The poet has a voice so clean,
It seems so soft and smooth like cream,
And then like gravel; he growls and dribbles
Lines of rhymes like babbled riddles,
Then he pauses, breathes and waits,
shh… and demonstrates
Ease and focus, grace and patience –
Poet learns on metro stations.
The poet has a tongue like a snake,
It slips through his lips as he drools and salivates,
And then with a flourish, he spits and swears,
He bares his teeth with nostrils flared,
Then he pauses, breathes and sways,
shh… and turns the page,
Drunken wit and adrenaline rushes –
Poet learns on London buses.
The poet has words like stones,
They make you think they’ll sink then don’t,
He rhymes idiomatically and idiosyncratically,
Coughs up couplets wrapped up erratically,
Then he pauses, breathes and waits,
shh… and celebrates
Rhythms, beats and friends he meets –
Poet learns on city streets.
He’s making it up, but he can’t move on,
He’s catching me up, but he won’t stay long,
He’s shaking it up, but he won’t go wrong,
Because he’s on a roll.