Me ma’s da was a poet,
Me eye’s hurt it’s late,
And I been rubbin it,
Until they gone all-irate.
Like theirs no tomorrow,
Sure their red from cryin too,
Coz me all feelin low,
Pity myself I nufin to do.
So I pen some words,
That all sound the bloody same
Some that nobody’s heard

Because they too ruddy lame

But me granda was a poet so he was,
Don’t know what he wrote though,
Coz.
Coz I can’t read his fly away words
It’s like trying to understand the birds.
But he was a man who could rhyme,
I can hear it in their cuckoo chime,
No doubt he versed real strong
hereIam tryna put words in that are “wrong”
I suppose I’m bellitlin his name,
See penning this verse, as a silly game,
An attempt at some rhythmic rap,
All I deserve is a pyrrhic cap.

But who knows what a poem is?

I heard it’s feeling
All anything is, really
Whereas before I was sad,
Now I’m mad,
But in a good way,
Coz im findin words who lay
Cosily, right next to each other,
ice creams betwixt lovers

So next time you feel you need a legacy up,
Find them that go together,
Even if they don’t cohabit indelibly forever.
Even, if they don’t make sense.

So go seek words which muddle!
Who cares if they’re cheesy?
Get yourself into a word cuddle,
Who cares who feels queasy?

Of course, it’s not all the time
one can afford to fritter a rhyme
But I know on occasion, I would rather,
Have words that flow,
Like a volcano with lots of lava,
Watching those bubbles grow.

For words were made to find their rhyming stranger,
Not only from their same flock,
But alien tongues who endanger, etranger,
So those who inhibit, take stock.
Sometimes words need to find friends,
No rules in poetry aught to be heeded,
It’s how we represent different endz.
Otherwise words will be cloned,

Through merciless hum drum,
Meanings reduced and honed,
lulled into numb numb numb.

A pretentious wanker once
Told me “only fools’ rhyme”,
He was a prick,
Who doesn’t deserve one.
Coz everyone should know it
You got what it takes to sow it
The feeling that is
To feel that is
Your granda ‘llow it
For you to POW it
So Who gives a fuck?
If they dunoit
What it takes
To makes
you feel,
like a poet?