My Odyssey into the World of Poetry

Beautiful. 

Will be expecting more

Peckham
When they say, "where are you from"?
We say Narm and Nizzy cos we spare no one
The South side of Thames River
Connected to the wealth of London by the four bridges
We all started as beginners
Then devil turned us to sinners
They say the devil wears red
But he wrapped us all in black
The outcasts and black sheep
Belly of beast, where the payment for survival;
Can either cost you your life, or put you behind bars
They don't care about us
And we don't care about them
Their streets are paved with gold
While ours are paved with steel
The grittiness that breeds the survival of the fittest
Getting it against all odds

Peckham, the bottle that stabbed Damilola Taylor in his thighs
Star that adorned on John Boyega and took him to Hollywood
Favour that took Rio and Anton Ferdinand to the EPL
The gift and the curse
Concrete jungle where dreams are made
And source of our motivation
The driving force behind our wheels
Riding them till they fall off with a chip on our shoulders
The chip we took everywhere as the forgotten people
Lost souls and bastards of a party
The stigma with limited chances and disregard
So we worked extremely hard to always prove them wrong
Every time they counted us out, we surprised them
Brashness, cockiness, and boldness of young Cassius Clay
The phantom punch that shocked Sonny Liston
And the shaky hands that touched George Foreman in the jungles of Zaire
That's the Peckham spirit

I saw Shaq last week
Went back memory lane together about the time of our lives
Days when men were boys under your watchful eyes
Running around North Peckham, Yellow Brick, Pelican, and Gloucester Grove Estates
Precious memories of the lost ones in the cold
Great experience that shaped our past, present, and future
The roses that grew out of concrete
Best periods of our lives in fun and hardship
Brotherhood that can never be broken
Moments we'll always cherish for a lifetime
If Peckham were to be New York and Peckham legends became New York street legends;
Raver would be Fat Cat, while Timer did it like Pappy Mason
Spender the enigma like Alpo, and Rider let it off like Pistol Pete
Tipsy was Rich Porter and Boogie got it cracking like the original 50cent
R.I.P to the fallen soldiers;
That's all we can say, as we live the dreams for them

In solitude, communicating with my past
Your silent and humming voice asked me why I left you
The reason isn't far-fetched:
As the next phase of life beckons that hot summer
I saw death around the corner
Choice between uncertainty and the dreams of my father
To die or to live
To end up in jail or to be free and make you proud
I chose the latter
Though I left you physically
I carried you everywhere I went on my shoulder
With pride and joy as the source of my inspiration
And till I die, you'll always be part of my existence

Shymmex, I know I say this a lot, but your poem is beautiful!

For a second, I was jealous of Peckham. How I wish someone can describe me as beautiful as you've described Peckham.

My fave verses were the 1st and Last. I'm glad that when it came to making choices, you made the right one.

You know when you used to talk about Peckham on NL, I used to roll my eyes because I heard how ghetto it is over there. Seems like it made you who you are and you're a good person (though I may be wrong).

I really love the first verse.

Could you rap or create a VM for this? I'd love to hear your emotions in each word. If that's asking for too much, I understand.

Lmao @ rap. I'll see what I can do by weekend.

Thanks for the compliments - I really appreciate it.

Lol. I'm a good boy. Peckham is just Peckham - folks just love calling the name of the place in vain.

It's just similar to how Brooklyn is in America. 

Lool. Soon come.

I'm more of Hannibal of Carthage than Hannibal Lecter. 

Lol. Don't worry, I'll get the pattern right with my long poems soon.

But I think my short ones have decent pattern and rhythm. I just need to do the same with the long ones without messing up my story. Perhaps, I need to start reading more fiction for rhythm.

When are you going to write about ya hood, Tupac Shakur?