Preening Poetry

If you can understand a word of this I failed.

I am a poet not yet jailed.

Is modern poetry mad or sad or bad?

If you don’t read it, be glad.

There is a lot of rubbish here on Earth.

For what its worth.

Taking it seriously is a mortal sin.

When will sanity begin?

Strange words, meaning nothing, absolute rubbish, obfuscation.

Truth needs no clarification.

Are politicians poets too?

More sense is spoken in a zoo.

A fog of words meant to impress and confuse.

That’s not poetry, you give me a headache, don’t abuse.

Words are sacred, so is meaning.

Be it, say it, do it, stop your preening.

Tich Ennis

31st October, 2016


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