To Rhyme, or Not to Rhyme

Questions Subtle, Questions Sublime for the great IAMB

Photo by Jessica Pamp on Unsplash

To rhyme, or not to rhyme, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous aesthetics
Or to take arms against a sea of critics
And by opposing, send them to die — to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we bore and bare
The belly-ache of a thousand poetic farts
That flesh is derriere to: ’tis a hum-drum conundrum
Devoutly to be fix’d. To rap, to rhyme;
Be it subtle, be it oh so sublime — ay, there’s the trick:
For we do so at the risk of losing what claps may come,
When we have offered our best, and have offended the rest,
Must give us pause — there’s the friggin’ strife
That makes calamity of so mad a poet’s life.
For who could bear the Moons and Junes of rhyme
Without sometimes cringing, while the poet’s infringing,
The pangs of despiiz’d verse upon our poor ears,
The insolence of license, and the sperms
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus murm-
Er with bare bodkin? Who would femme fartelles bear,
To grunt and sweat and spaz upon the page,
But that the dread of being met with death,
The deserved punishment, for those who dare
Oversymplify a rhyme, drop a dime, f*ck with thyme?
It makes us rather hear nails scrape a chalk-
board then suffer poetics that make us balk.
This consequence doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the wannabe artist hiding inside
Is sicklied o’er with the stale ale of fear,
And poetry slams of great raps and rhymes
Scare the crap outta us, so we don’t even try
And lose traction before ever taking action.

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