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.