Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Hey Raisin Face

This poetic form is an example of a "hymnal measure". If you feel particularly musical, try singing it to the tune of "Amazing Grace."

Hey Raisin Face

Hey Raisin Face, don’t come around
to make a date with me:
You should get lost, as I have found
that you are out your tree.

Please face the facts and listen here.
You wonder why I’m peeved?
A sense of dread approaching fear;
this is what you’ve achieved.

The teenage changes, boils to spare
and even more to come;
Your face pokes out from greasy hair:
No way that I’ll succumb.

You’ve had no promises from me
to prompt your overtures.
I’ve not concealed my thoughts; I’ll see
no spotty paramours.

I’m not impressed, you’re bound to fail,
your chances won’t increase
and no duress will make me quail:
I simply don’t like grease.

I’m worth it, all my friends say so,
not shallow by design.
They spotted you some weeks ago;
they warned me you would whine.

Should we be here ten thousand years,
my hackneyed, acned one,
God may like one who perseveres
but I don’t, so be gone.