Doctors and engineers of poetry

Doctors and engineers of poetry

Hey you doctors and engineers of a breed,
Write what you want that your heart has to read.
Amuse yourselves rogues with the cut-paste rules,
With doctrines little dull that stare like the fools.
Your rules are so fixed that they cannot even limp,
You are covered with self you hired little pimp.
Poetry is not this? It is never ever that?
You must be married to a sick and meek brat!

It is here right with us, they’re unequal and same,
They sing and they cry, with or without shame.
Feeling that’s shy, yet brave on the go,
That’s just a little hint, you pseudo intello.
In verses that run without and within,
They’d better make some sense for your borrowed little grin.
Your eyebrows would rise to discard the game!
For you’d want to rule, with your willy-nilly name!

Listen up you there, you knotty dotty dud,
Let us also stay in our cosy little thud,
You go ahead and rot where your sickness would fly,
Liars that we are, we’d seldom comply.
Go wherever you want, with your breasts and your chests,
Our lines are not marked, unlike you and the rest.
You protectors of poems, you’re here to stink and rust,
We’d write about the nothings, we'd lick the brownie dust.

Now look at this here, just look at what I’ve done!
A set of rules so dry we’d throw and overrun!

16 October 2014