Another failed poem

Poetry is not my fort;I cannot construct walls of meaning

To defend or to conceal

Hidden passages of depth.

Parody will neither parry

Nor thrust witticisms

Across the great divide.

Arrows of outrageous hyperbole

Won’t leave allusory quivers.

I will not pour the boiling oil of scorn

On imaginary foes.

Pyrrhic foot soldiers

Do not march meter

On Petrarchan battlefields,

Beating pentameter in their wake.

So here I stand,

Undefended,

Laying waste to words.

Scrawling my tell-tale heart across

Clumsy-constructed barricades;

Brains staked ripe for pillory,

Without rhyme or reason

Until the end-stop of the line.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s