Poetry is 4 Suckas

"I was raised on the streets, what you know about that?
My momz killed my dad with a baseball bat..."

- 'Keep it in the family' by Sir Elky the Third

Ah, the late 1800's really were the golden years for poetry. Who can deny that many men throughout history wrote poems?

Here is my attempt/mockery of poetry -- seen through the prism of two poems I have written.

Poem 1:
Words. Everywhere I go I see them. Surrounded by them. But what are they really? A collection of letters? Ha! Like sweat from the brow of a workman, words drip off me like the seeds of a cantelope. Each seed is a word, each bite an adjective, a verb, a noun. Write me a letter, oh won't you? But when you do, remember to use words.

Poem 2:
As I look into the mirror, I see not a man, but a thought. For as the reflection in the mirror gazes back at me, like a child towards his mother, I attempt to conquer my thoughts. But a thought is a proven warrior, deftly evading my blows, countering my sabotage with logic and reason. Can I strive? Can I survive? For if I think not, am I not? The battle is underway, my friends. The battle is underway.

Note: The above poems were not written seriously!