Crap, he mutters, balderdash,
these poets must be fascinated
with childish rhyme – repeated
lines ad nauseum, nursery climes.
So much for the neo-sophisticate
who seeks words that resonate in
tones appealing falling in the trap
of reading easy verse penned with
slavish care, verse going nowhere
at a snail’s pace. Too pedestrian for
me, he says, too proletariat and fat
with tautology. I need speedy verse,
lean and firm with meaning. Where
do I go for that? I regret, my friend,
the explanation why contends a
low demand exceeds PH supply...
© 10 July 2007, I.D. Carswell
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