100 MPH

“I perform like Mike, anyone

Tyson, Jordan, Jackson”

Well on a good day

I’m Jet Li

Messi, Gretzky

Rusedski

With the serve

From the moment

I first breathed,

The doctor said

He’s gonna be special

With his words

He also declared

I’ll have a flow

Fresher than detergent

I’m excelling up

To Everest with

These verses

Tell the veterans

It’s curtains

Firing on all cylinders

My mental

Mechanisms work

My sensory nerves

Feel the message

Being dispersed

Throughout my body

There’s an

Electricity surge

If the rhythm

Of this energy

As it passes

Through synapses,

Could be condensed

And the essence

Be converted

The sound

And melody heard

Would be most pleasant

Presently this world

Is temporarily cursed

Cause there’s

A lesson to be learned

Until Heaven descends

To meet Earth

I just get carried away

I feel the music

It’s the sweetest

Smoothness

When I hear the beat

That soothes

My feet will move with

The rhythm

And patterns thereof

When the flames

In my brain

Become gaseous

The chemicals react

And flare up

It’s intricate

How I produce words

This very verse

That I imagined

Emerged from

My cavern

Of clear thoughts

Whatever’s abstract

And raw

Makes its way

From my mutant brain

Right from the back

To the fore

It’s a magic of sorts

I’m a poet,

Somewhat of a rapper

You can’t understand

Nor fathom

The rare process

Of how I create

Verbal images

Without a camera

To record

I once was

An amateur

Now something of

A captain and boss

But everyday I should

Be thanking the Lord

For this talent

That’s borne itself

We all have something

In our life which

Has happened

Circumstances

That brought

Us to this moment

So we therefore

Ought to have

Gladness

That we breathe

And exist

At the end of the day

We’re all

Made from flesh,

Matter and water

Approaching

With sadness

The end of

This stanza

But no need to

Clap and applause

Just take a moment

To relax

And then pause…

Now,  

The rap committee

Spoke, saying,

 “MANNYO’s prolific

And consistently

Shows depth

With his grand

And princely flow

It’s as if he’s clothed

And dressed

In a sultan’s

Exquisite robe

Like mints,

He’s so fresh

He’s like a baker

In his hand’s

A mixing bowl

Tossing,

Twisting dough

Stretched

Till it’s granular

And weighing kilograms

A big, brick loaf”

I want a mass

Of riches - loads

Enough to buy

A Da Vinci codex

Never met the man

But I’ve been

To his homeland

Of Italy, though

To Milan, the city

And Florence

To see

Michelangelo’s Sistine

I’ll visit Rome next

Oh yes,

When i’m spitting,

In this mode

I’m going HAM

It’s equivocal

To the mythic Jove

When he attacks

With electricity bolts

I have a knack

For knitting poems

For weaving rhythms

But the creation

Is in fact a mystery

Shrouded

In thick smoke

It’s like the wind

It blows

Here now

But then

What happened?

Where did it go?

I actually, literally

Won’t rest

Till I convince

These

Denouncing critics

That my poems

Deserve a fine

And fitting home

And perhaps

I ought to have

The crown of

An Olympian