In response to my little rant the other day about rhyme, I received the following poems, the first from 10000hoursleft (also known as Mek):
After looking up the meaning of profundity
I came to the conclusion you’d likely be
Lumping me in
Oh for my sin
With those in the 98 per cent
Who keep aiming for ascent
To the lofty heights of the minority
To be a 2 percenter my priority
Joys of creative expression
Need not get a mention
Now, I’ll have to stop rhyming
And the second from Mike Allegra over at heylookawriterfellow:
Master sculptor, bearing chisel,
Paused his work so he could wizzle.
And so the marble had to wait,
For sculptor to evacuate.
(Drops mic and strides purposefully toward the exit.)
So I offer here as an apology a sloppy English sonnet. It’s got the rhyme scheme, but I dropped that whole iambic pentameter thing because I am tired after a long day’s work, and iambic pentameter would just be too much on an empty stomach at 7:41 pm.
I pick up the mic dropped there by Mike
And scanned the sky for ascended Mek.
They used dread rhyme in a way I like
Unlike those whose Yules get decked.
You see, the Food Network is to blame
For my Poetry Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Their December hacks of Clement Moore
Send me screaming to the border.
It seems that rhyme may perhaps have uses
For getting the poet’s ideas across.
It’s not just used by silly gooses;
Sometimes its users are just the boss!
So I will try to embrace the rhyme,
But please, Lord, please, not all the time.