I read some odd new verse today; And yet I'm told they make it pay. Pretentious guff devoid of meaning, Seems to be the modern leaning. They eschew the old virtues: Rhyme, assonance and metre Are the sounds they do not choose. Relying on imagination, They despise alliteration. Wading through the language like a beater, Startling the reader with their prose Which seems to have an overdose Of structureless modernity. I think it's called 'free verse'; The price feels right.
If anyone thinks the last verse is a bit 'free verse' itself, I reply:
'consistency is the bugbear of lesser minds'.