National Poetry Month Smackdown

National Poetry Month is almost over, which means it must be time for me to call Mr. Sun out for a poetry smackdown. Let's start with a limerick.

Sun's been served with a rhyming subpoena
to compete in the poet's arena.
Though he'll try to contend,
he will fail in the end,
'Cause he rhymes like a drooling hyena.

This is going to be easy, because he's getting lazy -- all he does is post music videos from YouTube on his blog.

Previous entries.

Update: Uh, oh. Mr. Sun thinks he's coming on strong, attacking my hobbies and profession:

Classics and historic preservation
For Wharton, are the path to elation
To the past, he is tethered
To the last, he has treasured
Ancient forms of self-gratification

and

The cocoon of your ivory tower
Is a womb for your false sense of power
With delusions of grandeur
You come at me to slander
Hear me, Wharton: this Sun will not cower!

Not bad. Some good moves in there. But now let's switch forms. Haiku!

Debbie and Swiss Miss
Cute spelling bee teenaged girl
Sun is so lonely

Update II: Sun writes, As you wish. You are no match for my crane-style haiku. Your Master did not teach you as well as my Master taught me. Your Master is lame. My Master is like when Butch Harmon was teaching Tiger Woods, and I'm talking about at the very peak of his fame. My Master is red hot and you're Master ain't diddly squat. We sit around and laugh at your Master, sometimes calling him names and questioning his skills as a lover. You think you have stung me, but soon you will experience the pain of my stanzas of fury!

As long as we're talking about jobs, Sun ...

In a tall glass box
Talk to people on the phone
I am important

And you know what else? I've met Butch Harmon. Butch Harmon gave golf lessons to members of my family. Butch Harmon and me and members of my family sit around and have drinks in the clubhouse and play rummy and we don't laugh about you -- we don't even think about you.

Update III: Sun comes back with some hard shots to the head!

See my soul, do you?
No. What you see is rubber
What you are is glue

When we meet for lunch,
and you arrive on scooter -
I die a little

Why do I vex you?
Is it my thick head of hair?
Oh yes, I went there

Let me take my gloves off for a moment, and reflect:

We are proud of this
What does that say about us?
Something bad, I bet

OK, one last response from me, and it's going to be the knockout punch:

Last night I had a dream
When I got to town
I had a hell of a rumble!
I had to beat Sun's big behind
for claiming to be king of the jungle!
For this fight
I rassled with alligators
I tussled with the whale
I done handcuffed lightnin
And put thunder in jail!
You know I'm so bad
I have murdered a rock,
I injured a stone
and I hospitalized a brick!
I'm so bad I make medicine sick!
I'm so fast man
I can run through a hurricane
and don't get wet!
When Mr. Sun meets me,
he will pay his debt!
I can drown a drink of water
and kill a dead tree!
Wait til you see ...

Uh, damn. I didn't write any of that. This guy did. Sun has bested me in a contest of the dozens. I'm throwing in the towel for this year.

But I'm still hot.
I'm hot 'cause I'm fly
and you ain't 'cause you not.