Pretty baubles all strung together,
Fluffy topics light as a feather,
No thought given to form or rhythm,
Has become the fashionable trend.
All gone the meter, all gone the rhyme,
Alliteration is now a crime.
No time for such things like a stanza
Or what might rhyme with Tony Danza.
True confessions and ranting rages,
Random thoughts thrown down on the pages
With a quiet whisper or with a shout
To shock is what the game’s all about.
Nothing sacred, not one taboo.
Now you can write an ode to the loo.
Neither bird nor beast nor solid stone:
Prose + Poetry = Proem.
From aunts and uncles to first cousins,
“Proets” are a dime a dozen.
What poets in their graves are turning?
Robert Browning is that you squirming?
(PoeticMeditations © 2017. All rights reserved)