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I knew.
There once was a poet called ‘hant,
Who loved his witty black cat,
They battled in flyte
A sorrowful sight,
Cause the cat beat the pants off of ‘hant.
Boy that‘s good stuff, And I wrote it in five minutes. You’re not the only poet in Ricochetland, ‘hant. I’m only sorry that ‘hant doesn’t rhyme with cat. I call that an off rhyme. Will that do, ‘hant?
Oh yeah? Well so’s your old man.
Is haikai related to haiku?
Are you sure you aren’t talking about a Yo Mama Fight?
The term “arahant” has varied over time. One version is “arhat,” which does sort of rhyme with cat.
Yes. Renga and then haikai no renga were done as group exercises. The form was a tanka, which looks like a haiku with two extra seven-syllable lines. (All reference to syllables here are approximations since languages vary significantly, especially Japanese from English.) The first person would start with the first three lines, and the next person would respond with the final two. A chappie named Bashō started writing the first part while alone and thinking about life. This became the haiku, which he seriously elevated from what it had been in the haikai no renga.
It’s definitely related, Spin.
Great post.
As you noted, there is indeed a long tradition of which I’m proud to be a part.
Yo mama’s so fat she stepped on a scale and it said “ To be continued.”
Old and emeritus Kent
His perspective was possibly bent.
For likes he would flog
With pics of his dog,
But likes never did pay the rent.
Yo mama’s so fat that when she was dropped off at the airport, she bent over to grab something and her tight yellow pants split, and two guys got in because they thought she was a cab!
‘Hant, you’ve put me to “flyte ” with your limerick. I’m left struggling to keep my ego from plummeting after that satiric pummeling.
I’m forced to admit that you’ve got a good limerick there, especially the part about my flogging for Likes by inserting pics of my dog Bob into my posts. There might be truth in that. You and Marie the wife agree with one another.
So good on you, ‘hant. I’m always underestimating you.
Yo mama so fat, Pando saw her and thought he’d met his match.
I just read that to Marie and she chuckled. And she doesn’t have the best sense of humor in the world, so I think you’re written something funny there. I did emphasize the word “yellow” when I read it to her, though, because I thought she would miss the significance of the word. She’s not all that bright.
Kinky!
Yo mama so fat that when she sits around the house, she really sits around the house.
When dishing abuse poetic
Against philosophers noetic
It may well be
A new light you’ll see
And switch to music threnodic.
You mama so fat she replaced Pluto as the ninth planet.
She married Kent, ain’t that right.
There you go again, Arahant, shaming me in rhyme. I’m a very sensitive person, so I can only barely take the abuse.
Come on, Kent. You taught literature. Step up to the plate. Return fire. Any cliché you want. Come at me, bro. 🤣
Fancy words of prosody like“noetic” and “threnodic” are uncalled for, ‘hant. No one knows what those words mean. I think you’re putting on the dog.
I have others…but I can’t put them here…
‘Hant, I would clean your clock, but I must go now. I have to walk the dog — and in the Oregon rain as usual.
Sloppy trails, Kent.
I’ve got no dogs to put on, Kent, only cats. They hold me to a higher standard.
He may enter the contest with heart
And then find that he’s not very smart
He will try very hard
To lay down a trump card
But he’s also not very good at rhyming.
There once was a fellow named Judge,
Who with rhyme was well-known to fudge.
But his rhythm was worse
Dragged away by a hearse
To a dirge as the horses did trudge.
Fool Arahant thinks I can’t rhyme
Though we know that he’s well past his prime
He can barely compare
And thinks it unfair
I’m so good that it’s nearly a crime.
Pretty good, Mr. Mental. I think you can more than hold your own with ‘hant.