The Crane fights the Crab

A rustle of wings,
The swift diving kingfisher,
Cracks shells on the beach.

(Non)-Epic Rap Battles of History

The scene was set, and onto the stage (of Facebook) stepped Colonel Landerman, Gentleman Rapper, vs Kid KVG, in a one night only Battle Royale.

CL

There, there old bean, don't get yourself wet. We'll do this up proper and settle the bet. No need to sully dear Trish's wall, put on your trousers and answer the call. *ring* *ring* Hello? No, I'm sorry, he's not here. To call this gentleman a rhymer would be queer. And adding vice to the verses, let's not stoop to curses, but I will be civil and help you find where your purse is.

KVG
You? Calling me queerer? Seems you lost your mirror.
Trained on the mountain, I'm a lyrical fountain,
With a samurai's grace, I spit verse in your face,
I'm a tower of rhyme; you're a goat fluffing swine,
A scraggle beard git, with a mouth lacking wit,
Now beg for mercy, and take your ass back to Jersey.

CL
In point of fact, Sir, I reside here already. And I'll thank you to listen as I keep the beat steady. Ready? Steady? Off we go. Settle in with a cuppa and enjoy the flow. You see your rhymes? They're the work of an amateur. Allow me to school you in iambic pentameter: I see your lyrics, I can raise a rhyme. Accept your fate, you know you're out of time. To wit: My wit? You sniveling snit. My words are on fire, yours are a witch's tit.

KVG
Your words? Barely Day-Glo. Mine are moi enfuego,
Your beats are unsteady; my rhymes? Ever ready
To bounce you, trounce you, as you flounce
To the Blue Oyster. Me? I'm in the cloister,
Preparing to rhyme, daring to climb
Verbal cliff faces, leavin' no traces,
Of clowns that I put through the paces,
Drownin' 'em in the depths of my graces.

CL
Dear boy, that was weak, like a slap to the cheek from some tawdry young bink who just moistened the sheets. Now look, not to harass you, or to further embarrass you, but your rhymes about me are lacking in veritude. You gave it a go, but let's end this show. I tire of putting your ducks in a row. Was that the sound of my words going over your head? Oh dear, no - It's your mother, calling you to bed.

KVG
Your words are atrocious, in mouth of three year old: barely precocious.
You need verbal depth and clarity, lobotomize me to finally reach parity,
Face it, you're barely a human, your Neanderthal beard needs some deep groomin',
You stoop, you droop, you can barely stand, you only more toward beer cans,
You're a mongrel, a throwback, firmly rejected by nature,
So go grab Fay Raye, and climb that skyscraper.

A waka I wrote for an RPG

 I play a game called Legend of the Five Rings, wherein one assumes the role of a magical samurai. Unlike other role-playing games, where the object is to smash and grab all the treasure in a dungeon, L5R requires its players to dip into the artistic every so often, and thus, I wrote this for my last session, when my character visited a court session. It is a form of waka known as the tanka.

The sword in my hand,
It calms the beat of my heart,
The Wall, it still stands


My destiny is fulfilled,
My child carries my soul on.