Shakespeare, the bard of old

Your plays and sonnets, over-told

We've heard enough of your lofty prose

It's time to give you a verbal dose

Your fame and praise, we don't abide

For your work, we cannot decide

Is it melodramatic or just plain dull?

Your writing, we find, is quite a lull

Your characters, so full of jest

But in reality, they're all a pest

Hamlet, Macbeth, and Othello too

Their actions, we cannot construe

With every 'thou' and 'thee' you write

Our patience, you continuously spite

Your language, so archaic and high

Only manages to make us sigh

And what about your love stories?

They're filled with heartache and glories

But we can't help but roll our eyes

For they're nothing but thinly disguised lies

Oh Shakespeare, we've had enough

Your writing, we find, is quite tough

To read and understand, such a pain

Why must we all suffer through your reign?

So here's your final curtain call

We don't need your words, big or small

For in our modern world, you don't fit

Shakespeare, it's time for you to quit.

The young girl stands up and rolls her sleeves, ready to make the best roast of her life and look totally cool while doing it. The girl clears her throat and starts, "Shkspr is dmb bcz he cn't evn use undrstndable English."

The girl smiles and makes her second point, "He is also a bad writer because he always makes his characters die at the end." Then the girl gets a heart attack and dies.

Ah, William Shakespeare. The unrivaled grandmaster of the English language. Or, as I like to call him, the original king of overrated.

Yeah, it is true that a lot of his works became a fundamental part of literary history, but come on – this man sure came up with a lot of tragedies. I mean, if he ever wrote a rom-com, it would likely conclude with everyone stabbing each other.

And the guy’s character name skills… “Romeo Montague” and “Juliet Capulet”? After hearing these names, you cannot tell me that he did not let toddlers play Scrabble. And “Othello”? Please, even his handkerchief was crying. Then his dramatic streak… who else could come up with “To be or not to be”? Whoever came up with this probably should find a new hobby – one that does not ruin life for everyone else in his play.

That being said, though, I have to thank him for all the timeless quotes he gave us that became the foundation of our modern life. “All the world’s a stage” – yeah, makes sense considering that his plays are pretty much reality tv shows. Well, whoopty doo, Shakespeare – thank you for drama, tragedy and countless high school essays.

Pen a roast against the great, noble Bard?

Without a doubt you jest, it can’t be true,

A battle of such penmanship will fail

For those who've missed him and have not a clue.

Beauty inherent and creative might

Are penned in words and characters divine.

Perchance, have you not wandered through them all -

Whimsical fields of poetry sublime?

No, this nightmare must not breathe and persist -

’Tis a bad feat of which I dare not dream.

It surely spells impending doom and doubt,

This godforsaken and horrendous theme.

So, if you dare to take the risk and write,

I won’t wish you well in your doubtful plight.

A poetic battle of wits

Was what the reports said

Then he wished me well

Before he wished me dead!

Confident I remained

I refused to be intimidated or scared

"May the best poet win!"

Was what I declared!

This battle finally began

Starting on the Fourth-of-July

An appropriate date it seemed

I'm sure that you understand why

The poetic volley was started

As they both stood head-to-toes

A heated exchange of lines was heard

Reciting their cleverly aimed prose

A swipe from the left

A jab to the right

Poetic expressions

Showing their might

The verbal lashings were fierce

With fiery retorts in rhyme

As it seemed to each casual observer

That this battle could last a long time

For hours it seemed to endure

They raged throughout the night

Until the crack of dawn

Through the first glimpse of morning light

Still this poetic battle continued

Both voices hoarse now and sore

Until finally one poet seemed to stumble

Dropped to his knees on the floor

But even near defeat that poet

Refused to give in and concede

How long this would've continued

Before someone would intercede

Finally someone stepped in and said "Stop!"

"This verbal abuse must cease!"

The battling poets were silent

Exhausted, but finally at peace

This epoch battle of words was ended

But neither poet was truly disgraced

When the champion of poets was declared

The champion poet had been replaced!

(c) BAM

Exhaling this smoke makes my knees feeble,

The ache it creates can't be replaced,

A sad time again, slow and slippery I would slide,

Holding every stick like it's my last.

He said to me, be careful for something this much is bad,

I looked upon the confused old man and replied,

If I would fall to the ground then I would to do it with my stick,

The painful smile on his face told me all,

But my stick can't be left untouched for a day.

As a child I looked at those with it as though they knew nothing,

I said to myself it was meaningless,

I told others that it wasn't creative and won't bring wealth but take your time and money,

Then I knew in my heart that to teach I must have tried,

So here I am with the stick which I judged others for.

The tip feels light and every draw is magical,

It has created patterns which only I can understand,

I feel foolish and I must stop,

How can I?

I am just a little man which the brush of a painter,

Creating various strokes day and night,

My stick has become my addiction,

Here in front of the judge I plead guilty,

Today I am the difference between shades.

With my eyes gazing on the floor,

The judge has convicted me of been creative.

Call me the ADDICT

My mind was lost in an everlasting sea of darkness. My body was damaged, due to those who were thoughtless to my insecurities. I thought that I was in a place of which there was no return, I was in hell. Then it came. A journal my uncle bought for me; he told me it would be a good way for me to freely express myself, that it would be my  "therapy". I didn't pay much attention to his words that day, but now I realize how right he was. I wrote in that journal three times a week for fifty-two weeks and in six years, my life would change. You see, I was able to published my journal and it went on to be a New York Times best seller. My words reached the hearts of thousands of children. I still carry the pain, but now my mind is surrounded by a canyon of good thoughts and happiness. My body scared but healed thanks to the thoughtfulness of the many children who come up to me with the brightest smile to light up an entire room and words that made me cry. I say to all of you reading this. 

                Thank You.

I poked and I prodded

Looking for a battle to land

Then all too quickly

This fool raises his pale hand

Just another team member

To CROSS off my list

Should’ve hid like GhoulCircus

–Shit, even he gets the gist

So sorry Monsieur

I just couldn't resist

–Adding a twist

I mean –you’re a clown,

And clowns don't get pissed

Besides, dueling you

Wasn’t meant to be planned

So let us get back to

The battle at hand

I do have to admit, Cross

It was quite a surprise

You flying out of your cave

To meet your demise

You dare step to the empress

With clouded hopes of success?

Seems to me, this here battle

You best reassess

Thought you'd win against me?

What a foolish vampire

See, I'm a dhampir

And this is my fucking empire

Unlike you, Mr. Cross

–Or shall I call you “Lord Dread”

I didn't crawl out of a grave

’Cause I'm only half dead

I have all of your powers

And none of your weakness

–I can lay in the sun,

Or be blessed by a priestess

And compared to my fangs

–Well,

Yours are just pointless

I'm ruling this battle

Like a boss of the mafia

You’re counting marshmallows

Aren’t you, Count Chocula?

Your only tomb

Is a cardboard womb

Of cereal doom

Oh shit, you don't have a spoon

To eat your way out, I assume

Half vamp and half human

My hybrid's supreme

I'm triple X sex

–You’re just a wet dream

But don't worry bat boy

You might scare up a scream

If you get The Deadman

And The Ghoul on your team

Till then, run along Lord Dread

Go hide out in the dark

–Bury yourself in your grave

Like some fucking aardvark