MASTERPIECE MASTER



        by Teresita Perez

        "Tear jerkers, that's what they're called.
        Product of little people.
        Literature's unimportant."
        Said Mrs. Mold.
        And as she stood on her basement steeple,
        repulsive and discordant,
        she cursed rhyme
        mocked it all the time,
        then called prose a poem.
        So I threw up on her sword
        and I saw her turn into an ant
        for mocking my word.

        I stepped down from the base of my statue
        and yelled, "A mirror is what I want!"
        Then spoke into it, "I like you."
        And to the ant
        I stuck out my tongue.
        She was wrong!

        The infection of her brain
        quickly spread throughout the land.
        Overtook. Men's mind believed
        the venom. Wanted to cause pain.
        Having stupid hate on hand.
        The epidemic they conceived.
        While I did soar high
        doubting. Not believing the lie.

        Suckka to you with my rhyme.
        Suckka to you with my prose.
        Any which way I compose
        and myself choose the time!
        A piece of cake. I have both.
        Plus with oomph I lock, play with them.
        Suckka to you with my rhythm.

        I fly in the sky.
        I fly under the earth.
        I fly on the other side of the universe.
        Why?
        Because I've got what Mrs. Mold
        shunned, spreading disease. She was so cold.
        Merciless. Ignorant of what made me stand tall.

        I can think!
        I refuse to be nailed to her wall.
        I won't sink
        in her sand.
        And now, years later, I am told
        by you, to be big. Big like you, Mr. Mold,
        foot sole?

        Sometimes my tools.
        Timing and rhythm.
        I soar high without or with them.
        And confront fools.

        I upgrade every line
        with _ _ _ _ _.
        Fill the blank if you can,
        if you have half a mind.
        Don't infest me with wrong.
        And, yes, yes, and, and, and. And, and, and, and!!!
        ... (Hint: I repeat it for the last line.)
        I leave you, like I did Mrs. Mold,
        with my hard copy tongue
        which you are holding in your hand!
        Copyright © 1997, 2020 to Teresita Perez


        You are visiting Poetry by Teresita Perez in English.

         COPYRIGHT: This work and site are the property of Teresita Perez. Its use for lucrative or commercial purpose, as well as to gain money in any way, shape, concept or form, is strictly prohibited.
        DISCLAIMER: Permission has been sought and given for many images and backgrounds used on this site or they are public domain.