-300 hundreds years ago he would have been hailed as a genius, a new kind of man, a paragon for the black race in a time of rampant racism.
Instead he was born in a time in which no artist can be great anymore. Some people will read and understand his lyrics, even less people will actually analyze them. In the end, even if he was a real, poetic, infinitely original genius no one will remember him as such.

>Responsibility's cool, but there’s more things in life
>Like getting your dick
>Rode all fucking night

What did he mean by this

Since God is dead, there's no need for people to feel responsible about anything

...

>Volcano pussy melt your peter like ice

Does MC Ride even write the lyrics?

but those who know, know.

I can't imagine such lyrics not going with his extremely idiosyncratic delivery. The words cannot be separated from his particular flow.

no, mozart is his ghost writer

And that's enough. It's like this with all quality things, people, everything. Only quality people know.

what a pathetic thread

Stephen is actually a good lyricist though

Who is Stephen

Stephen Burnett AKA MC Ride

MC Ride is Stefan...

yes since you posted on it!

Wrong, it's actually sTefαn

thats actually pretty good
does he have anything else that good or is he a one trick pony?

Teenagers ITT thinks this constitutes poetry

post gud pottery

what is people's criticism of these lyricis beside "b-but it's edgy"

>Veeky Forums poster think he knows what constitutes as poetry and what doesn't

What's some good edgy poetry?

Read any poetry collection you fucking plebs

its dogshit to anyone who actually reads. nobody cares though its only music lyrics

Ezra Pound would love his writing you psued

youtube.com/watch?v=UQm8qpexnjo

Lol no he would not

but ezra pound sucks donkey nuts. he ruined the literary world by pressuring joyce into publication.

If you think a bunch of /mu/ lyrics can be considered poetry you have to kill yourself right now. Also, learn some different language, since le fucking english memelanguage is the furthest thing from poetry you can think of.

You're a retard desu. England and Persia are the only two nations with poetry worth reading outside of the classics.

Have you read his stuff in Blast Magazine?

Even if that were a bad thing, he also helped H.D. get published, and she's basically unparalleled in her type of stuff.

Note for future viewers of this inevitable 200+ reply thread: nothing will be worth reading as Veeky Forums has absolutely zero clue about poetry, case in point: thinking a hack musician from a meme band popular on /mu/ is a poet

define poetry

youtube.com/watch?v=_PN2knPbBEI

Maybe you should reread some modernists, because I don't think you understand Stefan's work.
Try Leda and the Swan again, you'll get it this time.

He probably is some pleb who thinks baroque is the peak of art and culture, he will never get it

Im not replying seriously to you plebs

Go read some books you charlatans

Go away you swine

I do read, you discount someone, because of (i'm assuming here) their vulgarity without understand its place in their work.

define poetry

eh

>i should stick with this semantic argument to shroud my lack of knowledge and experience

If you are saying something isn't real poetry, you should at lesst know what poetry means

Not even the user, but I'm trying to form an opinion here

Go and read definitions written by actual scholars and actually read poetry and then maybe you will realise why that meme musician is the furthest thing from a poet

>I should stick to calling people plebs and refuse to put forth any sort of argument to shroud my lack of knowledge and experience

He has a better understand of cadence than you do, and by extension, meter and breath.

youtube.com/watch?v=haintp62aO0

hating on death grips is the plebiest thing ever
they translate the zeitgeist perfectly into everything they do

Good one
Holy crap it keeps getting cringier

Had death grips replaced post hardcore as what edgy teens listen to?

>le fucking english memelanguage
Not so fast, kiddo! You must be 18 to post here.!

I BREAK MIRRORS WITH MY FACE IN THE UNITED STATES
i break mirrors with my face in the united states
i break mirrors with my face in the united states
everything rigged at this place its not me
don’t break my concentration with those thoughts baby
i don’t care about real life
feel just like i look to you
gawk at me all you see is you
anyday trip mayday trip
can’t break my face i’m in a state trip
spit on you spit on me
all we know spit must be us
spit fits us we spit and sniff
we sniff and clutch each other’s fate
i don’t care about real life
i break mirrors with my face in the united states
too many mirrors share my face
can’t braillele which mirrors my mistake
too many mirrors wear my face
these broken mirrors take my place
i don’t care about real life
too many mirrors share my face
can’t braille which mirrors my mistake
i break mirrors with my face in the united states

Vomit

seriously, revisit the modernists (and finally read Charles Olson)

have a sad cum bb

Shut up

I'm just trying to give you a framework in which you can understand his aesthetics more thoroughly, the hostility is unneeded.

I know his aesthetics and they are terrible and unoriginal

>I know

I genuinely don't think you do.

PSS PSS
i saw you doing peace signs with the fbi
might've tried that in the future before so don't lie
all dead dogs go to heaven cause dumb bitches let them in
they're just racist and they wanna fuck
god chills out cause she doesn't touch
this is where i don't come in
this is where i have been maybe
have a sad cum baby
i fuck it out and i dip dip dip
drop you like asses and you trip trip trip
i can't stop it when i drip drip drip
you can't stop it when you drip drip drip
i piss on your face like i'm pss pss pss
you lick up the place like you're pss pss pss
we pick up the pace like we're pss pss pss
i'm the fuck you're chasing like pss pss pss pss pss pss
my shits been retarded since beginning of time
i'm up in your party like sickest one line
i'm the only thing ever on my mind
you're one of those things i never rewind
i'm coming out your pocket like carving pools
with my jewels
i'm throwing heebie jeebies like itunes
the cars that go boom
these are my gold bars melted on spoons
my junk hits like martial law
you nod like true
i fuck it out and i dip dip dip
drop you like asses and you trip trip trip
i can't stop it when i drip drip drip
you can't stop it when you drip drip drip
i piss on your face like i'm pss pss pss
you lick up the place like you're pss pss pss
we pick up the pace like we're pss pss pss
i'm the fuck you're chasing like pss pss pss pss pss pss
if i were her and she was him we would go and fuck ourselves again and again
life is very dangerous and it wants to rearrange us like your friends like the end
show me into target and i'll show you how i bought it with my mind in my mind
touch it out in the parking lot fuck me while while the whole world watch us waste our time
i fuck it out and i dip dip dip
drop you like asses and you trip trip trip
i can't stop it when i drip drip drip
you can't stop it when you drip drip drip
i piss on your face like i'm pss pss pss
you lick up the place like you're pss pss pss
we pick up the pace like we're pss pss pss
i'm the fuck you're chasing like pss pss pss pss pss pss

English and poetry are literally like cats and dogs. At the antipodes.

Friendly advice: leave poetry to Italy, France, Spain. Your poetic results tend to suck shit.

Yeah:

Tsk tsk tsk
My terracotta army
Disarms me
Disowns me
Also also also Mr. Ripley told me
Hit play highway hocus ain't much more highway
Can ride me
My dead mother in my dream
Remember when December blew her ashes 'cross my jeans
Off these jeans
Somethings only I have seen
Some people only I have been
Used to know who I was
Fuck if I knew who that was
Pay no mind, illogical
Just don't die in a hospital
Oh yeah
I should be worried
Oh yeah
I'm temporary

>My dead mother in my dream
>Remember when December blew her ashes 'cross my jeans
>Off these jeans
>Somethings only I have seen
>Some people only I have been
>Used to know who I was
>Fuck if I knew who that was
>Pay no mind, illogical
>Just don't die in a hospital
>Oh yeah
>I should be worried
>Oh yeah
>I'm temporary
:(

it's despicable but there's undeniable talent behind the writing. nothing else posted (I assume that it's all from the same person) has been good.

NOBEL WHEN
O
B
E
L

W
H
E
N

>got him

this thread fucking sucks, can't you see it?

what do you mean?

damn... poetry

He's good, I was actually surprised. The best poem in this thread is, in my opinion, the first one.

This one guy who keeps saying this poetry has no merit is a butthurt faggot and, probably, just a reader.

u should try this book

He should try suicide as well

woah... btfo

Don stepped outside
It felt good to be alone
He wished he was drunk
He thought about something he said
And how stupid it had sounded
He should forget about it
He decided to piss, but he couldn't
(A plane passes silently overhead)

The streetlights, and the buds on the trees, were still

It finally came, he took a deep breath
It made him feel strong, and determined
To go back inside

The light
Their backs
The conversations
The couples, romancing, so natural
His friends stare
With eyes like the heads of nails
The others
Glances
With amusement
With evasion
With contempt
So distant
With malice
For being a sty in their engagement
Like swimming underwater in the darkness
Like walking through an empty house
Speaking to an imaginary audience

And being watched from outside
by no-one (a song without a key)

He could not dance to anything
Don left
And drove
And howled
And laughed
At himself
He felt he knew what that was

Don woke up
And looked at the night before
He knew what he had to do
He was responsible
In the mirror
He saw his friend

kys wojak

>teaching bitches how to swim

What did MC ride mean by this?

Pena, her little head clinking
Like a barrel of red velvet balls full past noise
Treats filled her eyes
Turning them yellow like enamel-coated tacks
Soft like butter, hard not to pour
Out enjoying the sun
While sitting on a turned-on waffle iron
Smoke billowing up from between her legs
Made me vomit beautifully
And crush a chandelier
Fall on my stomach
And view her from a thousand happened faucets
Liquid red salt ran over crystals
I later band-aided the area
Sighed, oh well, it was worth it
Pena pleased, but sore
From sitting chose to stub her toe
And view the white pulps
Horribly large in their red pockets
"I'm tired of playing baby," she exclaimed
And out of a blue felt box
Let escape one yellow butterfly the same size
Its droppings were tiny green phosphorous worms
That moved in tuck and rolls
That clacked and whispered in their confinement
Three little burnt scotch taped windows several yards away
Mouths open to tongues that vibrated and lost saliva
Pena exclaimed, "That's the raspberries"

Legitimately good

t. Gaga

Not really, no.

This is the best poem of this century

You're all stupid faggots, it's Gwen Stafani.

H.D.?

yeah

genuinely bad, sounds alright with the music though
pretty much the opposite of how death grips works

>For all who deny the struggle
>The triumphant overcome
shit you're right