I applaud you for your efforts - you truly have a gift,
or a knack, for unpacking smack and yakking up the grift.
You're not hard to understand or comprehend - your drift is clear,
but your pride impedes your flow just like a poorly-lifted weir.
I'll remand you to the archives just to verify your prose;
before you mar your parchment, you should study all the pros.

What gelid hell is this you've brought the eyes of sinner men?
It's a bark that's far less fragrant than the skin of cinnamon.
You can smile, you can seethe, you can lock yourself in rime -
but you can't bring righteous heat with your lukewarm rhymer's crime.
Your pen's wrought drops of ink that plop like slop and soiled shame,
and this excrement, you execrant, sounds rather like your name.

Let me offer you a lesson: have you learned your ABCs?
It's a scheme that's easy-peasy - you can use it as you please!
Though some may call it childish, and some may call it plain,
it's just the kind of thing for someone with your kind of brain.
So find a seat among the stacks in your newsroom of choice,
and study what I've taught you 'fore you "grace" us with your voice.

Extra credit! Here's some synonyms for cinnamon, you clown,
as a colour: umber, cocoa, hazel, russet, tan, and brown.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Lupar, in the year 1010 AF.