The Slam

 

They told me we would do a slam

Of odes and poems and wham bam mam

Our words and rhymes would fight it out

We mustn’t mutter, better shout!

A ittle like a boxing bout;

So off I went to start to train

Like Rocky, in the ring again.

 

My female rival? Well, I’d beat her,

With exercise of regular metre.

My metaphors would pack a punch

I’d knock em dead, have them for lunch.

Or breakfast if I followed sense

My rhyming fest would be quite dense.

Intense, giving evidence, come off the fence.

My silver tongue now felt quite tense.

 

I sharpened up my symbols too,

My targets set, my aim was true.

My adverbs all would smoothly flow,

Fiery rhymes defeat my foe,

Delivering a knockout blow.

Right paw, left jab, check my stance,

With puns like mine, they had no chance.

At end of round, I shed a tear,

My trainer tells me have no fear,

Just pop in onomatopoeia.

And if they pin me on the ropes,

I’ll hit em with conceits and tropes.

My similes sting just like a bee,

Butterfly feet, just like Ali.

 

In case my words might hit the canvas,

I taught myself some killer stanzas.

My subject could get rather bitter,

Dreams could shatter, raise a titter,

Reputations I should batter, make it matter,

Keeping up some witty patter, never flatter,

Just keep talking, never stutter

Cut em up like knife through butter.

And every word and every vowel

Would stop me throwing in the towel.

 

And through it all, when cheek by jowl,

I’d see the judge… it’s Simon Cowell!

His eyebrows raised, like flags so royal,

His face like after Susan Boyle.

Alongside him that Geordie bird

Couldn’t believe what she just heard,

And Louis, Irish pixie gazing

At MC Mike who was amazing.

My ego to my heart confesses,

It just hopes I’d get three yeses.

 

And at the end, when hands are held,

I’d made it to the final bell.

Now heavenly verse had turned to Hell.

My gum shield out, all words now spent,

From Superman back to Clark Kent

My power of language, briefly lent

Had helped my soul its thoughts to vent.

 

Like Giant Haystacks, slightly thinner,

I’d hear myself declared the Winner.

Just like Big Daddy, back in the past

He’d mock and taunt the wrestling cast,

When grown men faked a proper fight

He’d jump on people from a height,

But inside I just feel a sham

 Cos now with words we body slam!

 

M x