Class Poet by Sy Roth


He fancied himself the class poet
Fevered contractor of rhymed words
And they bought it.

He toiled to find the rhyme and rhythm of the words
From a naif’s life that beat its rhythms around him.

And they liked his music
They grew Wilde for it.

He nurtured a flimsy Zapata-like mustache,
Pushed his chordless lyrics through his stuttering cilia.

Beat poet of his middle school
Middlearth meddler in rap gyrations
Wrapped in a cacophony of sibilant esses
Forceful fricatives tempered in intemperate effs.

His frettings tumbled like town crier announcements.
A mishmash of meandering youth
Sated with grandiose pomposity
To make the forties tremble.

They praised the inanities that tied him to the earth
Raised banners to his supercilious pronouncements
The embodiment of youthful rebellion
To the class that had little need for metaphor.

They struggled with his temporality
But not too mightily
As his words tumbled into the trash
Of memories of Dylan’s words
Clad in Cobain raiment.

The class poet took the stage
And his hot breath and similes
Lackadaisically tripped at them.

Unsure of his meaning,
Ultimately, they slipped away from him.

©2020 Sy Roth


Follow Sy:

Sy Roth is a retired school administrator and has finally found the sounds of silence and the time to think whole thoughts. This has led him to find words and the ability to shape them. He has published in Visceral Uterus, Amulet, BlogNostics, Every Day Poets, Barefoot Review, Haggard and Halloo, Misfits Miscellany, Mad Swirl, Larks Fiction Magazine, Danse Macabre, Bitchin’ Kitch, Bong is Bard, Humber Pie, Poetry Super Highway, Penwood Review, Masque Publications, Foliate Oak, Miller’s Pond Poetry and The Eloquent Atheist.

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