By PoeticMeditations

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)


About poeticmeditations

A 19th-century romantic poet living in the 21st-century. The Romantic poets, nib pens, candlelight, waistcoats, and pocket watches are a few of my favorite things.
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