Sara L Russell, 17/5/14 00:29am*
I speak, therefore I ****.
Complacent in my seat of ancient learning,
I can and will
undo your fragile notions,
your vapid little dreams;
I'll pierce your ego with a word.
Your ego is absurd.
I sleep in blameless peace.
Reclining on my cloud of contemplation,
I can and do
lampoon your trite devotions,
tug on their fraying seams;
I'll take your confidence away
with everything I say.
You're weaker than I am,
Regurgitated clichés haunt your writing,
you know it's true
You wear the same emotions;
no common sense redeems
the foolish things you write
- till I slay them with spite.
Inspired by a war of words between an editor and ex-co-editor of an anthology of poetry. The editor who was dismissed from co-editing wrote a very damning review of said anthology on amazon(dot)com. The original editor was very upset by his words and a battle of counter-reviews began. This poem is a satire of critics in general, especially self-styled poetry critics.
