I don’t come all stylized,
they pick me from a patch.
Then I get lobotomized,
and zombies eat my guts!
Little tykes are mesmerized,
by candle light in me.
Later, I’ll get vandalized,
when big boys make their snatch.
They leave me in the street... pulverized.
The Magic 9 is a newer form and relatively unknown. In fact, I couldn’t find a creator of the form, though it appears to have been inspired by a poet misspelling the word “abracadabra.” This 9-line poem doesn’t have any rules as far as meter or subject matter–just a rhyme scheme: abacadaba. ~ Robert Lee Brewer
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