The ACCUSATION

Your verse has offended the Muses. The blame
Must be laid on your poetry: limping and lame
As it drags itself over the last crippled line;
A dead-end for your readers (but you missed the sign).
Your scrawling has challenged the unwritten code
And it’s far more than meaning your readers are owed…
We need RHYTHM with ORDER and measured RESTRAINT;
More range in your palette might help you to paint
Us a picture where color and nature, enhanced
With the music of syllables leave us entranced.
But instead, all your verbiage has put us to sleep,
For your lines are as shallow as Boredom is deep.


       The ARGUMENT

Rhythm is ORDER and order is key.
It is only through measure that music is free
An offense to the Muses, depressing to hear,
Is a verse without rhythm, insulting the ear.
Lyric STRUCTURE brings LIBERTY. Freedom gives life.
Free verse?  Oxymoron—and morons are rife.
Confessional slop . . . yes it’s free, like a prison;
But MEANING grows clear in the service of reason.


       The JUDGEMENT

Your poetry’s up for the yearly review:
Mostly sighing and dithering. Sorry, it’s true.
Your muses are clueless, so send them all packing.
Your modernist drivel is found to be lacking
In context, coherency, substance and wit.
Upon careful re-reading, the Verdict: it’s ****.
As regarding the rambling verse you call “free”,
A real Muse, unimpressed by your English degree
Would imprison your lines and then throw out the key.