It’s a Mad, Mad, Sad, Bad World

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

Some artists are so desperate for the new

That they create mere nonsense, not the art

We want.  They wield farce art for just the few

In their artistic clique, so from the start

They cripple grammar (if these artists are

What we call poets) or the “grammar” of

Their paintings or their sculptures.  What by far

They prize is being different from the love

That normal people wish in verse’s lines

Or lines of ink or charcoal or of paint.

These artists want designs that aren’t designs

But crud on canvass, words without restraint.

“  Freedom! Freedom! We must break the mould!”

    — This alone their rantings as they scold.

~ Phillip Whidden