Our Lady of Poetry

Rhyming verse is a woman scorned
to whom lip service must be paid.
Set free from meter, unadorned
Her lyric fury waits, delayed
as she rambles on in a free verse swoon,
oblivious to whoever’s listening,
babbling to the crescent moon
illuminated, horned and glistening,
bathing her deluded mind
in lunar metaphors of doom.
Do not provoke her—treat her kind
and let her pass to a padded room
or an attic space beneath the eves
where she can rant and find release;
until her frenzied soul believes
that words have meaning…
                              and rests in peace.

    

 

Aprilizing Insta-Poets

WHY IS THE POETRY WORLD pretending that poetry is not an art form? I refer to the rise of a cohort of young female poets who are currently being lauded by the poetic establishment for their ‘honesty’ and ‘accessibility’—buzzwords for the open denigration of intellectual engagement and rejection of craft that characterises their work. The short answer is that artless poetry sells.

Rebecca Watts: The Cult of the Noble Amateur

 

 

Insta-Limerick

The Sun and her flowers By Rupi Kaur pdf ebook free download

A poetess/princess, Miss Kaur

Was promoted through publishing’s power.

Scrawling lines for a hobby,

This perky Punjabi

Turned rupees to dollars per hour.


Poesy Past

I enjoy checking other NaPoWriMo blogs as we await April Fool’s  day.

I have published 30 original poems every April since 2014 for NaPoWriMo.
I am re-posting previous poems during March.
You can read them by clicking on the NaPoWriMo widgets to the right

 

Bitter Poetaste in Mouth

Lightweight free-verse exploration,
withered ghosts and wisps of phrase,
breezy unamusing musings
barely raisehttp://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Comet-Hale-Bopp-29-03-1997_hires_adj.jpg

a titter, tear or lyric warning –
fail to reach a middling height;
then subside to shallow murmurs
(not quite).

Teenage existentialism
cryptic, dull confessional mush;
suitable for a poker-faced
unroyal flush.

Must you set this stuff in motion
fizzling through our universe:
half-bright comets leaving trails
of boring verse?

Incoherent thoughts meander
through your words like fish through nets
unable to ensnare your reader.
One forgets

whatever it was you started saying
(weirdly spaced, unpunctuated).
Could it be such thoughts are better
left unstated?