"Free verse", said the Poet dogmatically,
"Is the future", and smiled seraphically.
But it gets up my nose, for it’s really just prose
That’s been buggered about typographically.
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It doesn’t rhyme, it doesn’t scan,
The stuff they call vers libre.
If that’s a poem, my good man,
Then I’m a spotted zebra.
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Pruishly, frockishly,
Thomas Stearns Eliot
Tells us that ‘vers libre
Does not exist’,
Adding that metre is
Incontrovertibly
Present - at least, that is
Roughly the gist.
(John may complain about the false rhyme at the beginning, but I couldn't find another one that didn't end with the 'identity' -graphically.)
Last edited by Brian Allgar; 09-27-2013 at 04:25 AM.
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