Tuesday, October 17, 2006

On poetical correctness

I've broken my rhyming machine;
Whatever can it signify?
I've injured my assonance also,
Which used to dance the salso.

Everything comes out free verse;
Is this a step forward or a setback?
All alliteration also left me of late
And metaphor has met a similar end.

I fell in love the other day;
Naturally she ran a mile.
I couldn't think just what to utter.
She must have thought I was a looney.

Don't even talk about rime riche!
That's another son-of-a-gun.
If metre goes as well,
I will truly be in a place of eternal torment.

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