A long time ago, in a Portland far far away, there was a ritual the wild poets used to practice at Roxy's after midnight beneath the neon Jesus. It was dubbed #TagTeamPoetry.
The rules are simple, and resemble a rap battle. The first poet writes a verse (or a couple, depending on where the muse takes them). Then the next poet continues the work while the first drinks and smokes - taking the theme of the last line as inspiration for their addition. The second poet continues writing until they're thirsty or stuck, and passes it back to the first poet. This continues until they either run out of inspiration, intoxicants, energy, or both agree that the poem is complete. Last verse wins.
If you have more than two poets, teams of three or more are permitted, but be aware that this is a volatile sport that often results in brawls of extremely dangerous lyricism the more poets are involved.
There are no restrictions on style - you can respond to a novel's worth of rhyming iambic pentameter with a haiku if it fits. Duels are more than permitted within the context of the poetry, and often produce some of the best results.
Now I'm aware that most on the Fediverse are suspicious of poetry, and rightfully so. You never know when a strange line of verse will make you laugh, or cry, or question your existence - so I'll be pleasantly surprised if I find any participants this evening.
That being said, there's a huge potential on the platforms here to have the most massive #TagTeamPoetry battle of history, and to add hyperlinks and music and videos and all sorts of whatever crazy bells and whistles you want. Plus, it's #ThirstyThursday and the Guinness just doesn't taste right without a bit of spice, so I'm gonna take the risk of shitposting into the void and kick this one off. Free boosts and upvotes to those who dare to reply in kind...
Round one
Staring at the sun
because
The song of a holy pug Slipped inside the house
Setting eggs of inspiration a flower
A bower of Bedouins
surfing a timewave
as it crashed down into now
And how does the muse find you today?
Grumpy or frumpy or on the A train?
Are you in India? Egypt? Saskatchewan? France?
Do you wear lipstick? A mustache? Blue underpants?
Who the hell is out there that's got a lyrical soul?
There's no wealth for a miser who hoards the Fool's gold
So you may as well spill it and tell the untold
I don't care if you're shady, I don't care if you're slim
I don't care if you stutter your green M&Ms
I dare you to open your mouth and let the world in
'cause the silence of a poet's heart is a mortal sin
"Besides, if you don't, I win!"
squawked the crow, with a most beaky grin...
It was Wednesday when you posted, you drunken old bat
And Roxy's serves coffee to the gutterpunk rats
There's holes in your story, and your memory sings flat
Think maybe its time to stop hitting the flask?
As for me, I come from the trees
Oaks and redwoods and blackberry leaves
My heart sprouting mushrooms and bumblebees
Casting sunflower seeds
to the titmice and the chickadees
Sculpting the mist of the ocean breeze
into impossible possibilities
With songs all wrong and upside down
For I was hiding from Hekate in a crossroad town
Till a fae cat cast their myrhh all around
Now she's telling me she's up to get down
And I'd be a Fool to ignore the sound
of magick unbound
So here you go
you drunken old crow
Let the lyrics flow
Like a leopard across the snow
Add comment