1.
A metaphor
Did nearly appear
In the tune wrote yesterday,
But none is here.

A metaphor?
Did nearly a peer,
But the tune's wrote jester way--
Got puns, I fear.


2.
In this suite, poor rhyming that ain't swell resounds.
The beat of my keys, a drone, in ears rebounds.
To reCAP: THE SUITE'S REPLETE WITH SOUND OF KEY POUNDS.
Work with group. . .writer's bloc don't keep me down.

Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bangs, bangs, bangs, bangs, bangs.
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bangs, bangs, bangs, bangs, bangs.

This ain't no threnody,
No the piece ain't great.
It's really pretty bad,
Just second-rate.

Still we pound out these things. . .
Passes the time.
My gang jaws, "Don't, please, sing!"
Then it is ganja time.


3.
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bhangs, bhangs, bhangs, bhangs, bhangs.
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bhangs, bhangs, bhangs, bhangs, bhangs.

This ain't no plenary:
The gang doesn't bang
On the keys plentif'lly;
The gang dotes on bhang.
I have a plethora
Of stanzas to bang
Into my parody.
I harangue "Help, gang!"
This is my plangent plea.

[spoken]
"Hey, they don't plan with me!"
I gasp.

Bunch of churls themselves are not applying.
They're not toned up for amiright


4.
My aim is five, sir,
To that end I strive, sir.
I know it smells--
Two-thirds a pun's PU.
Munchies must sate:
Eating urge for punch, pea, ewe.

We're stoned and we love food,
But I'm by five stirred, bye-bye, fried bird.
A simile's what my poem's gonna drive fer;
Simplicity I am not gonna strive fer.

"Got a good beet,"
Says bloc head who still feeds.
There is no doubt
That bread fulfills his kneads.

The end's in site:
I'm workin' like a mule driver;
I am striving hard to engender five, sir,
I am drivin' hard to engender five, sir.
I have strived hard to engender less jive, sir.


5.
I'll soon be done,
Soon be done,
I'll soon,
Soon with this tune be done.

I'll soon be done,
Soon be done,
Let subject of this tune be dun. . .

'bout a gray horse. . .

Tune redone,
Tune RE: dun. . .
Use subjunctive till tune's redone.

The tune,
Tune needed be redone.

Retuned,
The tune's redone, RE: dun.


6.
Bang, bang, bang, bang. . . .

Spell-check, spell-check, spell-check. . . .

I can believe it!
The site has received it,
Posted my work of art--
Let the voting start.

I scream as the numbers start to beam in;
I'm aggrieved as the numbers stream in.

I'm miffed--seen my tune didn't get
A fifteen: I swoon, nearly--fret.
My jive don't engender fives, oh crap!
A ratings rap zaps claptrap pap:

"You are four given,
Your "art"'s four given,
You are four given,
Thou art four given,
Four given,
Four given,
Four given. . .

. . .Sorry, pal, but your pun-polluted parody has a paucity of metaphor;
you only net a four. . .

. . .You've just four-striven."