My poetry tends to share a style not too dissimilar from rap. Yeah, it's actually due to the fact I tried rapping before I tried poetry and it's just how it got to be. Also, the majority of it is morbid. I also don't dabble in random Limericks. The man from Nantucket can keep his bucket out of my thread
Note: To those that do not like the first poem, please read the second anyway. The second is probably one of my better works.
An ode to an old friend, whom now is a bitter hate.
She used to joke that she was the puppet master,
That she could pull strings, make people dance and brim with laughter,
She was so kind and gentle and sweet,
But all the time she pranced about us with carefully placed, deceitful feet.
She hid her face and hid her soul,
And soon we found she was being literal when she said we meant less to her than her doll.
So she pulled our strings and made us dance,
Abusing her power till we took our chance,
We leapt from the stage in our blind rage,
Refusing to be placed back into our cage,
And this is when she finally learnt,
Even the Master could get burnt.
She used to joke that she was the puppet master,
We all called her the root cause of disaster.
We killed our game,
Snuffed out it's flame,
And there's but one to blame,
One stupid and lame,
Her boyfriend who had chosen,
To elevate her and his their end.
So it was that we took them and made them bend,
We snapped their backs in our oath to defend,
What was left of our soul, or spirit,
And now we rebuilt it and to our minds fit.
For anyone that can't guess the context, it was from an old game I used to play. The original GM left, than the next head GM left, and then the last appointed his girlfriend who was loved by the players. Until she let the power go to her head and ruined a game I had loved for close to five years at that point.
Oddly enough, I wrote one of my better poems based around the same jest she made so long ago.
The Puppet Master.
I shall sit and watch, Marking off another notch, As I wait for the
sun to come up, Tomorrow is now today,
Hurray...
It's red, orange and yellow, Beautiful, yet mellow it’s a drive away
of sorrow, and it shall come again at the start of tomorrow, Oh yeah,
and at the end of today...
Once again, hurray...
I play with peoples feelings like they are a puppet, I pull the
strings, and laugh at what it brings, but mostly I pull to annoy, But
that's really just me, oi! But it happens; I am the bringer of
emotion, to the wood of the world. I pull the strings and watch you
dance, for the world to escape my control, not a chance. I shall rule,
at least till tomorrow... Another day just passed today...
Once more, hurray...
Yet oh yet, the puppet master cannot live alone, so another he grabs
to invite to his home, fun oh fun does the future look to be, and now
there is, a little me, My husband/wife and me, we sit and watch, while
our child never fails to put another notch, into the puppets, but we
don't care, to once again control that world... I do not dare...
So the world faces a new hand, as one shall rule wood and metal band,
fight or flight these puppets shall, till they fall, believing to
answer to the call, but really it's just the strings, now look at what
destruction this hand brings.
Is this how there came to be, god and devil? Heaven and evil? That
puppets changed hands, and now there is, nothing that would resemble
either, but now we chose to tremble. To risk, to lose it all, at the
chance there is nothing at all.
Can you see the power of the puppet master? Bow to it, or there shalt
be disaster, it's true that evil has come, but it shall pass, as
another grows, Just like grass...
So once again, once again, the world changes, this world of wood and
metal shall now bend, as it is to be destroy as interest is lost, now
this world shalt be forever lost, too bad too bad, the loss of such
art is sad, but still the true puppet master lives, and that gift to
more the puppet master gives, more worlds are made, But now, actual
people dance under the shade...
My puppets are dead, oh well, oh well; they still live in my head....
