To a tune by Cole Porter
In olden days a nifty stanza Could earn bards a big bonanza - These days aren't those. Everything's prose. For now we've got a prose hegemony Closed as a sea anemone 'Gainst rondeaux. Everything's prose. An ode today's Not the mode today. A triolet today You can forget today A sonneteer today Will earn a sneer today, While the public doze. A poet now is small potatoes, He's lacking cash and status He's otiose - Everything's prose!
Are folk dosed with some subliminal Message that rhyme is criminal? Heaven knows! But everything's prose. So maybe you may growl and curse if I Tell you I love to versify, I suppose. Everything's prose. No chance today For words to dance today, So let's frown today At dumbing down today For the wits today Of the Brits today Are slow as escargots. Rhythms slacken and grow weedier. In new and ancient media, Tedium grows - Everything's prose!
Linda Crespi
If you've any comments on this poem, Linda Crespi would be pleased to hear from you.
Linda Crespi now has her own web page on the Snakeskin site.