Ivory Tower-Y
DISCLAIMER: This is a tongue-in-cheek, sardonic critique
of my own poetry from the perspective of a fictitious non poetry lover. This is not aimed at any of you wonderful Soup poets... please do not be offended!
Tell me who has the time for a poem?
If there's facts to know, I want to know 'em.
You enjoy sounding Ivory Tower-y
But I don't care for words super flowery.
Your analogies and your hyperbole
Like intense gnats annoy me disturbally
I will catch all your facts as you throw 'em
But I just don't have time for your poem.
All astonishing alliterations
Will arouse in me no titillations
Your undue fascination with meter
Is not shared by this philistine reader.
Your iambic pentameter’s boring
And induces in me rhythmic snoring
You may claim it’s Shakespearean rhythm;
But perhaps we should bury it with him!
Your obtuse meta narrative's yet a bore
Please remind again, what's your meta for?
Your insipid attempts to use simile
Are like choking on smoke from my chimile.
Your pursuit of profound allegory
Should be saved for your purple prose story
But as I've said before, I've no time
To be reading your 4-stanza rhyme.
Should you give me a gift of a sonnet
I’ll be scanning for pawn shops to pawn it
Though you say if I tried hard, I'd love it
What I'd love most is if you'd just shove it!
Reading poetry takes too much work
And I'm only a mid-level clerk.
Your quatrains? I suggest you forego 'em
'Cause I just don't have time for your poem.
Copyright © John Watt | Year Posted 2020
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