Best Poetaster Poems
Are you ready to be a poet or a bard?
A romantic or a bad ass?
A poetaster or a poet laureate?
A good girl or a bad guy?
Would you rather poeticize or take poetic license?
Would you like to be referred to as a romantic or a rogue?
To compose in verse or keep writing until you make your missive worse?
I choose all.
I am a writer.
This is what
We do….
To dwell in the realm of Doggerel Bank
Shows the writer up as a crank.
Should anyone my poems stoop to chronicle,
I would surely be ranked with the Great McGonagall.
Whether I rise with lark or cockerel
My poems sink to the depths of Doggerel
If nocturnal like bat or owl
My verses stink of murder most foul.
With reason then will I abjure rhyme
Writing bad verse is worse than a crime
No more will I a poetaster be
And so I set my readers free..
So fair fortune to those who versify well
Adieu to my readers , my final farewell.
Tell us, you say, in your profound complexity
Prophet, griot, artist, word maker
Why do you litter our hearts with song?
I do not write for the crowd in Dubai
For the poetaster and rhyme maker
I write for the discriminating eye
The unweaver of magic images, breaker
Of spells, and wonderment of the child.
It will read a poem and understand
The archtecture of history is better built
And when the books are all torn up
And tradition of lies is unveiled in the night
The masses will come candleness
And light a upon a page and find light.
I write to rage
In paradigmal shifts against the loss of things
Including the plucking of my own wings.
And sometimes in my rage I sing
And sweet the tongue to sing along
Thinking of freedom as we die ... without a song.
A poetaster seems sadistic
if he writes longer than a distich.
Volodymyr Knyr
2016
The poetaster attempted to write a couplet with success
The results were more than embarrassing nonetheless.
the Poetaster
syllabic bastard
quoth the poet,
nevermore
thine versifier
pathos bathos
pathetic liar
rhymester runes
huckster tunes
hurry! hurry! hurry!
here's more of rhyme
no worry...or sublime
sub-worse verse
© Goode Guy 2011-09-27
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peri_Bathous,_Or_the_Art_of_Sinking_in_Poetry
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Pope
http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/poetaster
http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/rhymester
http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/versifier
Hear Me, O Muse, no moos or cluckings, muckings or horns of fog
Do sound the clamoring claxons of the bardics that be written by William McGonagal o’ the Bog,
That Laird of Lamentations Disastrous, that Scot Wha’ Hey Nonny Nonny,
Laureate of the quite awful woeful grueful stuff that happened a-when Goode Queen Victoria was stuck-in in Buckingham and Balmoral and the rest, recall ‘em, of her palaces oh so very bonny,
All about bridges steel a-budging, assassinations most foul all gone kerplooey,
And many and other suchlike things dire. And then that tasty poetaster who be
Known far and near for all his poems fair about domestical bliss most sweet a-cloying,
Edgar Guest, good ol’ scrivener of the everyday, of pathos and bathos does he sing,
Garden paths and bubble baths and let’s not be forgetting the good ol’-fashion verities,
A poet to speak for everyone no matter who or how finicky, he’s.
Let’s round down to an even three with Rod McKuen, syrupy-treacly and saccharine,
Escape from thought and subject and technique and all things stern or black-and-grim,
As sure as roses are red and violets are blue
And God made the little green apples red but once in a while green too.
I swear I cannot live unless I’m able to read them many times per diem,
At work, at home, in bed, or sometimes while at my BM.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXXVI
IF you pull a long-famished face
Chances are you'd pull derisive looks your way
Some might relent Others spite your face
For not pulling your weight in every way
If you pull a long symbolic face
Your words no meaning profound convey
Mallarmé's ill-armed ideas make poems fall on face
Try E = mc2 : Poem = idea + words2 to force poiea
If you pull a long straight face
The contradiction might show through the gap in the veil
Sure as Rita Hayworth " put the blame " on Orson Welles
If you're not sure of the signs in poems you use in braille
If you yet pull a long-forsaken face
Stymied by photons neutrinos criss-crossed by Cosmic Ray
Stop wondering what happened to meaning words efface
Just listen to rhythmic rhymes in the musical phrase at play
So if you must pull that long-mutated face
With time won't ideas coalesce words into Shakespearean play
At will stream out of computer softwares at mind-boggling pace
Leave neither poet nor poetaster critic nor customer with pay
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 25, 2019
From poetaster to poet-ass
This ain't no leaf of grass.
Walden's pond is a stinking morass
And love is but blaring brass.
No Elysian fields lie yore
And the meadow is a blooming bore.
Nature is reduced to God's only whore
And all I feel is a whole lot sore.
Jealousy reigns supreme
Oh, why can't I just continue to dream.
If Life's best offer is a Krispy Kreme
Go to Hell if you don't like my scheme.
For the Poet Laurette contest by Brian Strand(this one was a real challenge)
Poetaster am I, award unworthy,
Gratitude given to the great state
Whose honor did bestow me
Acceptance gladly and thankfully recieved
Hail Georgia!
This is the Vignette form of narrative.
Under her magic, honeyed words poured forth
filling his fervent verse with rhyme and wit
for suitors to woo and doxies commit
to carnal indulgence and thus henceforth
as topmost poetaster of the north
his purse was filled with gold and silver bit.
But at autumn's end, away he would split
to rest in warm climes until May the fourth.
Then an El Nino year, when she stayed south
his verse thickened, treacle in climate's scold
his sharp pen, now dull, only rent the page
full of awkward phrases, crude and uncouth
his once bright parlance now tattered and old
as her light shifted to another stage.
Stranded courtesy bittercold without food or drink
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to bethink
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire chink
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named dink
(dual income without kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following more purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eyewink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me ratfink
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy liberally did hoodwink.
Where Doth The Internet Exist?
The pro fun ditty of above
stated poetic side - title aligned
into an unexpected Eureka
(out of a vacuum) find
just when I felt slight (creative/
cerebral constipation) bind
of writer's block about
to take residence, entwined
(no doubt, sans right wing
of leftist conspiracy) behind
many occurences, when
fountainhead shrugging atlas
without warning didst grind
abruptly to a halt seizing
as if glommed up
ore din aerie profusion of ideas
exhausted from out mum mind,
and without moment's hesitation
ready to conclude I did overwind
springy coils oh me noggin,
though as per usual spellbind
ding idea coalesced within gray matter
startling me, qua omnipresent question
arising since Dawn of womankind,
how can one grasp hold of world wide web
defying insight as if suddenly rendering
myopic (accompanied with floaters) vision blind,
hence hum aware information
superhighway servers
encircle the globe and most all humankind
no matter where cyber surfer "travels"
only represents bytesize piece, viz mastermind,
who dreamt up ability to become linkedin
with a complete stranger consigned
to make sense of mine pablum
lumpy globs of non comestibles opined
on par like trying to chew melon rind
courtesy this poetaster he unwittingly
in his feeble attempt to impress
held accountable, cuz he unwittingly signed
death sentence to innocent reader,
who before this muck cob bray
auto to have sacrificed himself
to a gremlin and resigned!
Who you calling a soupy sap? Soupy.
I like slurping soup when it turns into sloup
‘Cause I been staying up way too long
Sippin’ soup into the wee hours of night,
Sometines, I even make it to the Morning light
My head’s full of mystery and wonder
As I lap up your lyrics and huff up your haikus
I stir up the pot with a few of mine own
I’m such a soupy sap, I am
I just love getting soupy with strangers as friends
Never knowing who I just might find
Perhaps, another like mind, or not
I just like it, love it, when you’re soupy and hot
Filling my head with dreams, wit and pondering plots
Let the note that you once wrote
Catch a glimmer of fame
And add it to the soup
Let it dissolve my brain
And evolve my frame of mind
Through time
And it gives me hope
It just may be the extra added flavor -
We’ve all been waiting for. . .
So, I say it again, who you callin’ soupy? Soupy.
I like it when you’re soupy, my friend
I ‘ll like you soupy to the end
Keep it tame but take no prisoners
Nobody wants sloppy seconds
Certainly, nothing artificial
So always keep it real, from the heart
At the very least, from the Art.
Come, be a part of my world
As I enter yours.
So, go ahead. . .
Get soupy, sloppy soupy
Blazed, glazed and gone sloupy
I tale you, there's really something soupy going on here
Oh my, lots of sloupiness
Oh my goodness, too much soupiness!
As if that was even possible.
This is just how I get when I taste your poems on poetrysoup.
Regarding yours truly
he experienced setback
amplified by Luddite propensity
nostalgic longing for simpler age
bring back horse and buggy
better yet find me a mancave
and/or apprise me
ideally via email
Flintstone web page modality
allowing, enabling, and providing
excellent linkedin access
whereby augmented
and/or augmented reality
telecommunication simulation
delivers, exports, and ferries lame poetaster
to small town America
a place that time forgot and
the decades cannot improve
within which dwell
strong women, good-looking men
and above average children
Wobegon place name
preserving lifestyle
exhibiting voluntary simplicity
though aforementioned fictitious locale
fires up imagination as does
a place called Willoughby
flourishing along outer limits
of twilight zone
buzzfeeding outlier zee
crème de la crème confabulist
this side of Schwenksville
hankering towards... nebulous
body, mind and spirit synchronicity
courtesy sweat of mine brow equity
acquiring alliance, cognizance, existence,
guidance, intelligence...
think Dick Proenneke
alone in the wilderness survivalist
jack of all trades
I would live free,
yet nevertheless die
ill equipped to captcha victuals
and/or drink
to stave off hunger
and/or thirst respectively
one twenty first century beastie boy
heavily dependent upon
urbanization, mechanization,
industrialization, civilization
to savor creature comforts
climate controlled environment(s)
courtesy finite fossil fuel extraction
*****sapiens scourge upon planet Earth
me metaphorically on par
one more human parasite
zapping nonrenewable resources
thus desirous (yet helpless)
to forsake consumerist lifestyle
yet lack ways and means
to toil physically
to wrest good n plenti
juicy fruits of labor,
which initial premise
as iterated with poem title
dramatically off tangent, yes?