Rhymes are great, rhymes are fun

Rhymes are fit for anyone

They can be happy, they can be sad

A poem about love, or the death of your dad

Easy to read and easy to write,

They flow through your mind like a cool wind at night

They can be fast

like a blast

from your past

'til at last,

harassed and aghast,

they have passed.

Or let's take a break and slow down for a minute.

They can be spread out and drawn out, it's my rhyme - you're living in it

They don't have to have structure, the rules flex and bend

It can rhyme a little in the middle or it can rhyme at the end

Rhymes are just great for showing creativity

Not fun for you? It's pretty fun for me!

You should give it a try, it's not like you'll die

Write a poem about the sky, or one that makes you cry

Or read some ballads, and maybe you'll see

That they can be serious, yet fun

Like the Cremation of Sam McGee

All this to say,

at the end of the day,

If you hate poems that rhyme, I guess that's not a crime

But maybe, just maybe, I have helped change your mind

what is left?

pain

rain

but certainly not anything sane.

rhyme

making light

brightening your own fight

let it be

no matter how stupid it sounds

it realeases the mounds

of anxiety

it is power

for those who can put words together

can without doubt,

lift much more than a feather

so listen

maybe this time you will feel

the will

that comes with rythm

Rhyming poetry is a little restrictive

Of course it can be effective

Depending on your objective

But for me its majorly addictive

Near rhymes barely scrape

by just like my brother in high

school. He'd put that little white tape

over his D in psychology.

It takes a lot of planning, scheming,

rewriting, rereading,

Odd becomes our syntax

attempting to make our rhymes exact

But when you're Eminem

and you've made your second million

you'll bow to the power of rhymin'

or at least appreciate the complexities it adds to the work :)

That little dimple is ridiculous.

Absolutely loathsome, when I'm out here preaching the meaning of vitality so vehemently to you and you have the audacity

to smile?

LISTEN

I see four realities transposed over-under overlays of fifty ways the future might play out, and I articulate as such so succinctly, subverting all circumventions so that we may

Understand the point of partisanship and parting gifts in the guise of white flags on inbound ships, on the horizons of hell helping heal sinners sunk just under the surface.

Thousand fixes flood my mind with every sip of expensive wine and how do we define expense? Is it not subject to intellect and how we choose to count our cents?

I see your smile, you know. Ode to the dimples that chose to grow and to your teeth that shine under fine-dining light and to crow's feet by twinkling eyes that leave me

breathless

If I'm drunk, I promise it's not only on the wine.

A humble bumble bee sits on a pedal patiently

and thinks aloud to no one:

"is this what i'm supposed to be?

a wand'ring little fuzzy thing

that goes from place to place,

marking every flower, shoving pollen in my face?"

The buzzing flyer hovers lightly, adjacent to a stem

and sees the thorns just next to him:

"I won't go near them again."

Careful to preserve his fur, he moves 'round them expertly,

oh what a life it is to live, the humble bumble bee.

Together back at homebase, the group begins to gather

the mass exodus is about to start, they're just waiting for the master

as is tradition she enters slow and the drones bow reverently,

she whispers something to her right and the bees begin their buzzing

about to play their part together:

"my God it's so exciting"

meanwhile

Perfect, patient, flower pedals sit waiting for their guests,

presenting pollen so politely, upon their gentle faces.

Enchanted by their own aroma, lazily they sway

in the intermittent meadow breeze that will bring the bees today.

Not so humble now they charge, as the morning sun awakens

a hoard of warriors it seems, will shortly overtake them,

and excitedly the flowers brace for the weight of their subtractors

who will unknowingly progress the lineage of the flowers.

It's over just as quickly as the whole business began,

the flowers emptied, satisfied;

as the bees, treasure in hand

leave the meadow fellows, swaying lighter than before

and the breeze somehow has shifted giving them a lift back home.

The single humble bumble bee now weighted down with pollen

reflects back on his life with gratitude as evening falls and

delights in his life which seems so big, so rich, so full

though little does he know he's only got one week to go.

To someone very close,

I bought a red rose.

With my love dose

He stood there froze.

My emotions' stream

Then ended in a meme.

I will flabbergast them all,

climb an alabaster wall,

going ever faster. Fall

to avert disaster! Haul

ass to gain a Master, Doll.