Think of me as A-leash in Wonderland.
He walks up to me; all of a fluff,
Takes a bow and then brings this up,
Hey Riddhi, I’ve heard you write,
And mentions his blog and extends an invite,
So did you read my latest effort?
Forgive me but I must have overlooked it,
So there I sit, dimly aware,
Of impending torture, while at me he stares,
As I read, he watches my expressions,
I’m being euphemistic, I meant contortions,
For everyone’s a poet, everyone can write,
All u need is Google and a rhyming website.
He starts off well, he talks of dreams,
And then likens them to milk and cream,
He touches upon beauty, he touches upon grace,
And subsequently his elegance vanishes without trace,
He wrote this piece with a passionate fire,
But his words seem fitted together with barb wire,
Fitted? No, wedged, is the word I’ll choose,
Oh! The metaphors he has managed to use.
This part isn’t even the most atrocious,
He’s managed to include supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!
And I would appreciate if his little twists
Did not remind one of resident word lists,
Oh! How cruelly he sows the lines,
If I were you, I would jump off an incline,
A violent death seems more pleasant,
Than to confront your poem's dead end.
And in the end he tries to be risqué,
To grace us with another gaping mistake.
I hope you will learn, and none too soon,
That there is noise and then there is tune,
And when talking about your lady’s charm
Do try not to bring in a graveyard’s calm,
For as composed and collected as she might be
Your misguided efforts will set her free,
Of any faith she might have had,
In your abilities with the pen and pad.
You may be a poet, you may be a writer,
But in pure silence your prospects shall be brighter,
Try you hand at embroidery instead,
For you are a living justification, for things left unsaid.
Takes a bow and then brings this up,
Hey Riddhi, I’ve heard you write,
And mentions his blog and extends an invite,
So did you read my latest effort?
Forgive me but I must have overlooked it,
So there I sit, dimly aware,
Of impending torture, while at me he stares,
As I read, he watches my expressions,
I’m being euphemistic, I meant contortions,
For everyone’s a poet, everyone can write,
All u need is Google and a rhyming website.
He starts off well, he talks of dreams,
And then likens them to milk and cream,
He touches upon beauty, he touches upon grace,
And subsequently his elegance vanishes without trace,
He wrote this piece with a passionate fire,
But his words seem fitted together with barb wire,
Fitted? No, wedged, is the word I’ll choose,
Oh! The metaphors he has managed to use.
This part isn’t even the most atrocious,
He’s managed to include supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!
And I would appreciate if his little twists
Did not remind one of resident word lists,
Oh! How cruelly he sows the lines,
If I were you, I would jump off an incline,
A violent death seems more pleasant,
Than to confront your poem's dead end.
And in the end he tries to be risqué,
To grace us with another gaping mistake.
I hope you will learn, and none too soon,
That there is noise and then there is tune,
And when talking about your lady’s charm
Do try not to bring in a graveyard’s calm,
For as composed and collected as she might be
Your misguided efforts will set her free,
Of any faith she might have had,
In your abilities with the pen and pad.
You may be a poet, you may be a writer,
But in pure silence your prospects shall be brighter,
Try you hand at embroidery instead,
For you are a living justification, for things left unsaid.
14 Responses to “Everyone's a poet”
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Good ol' ATOM
ive never heard someone being so unapologetically rude and still be good at it :)
Riddhi
Someone recommended your site to me. I enjoy your writing. I was wondering if you wanted to read my blog. Our writing seems to touch upon the same topics in life.
www.theregoesajazztune.blogspot.com
thanks.
(Mute from There Goes a Jazz Tune)
**I remain annonymous on my site so that I can write freely.
Wow!
I'm way out of my league here, but this is awesome stuff. I'm impressed. Never knew I was sitting beside a writer and photographer. You have to send me these (and others)pics.
For some weird reason I'm reading your blog and not the book for the dreaded paper tomorrow.
that was downright rude yet very forthright.
that was downright rude yet the earnest truth. great going.
Hahahahahahaha...
oh my god! just can't stop laughing! :D
rock on!
would've loved to see the face of the poor soul though :)
Beats me as to how Lucknow is doing these things to you :p Never wrote anything we know of in college :) Nice and funny.
And yes Everyone's a poet.
@rahul
never wrote anything? omigosh! you forgot my "ode to 10.100.56.11" in sem 2? I actually put that up on the Vexpress board in the canteen :P
it went like 'karma karma where art thou....'
Wierdly enough, for someone who is criticizing other people writing bad poetry... your poem is as sad as theirs. Trying to pull off a Matthew Arnold? I mean you ought to have an illusion of excellence in verse to go on and bitch about how others write so badly (oh or wait, maybe it was a satirical take on them which is why you immitated them and worte 12yr old poetry.)
My My. Such directed anger? Almost amusing.
Care to tell me why you think this is "12 yr old poetry". Or for that matter why "12 yr old" poety is bad? Or what you meant by "12 yr old poetry"? I assure you I wrote it very recently.
Why would I try and pull of Matthew Arnold? Why should you assume you know the purpose behind my intent? Why should you be the judge of "illusion of excellence" in verse? Why are you trying to objectify such a highly subjective issue?
Sigh. So you didnt like my poem? My sympathies. Waste your time somewhere else.
Geez! What a dress-down for our Shake the Spear! Quote: Me thinketh, you stinketh!
rude, in-your-face, humoristic piece..as for our penman, PBUH. :D
Geez! What a dressing down for our 'Shake the Spear'..violently shaken and vitriolically stirred, i guess..
quote: me thinketh, you stinketh!
rude, in-your-face, poetic acid..
PS: They say, it's easier to make a turd than a bard of yerself.
Just two words - Brutally Honest.