contemporary poetry

how they make poets

take 1 awkward

bastard child

then fill their head

with an intricate mess

of ponderings

of mainly men - long dead

until they positively oggle

at what was once

pretentious twaddle.






then give this bastard

child a pen

or better still

a feathered

 quill

add misery

so they cure themselves

witless

thus pleasing an elite

& boring everyone else

shitless

... 








(author nodes... a touch tongue-in-cheek but too much truth too)

in search of that time honoured nature po-et-ry

i left by the back door

at around 9.03

in search of that time honoured

nature po-et-ry.





the meh pedestrian usual shite

i'm sure you've read 'n' heard

that no one nowadays really writes

just jiggles the words.





but by by 9.07 (ish)

the weather had turned shit

the animals they scattered fast

the nymphs they were amiss.





so amidst this bastard shat

i decided to head back

then went home & penned the usual gubbins

in hindsight

- thank fuck for that

 x

...