I don’t know tic tac toe
so I rhyme this with flow,
showing Nick Nac knows
how to serve the perfect dose.
Measuring the rhymes
like I’m pleasuring the lines,
leisure for the minds
like I’m lemon and I’m lime,
1st and 2nd personalities
pushed to share realities,
combining combat and comebacks
as I incompetently rap,
you’re ripping me now
it’s a banter attack,
shyt but gripping somehow
as I pant and sound crap.
It’s another chicken dinner
from Mr Trim Trimmer,
not a rapper or a singer
but, a mother loving winner.
POTD 02/02/2019
In black painted seashells candles burn,
eyes stare blank - no one is home;
they barely live and never learn,
incense-smoked souls in the twilight zone.
Nightfall casts a silver net,
Nagasaki is back projected;
a chanted dirge from a silhouette,
nasal whines, shrill and affected.
Perfume drunk from china bowls,
the atmosphere is cold, ceramic;
red lasers burn like smoking coals,
incompetently mock Satanic .
Verses dredged from heaving lungs,
voices cracked and centre stage;
speaking words in foreign tongues,
dry ice swirls, it's all the rage.
Bongo drums thud out a beat,
faces white as Arctic frost;
frozen minds, no spark or heat,
dynamics cast aside and lost.
Born too late I voice this treason,
yearning for a time apart,
when soul and purpose, rhyme and reason
were all to the poets art.