Saturday, April 26, 2014

Who's That Chick On Facebook? Poem | Ryan Ngala

Who's That Chick On Facebook? 


Edited, Recited, Typed & Written 
Mr. Ryan Ngala
Ryan Ngala's Poems™ | STN® Poetry

Who’s that chick?,
I took a look at,
With my very own eyes,
When many of her pictures,
Gets commented on her Facebook page.

She sends a message,
To every guys’ Facebook profile,
With her pretty face, pretty lips, and nice thighs,
That just got me hypnotize.

Not knowing where I can ever see her once again,
She might see herself,
Posing for the camera,
Looking so clueless.

I should be commenting on your pix
Naming you one of the “Prettiest chick”
Even though she's a bad B*tch.

It's Hard To Say Goodbye Poem | Ryan Ngala

It's Hard To Say Goodbye

Edited, Recited, Typed & Written
Mr. Ryan Ngala
Ryan Ngala’s Poems™ | STN® Poetry

It’s hard to say goodbye,
To all the friends that you love,
They live around the world,
Like even Africa or America as well.

I hope to see them soon,
So our friendship continues to bloom,
I hope you’ll stay in touch in tune.

In my heart theirs always room,
I could even begin to start to cry,
Because It’s so hard to say goodbye.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Saying Goodbye Poem [With Ms. Gayle Robinson] | Ryan Ngala

Mr. Ryan Ngala & Ms. Gayle Robinson

Edited, Recited, Typed & Written
Mr. Ryan Ngala & Ms. Gayle Robinson
Ryan Ngala's Poems™ | STN® Poetry™ |

 Gayle Robinson:
 Saying goodbye,
 Is never easy,
 Life is full of,
 Passages & turns.

 Ryan Ngala:
 It’s like a funeral that,
 Could bring out memories,
 As they leave into this world,
 As it’s honor the people in need,
 As they go into heaven,
 For we really miss them so,
 As times goes by.

 Gayle Robinson:
 Memories are more important,
 Presence is never lost,
 But distance has a cost.

 Ryan Ngala:
 Memories that can be kept,
 In the heart of many love ones,
 But life is short,
 You never know when is going to hit you.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

My Mother Raised Me Poem | Ryan Ngala

Me as my younger self with my lovely mother
My Mom alongside with my sister Wendy
Edited, Recited, Typed & Written
Mr. Ryan Ngala & Mr. Rico Speight
Ryan Ngala's Poems™ | STN® Poetry™

My mother raised me,
To become a loving & caring son,
To take care of my lovely siblings,
And the rest of my day is done.

My mother raised us,
To do better in school,
Not to stare into space,
Acting like a fool.

My mother raised me,
To become a healthy teen,
She makes food for the children,
And asks us all to read.

My mother raised me,
To become a humble and nice man,
If they say something mean to me,
I can just keep my mouth shut instead.

My mother raised us,
To become successful leaders,
How did your mother raise you?

Copyright © 2008 - 2020 Ryan Ngala's Poems™ | STN® Poetry.
All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

If You Ain't About Your Paper Poem | Ryan Ngala

If You Ain't About Your Paper Poem

Edited, Recited, Typed & Written
Mr. Ryan Ngala & Ms. Wendy Ngala
Ryan Ngala’s Poems™ | STN® Poetry™ |

Verse 1:

If you ain't about your paper,
Then honestly,
They ain't worth nothing to me,
These broke mother fuckers will be,
Begging us for a got damn quarter.

But they ain't,

All about the dollars,
At least I find that sh*t,
So annoying sometimes.

One man once,

Came and approach to me,
He asked me for,
A spare quarter.

But what will that be,

All worth for and why?,
So then I told him, 
"You know what Na".

At least he couldn't used his,

Fucking common sense,
Just to pick up,
Five bottles and go make it,
His got damn self.

But instead he choose, 

To have someone else,
Like me to do his dirty work,
For him,
And I'm like,
What The Fuck?.

So I went about my business,

But these broke mother fuckers,
Who I can see in my very own eyes,
Approach and asked me for some of my own money,
At least I find them to be so got damn funny.

Will always be hollering, screaming and stressing out,
And for what?,
But I don't want to draw any attention,
To none of these broke mother fuckers.

That I see outside on the streets,

Asking me for money,
When in reality they ain't worth nothing or my time to me,
Why do these broke mother fuckers,
Want some of what I've have, huh!!!

I grind and hustle so hard for the paper,

That I make all the time,
But if you ain't about your paper,
Then you broke jokers need to step aside,
No Lie. 

Verse 2:

If you ain’t about your paper,
Then don’t come to me,
With your hands,
Wide open begging me or us for a quarter.

Because we will be making,
Billions, Millions, Trillions Or Thousands of dollars a year,
While you broke mother fuckers yourself,
Don’t get nothing.

You ain’t even,
Worth nothing
 to me hoe,

Like Chris Breezy told me,
These hoes ain’t loyal to me.

At least the people who look broke,
Don’t even have the common sense,
To even make their own money,

By themselves,
By collecting bottles and cans.

But instead,
I’m making all of this bread,
By myself,
Without no one’s help.

But with someone to guide me,
It’s so funny to me,
That we don’t owe them,
Much of anything.

Copyright © 2008 - 2020 Ryan Ngala’s Poems™ | STN® Poetry™.  

All Rights Reserved.