A Critic's Meta Review: 4/5
Step aside, Andre Benjamin. Move over, Jim Croce. Get on out of town, Shel Silverstein.
This is how you tell a story in rhyme and meter.
Everything else is merely child’s play in comparison. However, it would be unfair to everyone else to simply crown Samuel Taylor Coleridge the king of rhyming stories (even though he sort of was) and tell everybody else to scram (which is kind of what I just did, but whatever).
Therefore, in the spirit of carrying on the tradition set forth by our pal Sammy T.C., I shall attempt to continue the rest of this review in a rhyming, rhythmic form.
So, without further ado, I present to you:
The Rime Of The Aging Reviewer
PART I
‘Twas a crisp August morn
When I awoke with scorn
As I’d just had a dream
That I was eating some corn
But, alas, I had to break
With this fictional fate
For this was the date
Of my grandfather’s wake
So I put on some pants
To the kitchen, I danced
Cut a slice from the loaf
Held the knife like an oaf
Put the bread in the toaster
The tea on a coaster
Then, I opened up my phone
Because I felt so alone
As my thoughts grew divided
‘Twas then I decided
That a classic I would choose
To sift through and peruse
I picked the one I’d go with
Recalling Hunter Thompson
And his enigmatic fondness
For the works of Sam Coleridge
And so, holding back tears
As I thought of the years
When my grandpa was here
And his tales filled my ears
I knew he wouldn’t want
His passing to stunt
The growth of my mind
So I went on to hunt
For the poem; ‘twasn’t long
‘Til my screen, it was on
So I sat back and scrolled
Through those words of old
With the ticking of the clock
My family began to flock
And soon all were telling me
To stick my phone up on the dock
But I was far from done
I had only just begun
This great tale of seven parts
I was only on part one
PART II
That last line just reminded me
To split this poem up
Like Coleridge did
Ah, forget it
Who am I kidding?
I ain’t cut out for this stuff, man.
