Form poetry, says Robert, is fun, but what does he know?
Has he ever tried writing a double-wrapped sestina?
I want to write poetry that’s lucrative, pulls in gobs of dough
So I’m telling you, in today’s column, punt and free throw
Just like that, he says, write like a poetic ballerina
Form poetry, says Robert, is fun, but what does he know?
I throw my hands in the air, too disgusted to just “let it go”
Heck, I’m the Mindful Poet™, covering the poetic arena
I want to write poetry that’s lucrative, pulls in gobs of dough
So I tell him, Mr. Robert, form poetry is a lot of show
But it has no depth, no imagery, no rhyme, and no patina
Form poetry, says Robert, is fun, but what does he know?
Form poetry is a waste of time, stupid, dumb rondeau
Those of us who are smart will write like Sappho or Athena
I want to write poetry that’s lucrative, pulls in gobs of dough
So take your forms and stuff it; I’ll write like Vince Van Gogh
And with my satchel bulging, jet off to Argentina
I want to write poetry that’s lucrative, pulls in gobs of dough
Form poetry, says Robert, is fun, but what does he know?
