Don’t you read me loud and clear,
You foot-dragging, lifeless
Klutzes cluttering up my rear?
I said it’s deadline time!
Okay.
Now, take one final step forward,
Put your lives on the line and please,
Please don’t make me repeat myself,
Do I make myself clear?
Moderator’s comments: I don’t know about you but I find Cinquor’s tirade against deadbeat poets totally uncalled-for because it oversteps the bounds of poetic decency; after all, where would our muse be if it weren’t for that long illustrious line of bootlickers waiting their turn to grovel at her feet—or should I say feat?
I think it's clear we grovel at
ReplyDeleteher feet as meter makes them tap.
Dance or shuffle, though, a poet's
free to jazz the dance up,
but always at the risk of defeat—
stumbling off into a flat
stretch of mealy-mouthed prose like this.
Now that's what I call tripping--
ReplyDeleteYour light verse fantastic
To its bitter, prosaic end.