Go Away, Brutal Poets
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
“The unripe grape, the ripe, the dried . . . All things are changes, not into nothing, but into that which is not present.” ~ Marcus Aurelius
The question that arises is, do we
Want raisins when we want to taste champagne?
I don’t. True Brut of wines comes made with care . . .
With rules and strictures. If I want the stain
Of raisins in it, I will let you know.
Until that time refrain from breaking rules
That make the brut, or at the least to don’t show
Your sonnets. I am tired of haughty foals
Who think that villanelles are playthings made
To muck around with. If the forms are not
What you desire, then take your daft crusade
Away to “free verse” . . . since you’ve lost the plot.
I do not need you mucking beauty up.
The sonnet’s chalice needs no Modern cup.
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