I read and reread



‘poetry’ today

No common man

Would understand

The broken story

No rhyme or rhythm

Is this what is?

I asked myself

Or is this just

The ramblings

Of over-intellectualised,

Pretentious twits?

The story it tells

Disjointed, unclear

It speaks of meter

But has no flow

If read by one

Who forces a tune

The tangled twisting

Of words are ‘smart’

And anything can

Be squeezed into

A stream by force

But is that how

Poetry should be?

Poetry is stories

Spoke to a meter

Made for the folk

To remember a tale

It is passing down

Verbal history

It is the voice

Of the common folk

Not spoken in tongues

They don’t understand

Maybe I could do it

If I really cared

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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