My three sons,
One, five, and three.
They are as cute
as cute can be.

Through
each new sunrise,
their innocent eyes
lies,
curiosity
magic and mystery
rainbows and butterflies

waving their hands
pointing to the sky
above cotton ball clouds
their spirits fly

Their hearts are open,
Their minds free,
Boundless imaginations
beyond, mommy and daddy

Sunshine and bumblebees
Fleas on trapeze
Stardust from the moon
Lightning bugs that sneeze

This is their world
full of wonder and glory
I live there too
I’m part of their story

I see their smiles
I watch them play
I love them more
then words can say

My three sons,
One, five, and three.
They are my inspiration
To be the best possible daddy.

Warm colorful leaves
tremble at crisp autumn winds
- Pumpkin sits below

I am a lyrical drunken monkey master
My words are much stronger and faster
than your weak metrical crane techniques
Which I can master in just two weeks

My style and form is as open as the sea
For these masterful words flow from my ki
I challenge you to creative writing combat
You think your shallow mind can handle that?

My poetic kung fu shoes
will strike you down with a mental bruise
leaving my rhymes print across your tiny head
still trying to figure out what I said

Before your meaningless death
You will feel my last stanzas dragon breath.
Written in fiery hues over your blank canvas face
will be four simple words, “you are a disgrace.”

So come and battle me with your verses
When we’re done, you will be reciting curses
because you will be feeling verbally abused
by my poetic kung fu shoes.

Read Part 2: My Iron Fists