21 February 2018

#21 - Little Riots

After three stanzas of 'Beppo' by Lord Byron
(and I reckon it's fair to say HE was riffing off Cowper)

“Poesy! With all thy faults I love thee still!”
I said it at the Fringe whilst I was drunk;
I like a sculpted line that’s born with skill;
I like a witty rhyme that doesn’t clunk;
I like a seasoned poet, sharp and chill;
I like an open-miker, full of spunk;
I like when, shameless and majestic,
Iambic feet come out all anapaestic;

I like the rappers with their pristine hats;
I like the students with their odes to cats;
I like dead writers, perfect on the page;
I like the live ones, thrilling on the stage;
I like the freaks, the geeks, the swots, the nerds;
I like the kids who just have fun with words.


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