Appreciation for the Men of Poetry

A man of few words
He writes in haiku style
His mind's full of art.

If you don't know him
you're living under a rock
His works are awesome:

By Trozz:

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On the other hand is his nemesis Frozz
A heartless dude like the tin man from Oz
He raped Trozz without mercy in their grudgematch of late
It was like the Titanic, a tragic tale of fate
Oh, how I wanted you to win, Trozz
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but still <3 you Frozz

Like Trozz, he's a man of the old english pen
he joined teamliquid in two thousand and ten
He posts in a style unique to his name
Watch out, he's mean in a bo9 game
Enter the 'ozz, the eloquent men

By Frozz:

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Another man is creative in his own unique way,
He posts so rarely, when he does it's a treat,
many aspire to write like him one day,
But that ain't no simple feat.

His creativity is broad, his style is nice,
Requests are taken in his poetry thread,
He'll write about anything,even about mice,
Or maybe about the undead.

Check out his stuff,
they're all over the place,
his latest on an epic bluff,
he lost with the ace:

By defenestrate:

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I grinded, buzzed and bleary,
On an NL50 table as I'd often done before,
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my cash surcease of sorrow in the bosom of a whore -
With the loose and lusty lady whom her patrons call Lenore -
In my heart forevermore.

Thus I sat heads up, unshaven, with a player named 'The Raven.'
He existed for aggression, treating poker like it's war;
With his beady gaze appraising, he was raising, always raising
Any two! It was amazing, such opponents I adore:
Wait for cards to loot the lagtard, massive profits lie in store!
Soon that stack is his no more.

Then my hand Fortuna graces with a pair of scarlet aces,
And I flat. The Raven raises. I delay, my spirits soar.
Call. The flop comes single-suited, and he shoves. It's undisputed:
He is begging to be looted, he's a spewer to the core!
Now he has it, something tells me. Intuition I ignore,
And I make the call once more.

"Bing blang blaow," the Raven uttered. "What the bloody f*ck?" I sputtered,
And I numbly watched the table where the Raven made his score
With a deuce and seven suited; flopped the flush, and I was looted.
What a cooler! Nerves uprooted, anger seeped through every pore.
Checked my roll, which was constructed through the nanos' endless chore:
Eighty cents, and nothing more.

"Raven in the house!" he'd spoken and, "This fifty is a token
Of my mammoth skill at poker. You'd have spent it at the store
For your groceries, I'm guessing. Well, too bad, is that distressing?
Soon I'll cash this verdant blessing; ere I place it in my drawer,
I will rub it on my titties, as I've done in days of yore.
Nothing else could please me more."

Such a rage his words did trigger, and I shouted, "F*ggot n*gger!
Shut your hole, o fishy offal that has drifted to the shore!
Retard donk, you smell like midden! Hope your mom's with cancer ridden!
And the words that you have written slight legitimacy bore;
You will promptly lose that fifty, knowing naught of Sklansky's lore,
Lose that bill and many more."

But the Raven cawed his ditty, "Docs on file and cash on titty!
You're pathetic; I feel pity as I never have before:
Sing of your denied nutrition and express your true contrition,
With an adequate submission, I might possibly restore
Your pecuniary status. Bring your sorrows to the fore,
Only that, and nothing more."

Lacking money, feeling hollowed, my apology had followed,
"Bing blang blaow" from lips departing as a fetid poisoned spore,
"Of my cash I have no traces for Lenore's diseased embraces,
Nor to stuff our pudgy faces with the burgers we adore!
I am sorry for my language, ship some back, sir, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

With my dollars he departed. I stood up then, broken-hearted,
Threw my mouse and punched my laptop and collapsed upon the floor,
And my eyes have all the seeming of Phil Hellmuth's when he's steaming,
And my awful, tilted screaming through my mouth will always pour;
And my roll from the vexation that has pierced me to the core
Shall be lifted - nevermore.

I guess sonnet's part of the family now as well, but I don't know how to write in sonnets, so I'll just post a link to his recent brag blog instead.

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I really don't know how these guys do this on a consistent basis. Poetry's so hard

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