Neurotic liberals who deny God’s word:
Be born-again. It’s not too late . . .
Or fall upon your own dull sword
With smug intolerant hearts of hate.

You’ve blathered on for years in error
New York Timesing, nose in Atlantic;
May God fill you with His terror
As your reading waxes frantic.

True, you may not be affected
In your grand patrician houses . . .
Still, you might check out, infected
Or your purebred dogs, or spouses.

Another weird prompt
Not worthy of following…
So—write a haiku !

The nymph in vain bestows her pains
That seeks to thrive where Bacchus reigns;
In vain are charms, or smiles, or frowns,
All images his torrent drowns.

Flames to the head he may impart,
But makes an island of the heart,
So inaccessible and cold,
That to be his is to be old.

Hudibras by Samuel Butler is one of my favorite poems. It’s good to know people in India are studying REAL poetry from the English tradition instead of vapid modernist ditherings.