Who Says Real Men Don’t Write Poetry?

Now gather round and listen to a little ditty,
About the biggest, baddest poet of the century,
When you see him comin’, you’ll know without a doubt,
Cause he’s wears his beret backwards, and sometime inside out.
He’s got William Shakespeare quoted on his neck tattoo,
And if you don’t like it you can go take a haiku,
He’s sharpening knives for the poetry slam,
And he’ll meet you outside if your verse didn’t scan.
So you better be prepared and don’t be no amateur,
He’s a rocket in the pocket with iambic pentameter,
When it comes to writing verse he’s the silver tongued devil,
And he’s takin’ bustin’ rhymes to a whole other level.

All the girls they love him and they stop and flirt,
And they’re wearing leather panties under flowered skirts,
Cause you know he’s getting lucky like the Big Lebowski,
And he’s gettin’ more pussy than Charles Bukowski.
But you know he’s bein’ picky, he ain’t takin’ no rubbish,
And he likes them fast and loose and preferably published,
He’s the man with the plan and he gets down on it,
And he’s gone in the morning but he leaves them with a sonnet.
They go weak in the knees cause they know that he’s the leader,
Writin’ rhymes all the time with impeccable meter,
Cause when it comes to writing verse he’s the silver tongued devil,
And he’s takin’ bustin’ rhymes to a whole other level.

All you people step aside cause you know that he’s the boss,
And he’s gettin more quatrains than Robert Frost,
And no one is badder, and no one is meaner,
When he steps out with a tercet, tanka, rondeau or sistena.
So you best show some respect or he’ll go gangsta on your ass,
Cause he’s bringin’ more couplets than Sylvia Plath,
He’s a rockin’, outlaw cowboy, gets it on the down low,
Got the sweets like Keats, got the spooky like Poe.
They roll out the red carpet because he’s a rock star,
And he’s smooth like Byron and he’s Wilde like Oscar,
And when it comes to writing verse he’s the silver tongued devil,
And he’s takin’ bustin’ rhymes to a whole other level.



67 thoughts on “Who Says Real Men Don’t Write Poetry?

      • You can see that I’m telling the honest truth when I say that throughout my life I miss things I should have spotted and have spent most of my life since my formative years in a state of bewilderment! I am in true agony by the way – the wife was in the attic moving boxes out. I thought I’d help. I heard her and could visualize that she was moving one particular box with her feet and shuffling along on her bum. As she got said box to the loft door (I was stood below on the landing) I asked ‘is it heavy’. ‘Don’t think so’ her riposte. Seconds later I was as Atlas himself carrying the globe in my hands (albeit an overloaded box of many books) and ripped just about every muscle in my right shoulder blade. Not slept for two nights now and am on the cusp of genuine insanity. I shall read your poem again to cheer myself up!

  1. Great stuff so it was suppose to be the last one,something about dirt won’t come out without life soap, you know how it goes it isn’t the same without the silver tongue she devil

  2. I thought it was either Steeden or Keith Richards from the image, Marissa! From your faultless rap, I kind of felt gloriously swept back and forth between Eminem in his “Eight Mile’ movie and Bard Dylan holding up the flash cards in his “Subterranean Homesick Blues” video. Great poetess strikes again.

  3. I’d like to click like about 30 times. That was absolutely terrific. It’s hard to pick my favourite line in this poem – which really ought to be published somewhere that appreciates wit and sass – but I’d have to say this is it: “So you better be prepared and donโ€™t be no amateur,
    Heโ€™s a rocket in the pocket with iambic pentameter,”. On the other hand, the reference to Charles Bukowski is pretty durn clever, too. Wow. I have total poet envy.

  4. Wow, that’s awesome! Do you write the song lyrics for your husband’s band? (The sad thing is, this one actually reminded me of my son who constantly writes or freestyles raps… and the girls love him. LOL!)

    • My husband isn’t in a band. My son is, kind of, although they are just really kids doing covers. My husband writes music and has asked me to provide lyrics but the music he writes is kind of prog rock, very busy, and I always tell him I don’t hear room for a melody.

      Hey, writing freestyle rap is awesome. It is poetry after all, you know. No wonder the girls love him, proud mama!

      • Covers are a great start… Perhaps then you’ll write something new for them? How cool if you and Hubby could be a song writing duo… or so much time together might make you kill him. ๐Ÿ˜‰

        My son raps out of necessity… the poor guy can’t carry a tune in a bucket. His sister and I can sing, but we don’t do lyrics (or rap!), so I guess it all evens out. ๐Ÿ˜‰

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