My poems are old fashioned they said, you write for the dead
Now days poetic rhyme has become a crime, they say by your heart be led
Needn't spell, a story to tell, just vomit on the page
Thoughts in tennis shoes carry daily news, sex, joy or rage
Contestants in a race no need for meter to keep pace, just let it run
Neologisms you create giving spelling no weight and meaning there is none
Poems now short stories carry no poetic glories, blobs of ink on a page
Just words droppings of birds, poetry newspaper on the bottom of their cage
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: June 11th, 2026 03:31
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson)
Online)
Comments1
a great analysis and a fav
Thanks so much for the review my friend your support is most valued
most welcome
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