Poetaster Poems | Examples

A dirge in PRAISE of MGonagall's Forth Bridge

A poetaster I will always be
Renowned throughout eternity
For wonky metres and dodgy rhymes
Amongst my other versifying crimes
Like dull images and dreary words
Not to the liking of animals and birds
Whom Orpheus charmed with lyrics rare
While my efforts they  just cannot bear
McGonagall is the master to whom I bow down
The man who merits the peerless crown
Of poetry so ludicrously solemn
That it earns derision in any newspaper column
His Forth Bridge production  garners distinction
For drawing down mockery on its versification.
I must thank the website to which I belong
In allowing me to keep singing my song
That honour I bestow upon Poetry Soup
With its generosity  towards  my glutinous gloop

Calliope Lost

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.

Trickster Rhymester

Ballad monger sang effervescent song
trickster rhymester thinks he is rarely wrong
tasteless verse
sometimes worse
a poetaster all the week long

If You Pull a Long Face - Part Xxxvi

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

What Poets Do

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….

Hope Eternal

Another poetaster or a budding Baudelaire?
No one takes much notice, no one seems to care.
He writes his contributions yet knows deep down within
Another terse rejection slip is what’s awaiting him.
Enclosed within an envelope the editor’s regrets,
Another sprig of poetry returned with due respects.
But why does he continue, knowing every rhyme
Like bread cast on the waters returns – before its time?

Perhaps it is perversity that makes him not give in,
Perhaps he is a hero who knows he cannot win.
Perhaps he’s writing doggerel that hides a gem or two.
Perhaps Apollo’s sunbeams - though so rarely - do shine through.
Perhaps - -  he is a genius born long before his hour.
It is this thought which most of all provides his staying power.
“Those stuck-up academics  who deny my hidden talent
Shall one day crave my pardon when its wonders are  apparent”.

A Poetaster

A poetaster seems sadistic 
if he writes longer than a distich.

Volodymyr Knyr
2016

The Beginning of My Poetic Side

At first I thought it's just waste of time,
Making verses with words that rhyme..
Till someone asked if I can write,
A poem for her I said "I might"..
Then I feel she's mad about my answer,
So I said "Yes, I'll send it later"..
.
.
What I have to write is about music,
I lay down to bed and begun to think..
My first two lines serve as the key,
In this mind torture-like called poetry..
Even at first I want to scream and cry,
I was amazed in myself on my first try..
.
.
I send to her so nervously,
My very own first poetry..
Wondering of what her reaction would be,
All I ever want is to make her happy..
I was so glad coz' I did'nt failed,
To make her smile by the poem I made..
.
.
I am Cañeza Mark Jerome,
I'm starting to love making poems..
Expressing my thoughts,experience and
emotions,
With words that excite my imagination..
.
.
I know my poem needs a lot better,
Coz' in poetry I'm just a beginner..
I'm practicing my poetic skill much harder,
I don't want to be called a Poetaster..

A Rhymester's Couplet

The poetaster attempted to write a couplet with success
The results were more than embarrassing nonetheless.

**** Poetica

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.

Tell Us, You Say

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.

Doggerel Bank

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.

Sinking Verse

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

Poesy- Brian Strand

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.

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