I know why the caged poet screams
Surrounded by the vulgar dreams
Of those whose verses aren't coherent
Or depend on bombast for adherents.
In broken English, they keep blowing
About love, or vogueish politics;
Praised to the skies by those unknowing
Who give their trendy arse keen licks.
Enthusiasm it is they seek
Not skill, or truth, or acuity.
How could they make a deft critique,
Since they can't use the language fluently?
In our times there's a divorce
'Tween verse and skilful reason;
Broken apart by the dreadful force
Of ignorance increasing.
So the general public's grown indifferent
To the scribblings of the poets;
It's a golden age of verse production,
But the public do not know it.
They would have to sift a mountain of dross
To find a few nuggets of gold;
Of course they do not give a toss,
The notion leaves them cold.
On a similar topic:
Translated Verse
In Defence of Verse
Morning Rhymes
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