Sell-By Date


We ordered him to write a verse.

The poet laboured night and day,

With little rest and with no pay,

And penned the best he could muster.

But as time passed, we feared the worse;

Now his ode has lost its lustre.


Its shiny eloquence has gone,

Its bounce and pace is weighted down

And, like a fading seaside town,

The content has slipped out of date.

There is an air of dying swan

In rusting rhymes, so second-rate.


How has it lost its spark so fast?

The sell-by date has reached the bard

Yet he once seemed quite avant-garde.

It shows how quickly fashions change

And lines of words aren’t built to last.

New stuff, though, seems beyond our range.

◄ Leg

Mister Larkin ►


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Brian Hodgkinson

Tue 4th May 2021 16:44

This poem is excellent poetry about poets and poetry. The ranges are open.

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 30th Apr 2021 17:17

My thanks to Aviva for the enthusiastic response and to Ferris for his support. The likes of John, Hugh, Julie, Holden and Leon are also much appreciated.

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Ferris Ty Taylor

Fri 30th Apr 2021 01:01


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Aviva Rifka Bhandari

Thu 29th Apr 2021 20:11

🌷🌷🌷 Brilliant! Wonderful! Stylish! Clever! Amazing!🌷🌷🌷

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