Negrab,
The color of pain and misery,
Is what he lives on,
Scavenging for life,
He feeds off the night,
He takes life,
That is negrab.
Negrab is dirty,
Ugly and skanky.
Negrab,
The color of the room,
Negrab,
The death of the living world.
Negrab is when the knife,
Slices his arm,
Negrab,
Is the color of the liquid,
That trickles down.
Negrab is death.
--Emily 16
My wrath you'll feel if you insist,
On depricating art,
The muse doth have my likeness in,
An unused shopping cart.
That really doesn't make sense,
You sound like a book,
You need to know, your way too dense,
And too much time is what you took.
An artichoke once told me that,
It wrote a japanese ballad,
It wrote it with ink on a lily pad,
And then put on a tiny hat.
Wow you do have some skill,
Although it's kinda sad,
All you do is math and stuff,
You're really just a cad!
Your grammar and vocabulary aren't fit to impress,
Such vagueness humans have not seen since Vietnam's duress,
For this attempt that does deserve no true response of mine,
I simply say, "please try again" and "better luck next time".
I must say you got me good,
How can I win at this?
Oh I know, I'll tell you,
Your last hit was a miss.
You fathom not the intricacies,
To poetry inherent,
The ineffectuality,
Of your prose is apparent.
Wow you sure take forever,
You really take your time,
Although I will give you this,
All your lines do rhyme.
Your monosyllabic approach to poetry confounds,
Increasing neither elegance nor interest to sounds,
Recurrent phrases symbolizing simple thoughts abide,
Were I to call the poem artistic I'd admit I lied.
I won't take this lying down,
It's just a slap in the face,
I'm about to kick your butt,
So watch my quickly pace.
My soul cannot take this much,
It's very weak and frail,
Although I say when I look at you,
I need to geta pail.
A superficial criticism selves just to conceal,
Your lack of skill is legendary; your intentions real.
Though I admit it's noble to seek only to defile one's self through one's impertinance.
Your soul is truly vile.
You doth have the mark of HIM,
The one who only hurt,
He had no friend and that's because,
his words were only curt.
Soon he was lost,
In a world of his own,
His heart had turned black,
And his soul was not shown,
He stopped on his trip,
And took a look back,
And broke into tears,
For all it was black.
You should learn,
From this lost guy,
For when you are gone,
You know you will fry!
You do have the heart of he,
The one who grew in dirt,
His leaves absorbed the sunlight and,
He drinks the water squirt.
And when the sun did set beneath,
The hemispheres horizon,
Now i finish goodbye.
These poems back and forth,
Your's were all just luck,
SoI'll end this little tiff between us both,
In reality your's just suck!
---Two anonymous poets ages 15 & 16
