1. Stumbled across a sonnet by Keats today entitled ‘The Poet’.
2. Thought I’d remix it into ‘The Rapper’.
3. Still not entirely sure of the final couplet, so may make revisions. All suggestions welcome (seriously!).
On radio, on stage, on tape, on wax:
His words are heard. They dopple through the air.
Through microphone and music he attacks –
Confronting us with what we need to hear:
The stories of the margin, pushed to frame.
A lens through which we see what has been seen.
The fame attained retains his chosen name –
A solipsist who pens his chosen scene.
Eventually, though, freestyles need to end;
(The art of rhyme denies the rhymer’s bliss)
And punchlines cannot be the rapper’s friend.
Especially when they all come down to this…
The rapper burns a blaze of burning words
Which only cool when they cannot be heard.