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He's a tome thumpin' titan of the Poetry Elite,
He gives high praise to Dickinson, Stevenson and Keats.
But he is no recidivist; no piner for the past,
And if you use those rhyme schemes now you better watch your ass.
The art form, he will tell you, must evolve at every turn,
And dissappointing advocates isn't his concern.
He has a higher calling, new visions to engage,
With margins, funny margins, that leap across the page.
And content, bloody content, what anachronistic swill.
Punctuation marks inspire more than content ever will.
He'll leave his mark on poetry, he's a player in this game.
Could be the art forms eulogists will mention him by name.
So all you would-be poets, put away that Kipling book,
And write your prose (or grocery lists) with that sassy modern look.
Drop those rhyming schemes you like, and lose that metered beat,
And soon you'll find you're work embraced by the Poetry Elite!
About this poem
Written after another poet was told to write greeting cards.
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Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"The Poetry Elitee" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 17 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/113135/the-poetry-elitee>.