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The content has slipped out of date.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 ►

Comments

Profile image

Brian Hodgkinson

Tue 4th May 2021 16:44

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

Profile image

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.

Profile image

Ferris Ty Taylor

Fri 30th Apr 2021 01:01

😅

Profile image

Aviva Rifka Bhandari

Thu 29th Apr 2021 20:11

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

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message