My brother and I sometimes communicate in rhyme. We once had an entire conversation (via walkie-talkies during a multi-car family road trip) entirely in limerick. And when I last house-sat for him and took care of the family pets, he wrote out the lengthy instructions entirely in sets of haiku.
Another favorite pastime of ours is to exchange bastardized versions of popular poems.
His latest to me:
I think that I shall never hear
A word as lovely as an ear.
An ear whose inner bits are smashed
Against my brain's synaptic mass
An ear that takes in sound all day,
And hears the music that I play
An ear that may in old age wear
A nest of tuft...ed, graying hair
Upon whose tips sun has lain;
Who ultimately brings the pain
...Sunburn is got by fools like me,
But on my ears most visibly.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as debris
Debris whose hungry soul desires
All things its dishevelment to acquire.
Debris that stinks it up all day,
And fills each room where your kids play.
Debris that rots in summer fair
And curdles, too, when winter's there.
Upon the floor, behold this mess:
Who'll clean it up is your best guess.
The world was formed by God, you see,
But it took us to make debris.
See the original version here and post your own versions in the comments below! Join the fun. If all goes according to tradition, he will shoot back with a response by the end of the day, so watch this space!