I call it bad poetry.
Sometimes it's just stacked lines.
Sometimes it's banal and trite.
I break the academic rules
and write songs to be sung by fools.
Maybe I don't suffer enough
to write about tragedy and love.
I call it bad poetry.
Maybe I'm out of touch.
There is such a thing as too much subtlety,
maybe not enough,
or maybe I impress myself too much.
Maybe I'm insecure and out to lunch
and, although I want the world to hear,
I try to beat the critic to the punch.
I call it bad poetry
manic rudimentary ramblings
of a man child with poetic constipation
and stuck in a quatrain rut.
This feeling is nagging
Is it a love song, or self indulgent bragging?
Set a rhyme up here and there.
words are words and there is plenty to spare.
Mind is racing-  feet are dragging
Just one more rhyme will get me there.
Then freestyle for a while
with that smug self satisfied smile,
and write some more bad poetry.