25 March 2010

In Fatuous Praise

Trading bits of bullshit
may well fill your day
you’ll play the game
with energy renewed
quite satisfied you’ll
make a merry mark

but hark at humours
ring along the way –
of barfing marks in
piles quite evident, of
rumours disabusing
friendly fantasies

Rhymester you may
want to be but lyricist
as yet you’re not and
poet – well, whatever,
but you’ve got a way
to go to get to there

In trading platitudes of
grandiose and artless
praise for crap you’ve
made a case defacing
your implied integrity –
you never get it back
© 19 February 2010, I. D. Carswell