Unpoetical

Unpoetical

To sweat tirelessly,
And more ambitiously
Than good ol’ Wordsworth.
To squiggle and scribble
Not a topic sentence,
But a simple and single
Line, of a plain sonnet.
And the line, he supposes,
Is the greatest in all earth.
But the line he composes
Alas, is as scantily set;
Deficient of all senses
As his own silly existence.

Why sell artistic skill and all?
Why trade in entirety the soul?
For false fame or prosaic sake,
A penname, immortality to make,
Obsessed by fleeting success.
Forgetting the lasting consequences
That leaves life with nothing less
Mocking than bigotries, theories,
And philosophies of failed artistries,
In the footnotes of poetic histories.

The only poets so appealing,
Unaccomplished and unmarketed,
Yet charming and enchanting,
Are verily the poets so inferior.
For the poets so superior
Dangle high in bubbly air, floated
By winds of fame and so appear
Blown out of proportion, inflated,
Exaggerated, in what they really are.

A gifted poet?
A truly gifted poet
Sadly is the most unpoetical
Of all creative creatures.
But a substandard poet,
With third-rate lines so unlyrical
Is such ‘a distinguished genius;
Ingenious! Grandiose! Gorgeous!’
The dimmer their verses gleam,
The more sensational they seem.

Plenty of petty poets
Publish loads upon volumes
Of such mediocre rhymes,
Puffing up these egoless poets
As pretty much attractive.
Then go round boasting of lyrics
They can never ever connive.
The other composes lyrics
In tunes they daren’t pulsate
Nor are predisposed to resonate,
Lines of poetry they can never live.

©Roundsquare .

*Wordsworth – an aspiring but failed poet in V.S Naipaul’s Miguel Street.