I’m a real rugged rhymer
Poetic mountain climber
Got my rhythm on a timer
Wording bombs like Oppenheimer
Crushing cadences and scansion
My words could fill a mansion
Face the discourse of expansion
Just watch my pen it’s fucking dancing!
Lord Byron run hiding
Theres no sense in fighting
You’re old, uninspiring,
I can see you’re perspiring
Sylvia Plath
Who’s that?
Sit back and relax
Turn on a poem
Leave off the gas..
This diction is fiction but wrapped up in facts.
You can’t keep up with this stanza’s bombastic, eclectic, spontaneous attack.
If you were a book then your spine would be cracked!
I got the “i” before the “e”,
The Metaphor and simile
This page is just constraining me
BEASTLY
Verses
B r E a K i n G
F R E E
My verbs are all vicious,
Keep em clean like the dishes,
I know the plural of fish is just fish,
It’s not fishes.
Tasty and scrumptious:
Synonyms for delicious
I work in false rhymes but there’s nothing suspicious.
Weaving words on wicked whims
I’ll fit alliteration in.
This is a Haiku
In case you’d like to try too
Now it’s behind you
There’s no one there to cry to.
My soliloquies are killer bees
I’m writing paragraphs of epitaphs
My facsimiles are scaring trees
I’m writing Kerouac like chicken scratch
It’s hard not to notice just how good my prose is.
So sharp and in focus you might have psychosis.
This book never closes, you’re under hypnosis.
You’ll be reading so fast you forget where your nose is.
My dialectics are perplexing
Frenetic skeptics only vex me
Apoplectic hectic flexing
I’m Magnetic when I’m texting
I’ll shake a spear at the muses
Burn through them like fuses
An editor is useless
Have you heard what the news is?
There’s a communication liberation station in circulation.
Dropping bombs on pages like they’re foreign nations.
