Your poem is incredibly clunky,
the style is too bloated and chunky,
the meter just stinks
and is written methinks
by Bobo the typewriting monkey.
What would you do
if this happened to you?
if some plain speaking commenter
wrote a review.
Would garments be rent?
Would you loudly lament:
Oh no! someone thinks
my masterpiece stinks.
Would you climb to the rooftop tormented with woe
then leap to your doom seven storeys below.
Or take to your bed with the chocolates and gin
with not even Trixie the maid allowed in.
Or fall in a swoon with your hand to your brow
convinced the whole world is against you somehow.
Languish and mope? suffer and sigh?
refuse every offer of help and then die?
Or wave it away with a haughty dismissal -
The talentless mountebank - he can go whistle.
You might grab a cricket bat, go round his gaff,
batter his face in and have the last laugh
or serve up revenge with a humourless smile
in a shocking and blood-splattered Westeros style .
Low and subdued
you might dwell and brood.
Someone didn’t like my work
what does he know stupid jerk.
The sassafrassin’ rassin’ git,
it doesn’t stink, what’s wrong with it?
How could someone fail to see
the greatness of my poetree?
- the sentiments so keenly felt,
succinctly penned, correctly spelt,
the towering verbosity,
the staggering precocity.
This knuckle dragging mumpish gent
can’t recognise accomplishment!
Protective of your baby, will you read it through and then
wonder if he had a point and look at it again?
