I noticed a competition in the North and South magazine I brought home from my old workplace yesterday. It required you to write a poem in which every lined rhymed with all the others - the poem still had to make reasonable sense. However, it was the June 2011 edition of the magazine, so I guess someone has already won this particular competition. Not that it stopped me being 'inspired' by the idea.
I'm not a man who frequents bars;
Or thinks it cool to down large jars
Of beer; I've never ever tried cigars;
I don't get sweaty seeing big, fast cars,
And consequently have no scars
From crashing and then seeing stars.
What, you ask, do I live on Mars?
Not at all, I've watched the movie, Lars
And the Real Girl, grammar I can parse,
I know the name of the Curé of Ars,
(John Vianney), know that Fars
Is a province in Iran, formerly called Pars,
Can differentiate Picassos and Renoirs,
However, I've never finger-picked guitars
In bazaars frequented by Russian Czars.