sell me more

The sweet scent of marijuana.
The silver product of Hollandia.
The opium of of our masses.
Disruptor of our classes.
Polluting air, lungs and heart.
Creating foul and pretentious art.
Before and after every trip,
our love / hate relationship.



I used to smoke a lot of marijuana
and thus got inspired by the substance.
I stopped a little while ago and wrote a poem about that as well. which I'll put online in a few days from now.

The never ending void:

It started with a drop of blood,
that tore apart the land.
That sprung trees and floods,
as it leaked from God's hand.
Across the universe that they created,
stained by destruction and despair.
Bleeding from the man that she so hated,
our lively phoenix goddess, oh so fair.
Who was keeper of fire, of life and warmth.
Fighting against her rock solid icy husband
and she fought about which sex was more worth,
to bring the decision here on earth-

a small breath of depression

Is there something on the next horizon?
Is there sweetness in my future?
Will I ever hug my own son?
Or is death all I'll have to endure?
Will my friends come by my grave?
And will they dance or will they cry?
And will I have a soul to save?
Or am I doomed to fry?

TERMINATED

Too much DRUGS and ALCOHOL
and EVERYBODY lies.
Too much GOSSIP and BACKSTABBING,
through personal SPIES.
As I DANCE  around the LIES
and all the FAKE SMILES.
As I FALL to the GROUND,
TIRED of the MILES.
TIRED of the lengths we spent TOGETHER,
PRETENDING to be FRIENDS.
I admit we had a lot of FUN
but this is where it ENDS>>>

don't worry I won't stop blogging just yet it's meant to be IRONIC,
because right as we speak I'm accepting all friend request on facebook XD
http://www.facebook.com/allen.crown.3?ref=tn_tnmn
so go ahead and become my new friend.

could have, would have, should have said it yourself then

the scumbag in our group is always bragging about his misbehavior,
in comparison I could be the worse criminal between the both of us,
even though I think that is nothing to brag about.

sincerely forever alone guy...

this poem is called:

Start the fight!

Ready, steady, GO!
let's compete
and measure swords.
Fighting you
with pen and words.
I would sell my soul, to stay ahead and take the lead.
for this glory,
I'll bear the heat.
Neither nemesis nor foe. No empty sheets!
but dark as blood, poetic battle, bleeds the inkted slut...



I'm not sure if I have done so in the past, but right now I'm literally begging for your opinion so see this as your best opportunity to smite me down and crush my soul.
leave a reaction to this blog at the bottom or on the Facebook promotion of this blog.
also can anybody tell me if inkted is spelled wrong or if my spell checker is just broken.

far from freedom

13 hours on the run.
he must now hide from the sun and change the clothes that he had on.
even though his shackles are long gone,
he won't be free to live in peace.
he will be hunted by the police.
closing in on his trail, upholders of the law,
desperate to see him fail.

if you're really smart you can find out it's all a metaphor for depression

like how domino's fall and marbles roll down a spiral:

as the world around me falls and I lay on the top edge of the slide
I notice as I look down that this time around it's a different ride
at the bottom of the spiral there's no spring to bounce me back
or a bucket on a string
there is nothing to break my fall
I wonder what the point was when my master placed me at the top
as I run into the walls
while I unintentionally spin out of control
in a sea of purposeless freedom
void of friction, a lifeline or a route
rolling towards a life of utter boredom

disco of the undead

When the night falls.
When the music starts.
In a field with no gates or walls, where we dance from the heart.

Under the guidance of the moon
and the spell of the hypnotic bass,
bewitched our bodies then will move,
until the day we are erased.

:: Allen Crown ::

this is an old poem I dug up from my personal archive, the original title used to be disco of death.


also in there was this piece. about the epic battle between God and Satan viewed from a fantasy/ sci fi perspective.

(from) The never ending void:

It started with a drop of blood, that tore apart the land.
That sprung trees and floods and leaked from God's hand.
Across the universe that they created, stained by destruction and despair.
Bleeding from the man that she so hated, our lively phoenix goddess, oh so fair.
Who was keeper of fire, of life and warmth.
Stood there against her rock solid icy husband and she fought.
About which of the sexes is more worth,
to bring the decision here on earth...

:: Allen Crown ::

let the light be my guide?

We mean it well: 

look at the horizon,
bright as day it shines.
It speaks to me, I am your future,
don't listen to the voices coming from behind.
A place darker than the night.
you have no business there, says the light.

As curious as you may be,
about the things laying in your past.
It holds naught but your mistakes.
No! Follow me, into the future.
Or you will finish last.

~the beings of the light

by ::Allen Crown::

booze it up

it is the weekend,
for many man a time to drink.
so here are a few drunken drinking poems. Enjoy:

Whiskey drinking man:

Lines up a bottle, a glass and some ice.
Going to drink away his sins and vice.
He remembers when he was younger.
Living at home, always feeling hunger.
A poorness that drove him to crime.
He's done some stuff, he's done some time.
He once stood up all his friends.
Has been to every end.
He has seen every bottom.
Now he starts drinking with every depressing Autumn.


When we've fallen:

When we've fallen.
We smile, we shrug,
We spent our buck, oblivious.
We learn, we fail
We tread upon depressions trail.
Always vicious.
We run, we crawl.
We hate it all
And then we fall.
(cheers mate!)

now hoist your buddy back on his chair and listen to

The Jazzman:

In rooms full of smoke and calming tunes.
Full of people who are broke and people with fortunes.
There's a saxophone player, with bloodshot eyes.
A hash blunt slayer, a cloud knight.

Losing his gold has drove him to the blues.
His clothes are worth a beer here and he has broken sad shoes.
with the largest soul a man could find.
he began to awake our drunken minds.

:: Allen Crown ::

good music always inspires me

International night of pure insomnia:

it drips out of the machine into this big glass pot.
a cup of insomnia.
we prefer to drink it hot.

we boot up our life partner and stare at her screen.
it feeds us information.
I consume it together with the caffeine.

social media that prevents me from missing out.
where you write in caps,
when in reality you'd shout.

all by myself yet not alone.
as we drink this coffee.
connected online every hour like a sleepless drone.

WAKE UP!

Chirping birds and a singing frog,

in a swamp devoured by the fog.

The mushrooms spread their poisonous spores,

as ghosts recite their gloomy lores.

Among this sadness sits a man,

who every day comes back again.

Wasting his days until the last,

Drowning in the melancholy of his past.

no knowledge for a purpose.

Tell me, tell me, tell me now.

I want to know,

I'll beg, I'll bow.

just tell me now.

don't ask me why,

don't ask me how.

there is no reason,

just tell me now.

I want to know.

I want to learn.

without this knowledge I'll surely burn.

just tell me now, it is my turn.

I won't abuse,

I'll never use.

just teach me what you know.

for purposes unknown to you,

I desperately need it so.

I don't ussually write love poems

Tickle me silly.

hug me to death.

sing out loud and steal my breath.

this goddess of mine,

this muze I don't deserve.

not in my imagination but here on earth.

whenever you can,

know I have your back.

stare at the moon and I'll be staring back.

could you care? for our planet?

down by the lake is a patch of grass.
there where my friend and I gather and smoke hash.

down by the lake is a giant oak tree.
it's shadow shields us from the sun, so we can see.

drinking our rum in the fragile grass.
waiting for the dusk, surrounded by our trash.

down by the lake there's a broken piece of land.
where the decay of vegetation has run out of hand.

as we sit there on this hard and unforgiving ground,
we mourn our past ways, not making a single sound.

as we regret how we treated our home base.
we collect our trash and leave no trace.

dinner on the grave of my old man: A christmas story

A time of glee a time of hope

Filled with stars and snowy slopes

The birth of Christ a godly heir

And joy and laughter everywhere…

But in my heart it feels so cold

My Christmas isn’t as foretold

Another wound in mother’s chest

And alcohol on fathers breathe

Again December with this prick

Yes Christmas it can suck my dick

And maybe I won’t feel alone

If celebrated on my own

No father I am not your slave

I’ll recreate it on your grave

And turn it back as it was in old

To a Christmas as once was foretold

Attempts at Real life Trashed by society.

Life so far has left me wanting, has left me wanting more.

So long have I had nothing to brag about, have I had nothing at all.

No job, no wife, no money nor fame.

Not even kids to blame.

Always down on luck, be it good or bad.

I am not even depressed or sad.

I'm neither happy nor mad.

I'm not religiously extreme or politically involved.

I am these things to no extend at all.

However, I am truly blessed by a massive talent alone,

to put it into words, that which I shall whisper unheard from under my tombstone.

And I want to be a wannabe:

I believe that:

If I don’t wear these chains

and if I don’t play these games.

Then you won’t see

and I wouldn’t be me.

If I don’t rhyme the rhyme

And pretend to have done the time

When I don’t do what they say

and don’t do what they may.

If I would fail to make it extra fake,

then you’d see, that all I am is a dried up lake.

That all that I pretend to be,

Is a wannabe version of MTV…

take the train to anywhere. I'll be there!

Waiting on the platform.
With nowhere to go.
Utterly bored.
Trains are so slow.
Destination anywhere,
anywhere but here.
I just want to leave this place.
I want to disappear.
Talking to these nobodies,
that seem to share my fate.
United in this travel urge,
our differences they fade.
The whistle blows.
We have to board.
We all try to escape
this hollow place, this prison fort.
Our bags are packed .
Our shoes are tied.
To the horizon,
is where we dream to ride.

So your breaking up with me?

Facebook status single,
what has happened to us?
Was it that I could not mingle
with your friends, on the school bus?

Burning a bucket full of photo albums,
in your mothers back yard.
Stamping out the coals and embers,
that are breaking my heart.

You've finally told all your friends,
how small my dick must be.
As my social life ends,
to sustain your newfound glee.

But I have one last trick upon my sleeve.
One so truly evil and heartless.
An HIV test I believe,
of that new boy, that you've tried to impress.

To this world I chose to hate.

I am a piece of property of this world.
I will be a prisoner till I'm old.
All my deeds will be recorded.
All my secrets will be undone.
Every sin will be reported,
but one day I will have won.
On the hour of the eternal,
past the day of my demise.
Smoking Ganja in the inferno,
this world no longer will I despise.

the legend

silently a shadow creeps,
through the hills where nobody sleeps.
traveling through the sighing marshes.
bearing with him a crown to keep.
taking it to the farthest,
a land beyond the crimson desserts,
over de holy seas.
his road will be the hardest,
though his price is of the least.
all the honor he'll receive,
will not reach him beyond time or space.
in the land of the farthest where he will spent his never ending day's.

By streetlight and rain...

A creepy pair of eyes stare at me,
from the darkness of this never ending rain.
The tears that drop unseen from my face,
further complicate my pain.

These eyes seem judging,
as they stare into my soul.
Like x-ray, they look through me,
discovering a heart shaped hole.

I back away, prepared to run,
searching for comfort and grace.
They follow me these eyes, they do.
like a memory I can't erase.

I've finally given up
and dropped onto my knees.
I plead these eyes to go away,
I beg them please.

The eyes now have a face attached,
decorated with a womans smile.
She wraps her arms around me,
and it stopped raining for a while.

The City

the city,
never silent,
never sleeps.
I love u so.

The city,
always violence,
always creeps.
I don't hate you though.

Because I hate the silence,
hate to sleep,
Love this violence,
know these creeps.




(The picture wasn't made by me, all rights still go to the original photographer)

Lost in myself and another

There is a man helpless,
crying, struggling and dying.
I walk past him. I would not notice.
I can see but I am selfish.
Normally I had helped him,
but today I am not myself.
I am someone else.
someone who is clueless,
that he is now actually me.

Stuck inbetween two thoughts

There be a light.
there be a darkness.
It comes closer.
It crawls nearer.
It is fearless.
It is endless.
And it meets.
Only to depart and separate my heart.

Waiting for the one

On the edge of a cliff a man there stood.
Cloaked in love, a coat and a hood.
he stirred in the immerse darkness.
as he stared onto the less.
there forever he stood.
cloaked in love, a coat and a hood.
for he was true to love.
but his love wasn't true to him.

Diverse? No. Humans are all the same.

Extreme life!
Do over wife.
Forgotten torture.
Obtaining fortune.
Luck here, luck there.
Hate crimes everywhere.
Sex sells as long as it's democracy.
But rape occurs more than pornography.
While god is love and equality,
raged in his names are wars, meant for cultural diversity.

 ::By Allen Crown::

Have u been there?

A black lake dark and grim.
Where foul creatures play and swim.
A weeping willow grey and old.
That bares no protection from the cold.
A broken house upon the hills.
A brewery of booze and pills.
Inhabited bye mice and hare.
You're asking me, have I been there?

 ::By Allen Crown::