| Satire Poetry
posted September 18, 2015
with respect to all forms of poetic endeavour
Elegy to Traditional Verse
As free verse spells the end of rhyme,
new poets spread the words about,
and metre sounds like antique crime,
archaic rhythms without clout.
The sonnet's form is dying fast.
Its structure, stricture at its worst.
The discipline, like plaster casts,
needs loosing, poet's roles reversed.
The old lament the passing phase;
the centuries of poets fêted,
when epics lasted days and days
if bygone classics were translated.
Where scansion proved the structures sound
and genius bestowed on scribes,
the rhymers were the rock-stars found,
renowned for literary vibes.
Today, the words are spilled with passion
across the page at will or whim.
The shape, the line, the image, fashion
and rhyming verses' time is slim.
Farewell to Byron, Wordsworth, Pope.
The times were good and verses pleasing.
But modern trends erode the hope
and pressure from the frees ain't easing.
All round the words are sprouting freely,
the lines are vertical, oblique.
The imagery touchy-feely.
Straight jackets don't restrict the speak.
Like cubism squared the painter's deal
and jazz abraded music senses,
the poets of today just feel
and bust out through the rhyming fences.
I ponder now of youth poor spent
ignoring elegies and odes.
I ask: shall youth of internet
embrace today's poetic codes?
In pockets here and there they plot,
They hope to get another shot,
be vaunted, vintage visionaries.
On FS, for example, writers
post verses filled with metre, rhyme.
These souls are dedicated fighters
holding back the waves of time.
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