Lamentations of a Poetaster Disaster Extraordinaire
By Richard H. Fay
Alas, my work falters like a lame horse.
Fate has saddled me with a feckless muse
Who whispers false promises and fell lies;
Her fey advice always leads me astray.
Ay me, words drop like fetid excrement
Forming a putrid pile of reeking lines.
Enuretic ooze drips from a foul pen
Clutched clumsily in my tremulous hand.
Alack! Abstruseness and depth elude me.
Poetry snobs snub my on-the-nose verse.
Potential readers shun my shallow dreck.
Respect and renown remain out of reach.
Woe is me, writer of wretched twaddle,
Producer of unlettered doggerel,
Quixotic poseur ever tilting at
Immovable literary windmills!
Bah, beauty is for others, not for me,
Artless artificer of dull nonsense,
Passionless purveyor of rancid plonk,
Craftless creator of tawdry paste gems.
Finis!
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