Rhyming poem, broken home
Is that the way you like it?
Free to say, free to stay, its my own way
And you are free to strike it.
But your opinion is your opinion
Its not my driving force
And if you’re racing with your feedback,
Then you’re not my betting horse.
Haiku you, worn out shoe
Dances on the second line
You say you cannot understand Shakespeare
And then you underestimate mine.
I’m happy to be in such high company though,
To be listed with the misunderstood,
But without understanding a word
you would tell me Shakespeare is the greater good.
Your self-centred prerequisite for success?
As you like it? No. Is it bad or is it good?
Is a house any better if when its done
It’s of brick or its of wood?
Your tap and trip on your pyrrhic foot
Your head gets stuck in a stanza
Instead of Rembrandt and Whitely
You’ve watched old episodes of Bonanza
You’re babbling onomatopoeia
You’ve allied all alliteration
You’ve conjured up the rules of men
You’ve blessed creative castration
But not this dog, not on a leash
Nor tied to fence or yards
These defiant will bark at moon and sun
And be their own proud bards.
The tide crashes walls down built by men
To tame the raging sea
And my creation bashes against the rocks
I’ll not let them ever tame me.
So you spin on your Wheel of Fortune
And circle your coffee shops
While the book shelf grows like a team of wood
And bushes in a copse
I stand defiant, like a giant
And charge against the rules
And slaughter all the caveats
And hang them by the fools.
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