The Poets' Strike (3)
Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 8:03 am
The Poets' Strike (3)
© Stephen Whiteside 18.09.2011
I've dubbed this (3), because David Campbell wrote the first one, which was a serious poem. I added a second, which I am retrospectively dubbing (2), to the same thread. I tried to make it funny, but failed. This is another - also mostly unsuccessful - attempt to write a humorous poem on the subject.
The poets were very unhappy.
Disgruntled. They just didn't like
The public response. It was crappy.
They voted to go out on strike.
It wasn't page one of the paper -
A para on page 23.
The point of this cavalier caper
Was not very easy to see.
A community radio station
Ran with the story at last,
To widespread poetic elation.
The tide peaked and ebbed very fast.
The 'free versers' spotted the story,
Emerging from drug-induced haze.
(Most of them, hairless and hoary,
Had not left their dwellings for days.)
"Hey, we're not on strike!" came their chorus.
"Those damned rhymsters didn't ask us!"
"Well, why would we? You only bore us!"
Strangely, this turned out a plus.
"Conflict and rage!" cried the journos.
A story appeared on page eight.
"We're sorry. We want no infernoes."
"No, no. Keep it up, this is great!"
A free verser challenged a 'bushy':
"Pistols. Ten paces. At dawn."
Both camps were now very pushy.
Remarkable headlines were born.
They were not skilled shooters, though plucky.
Each sent their bullets well wide.
Conceded them both, they were lucky.
This marked the turn of the tide.
"We shouldn't be shooting each other!'
They met in a clumsy embrace;
Brother to poetic brother,
Rising above instincts base.
The media dubbed it a fizzer,
And turned on their heels in disgust.
The poets went off for a pizza
(Those ones with the cheese in the crust).
Those frustrated writers of rhyme
Now feel that their strike was a sin.
They're scrambling to make up lost time.
Contentment all comes from within.
© Stephen Whiteside 18.09.2011
I've dubbed this (3), because David Campbell wrote the first one, which was a serious poem. I added a second, which I am retrospectively dubbing (2), to the same thread. I tried to make it funny, but failed. This is another - also mostly unsuccessful - attempt to write a humorous poem on the subject.
The poets were very unhappy.
Disgruntled. They just didn't like
The public response. It was crappy.
They voted to go out on strike.
It wasn't page one of the paper -
A para on page 23.
The point of this cavalier caper
Was not very easy to see.
A community radio station
Ran with the story at last,
To widespread poetic elation.
The tide peaked and ebbed very fast.
The 'free versers' spotted the story,
Emerging from drug-induced haze.
(Most of them, hairless and hoary,
Had not left their dwellings for days.)
"Hey, we're not on strike!" came their chorus.
"Those damned rhymsters didn't ask us!"
"Well, why would we? You only bore us!"
Strangely, this turned out a plus.
"Conflict and rage!" cried the journos.
A story appeared on page eight.
"We're sorry. We want no infernoes."
"No, no. Keep it up, this is great!"
A free verser challenged a 'bushy':
"Pistols. Ten paces. At dawn."
Both camps were now very pushy.
Remarkable headlines were born.
They were not skilled shooters, though plucky.
Each sent their bullets well wide.
Conceded them both, they were lucky.
This marked the turn of the tide.
"We shouldn't be shooting each other!'
They met in a clumsy embrace;
Brother to poetic brother,
Rising above instincts base.
The media dubbed it a fizzer,
And turned on their heels in disgust.
The poets went off for a pizza
(Those ones with the cheese in the crust).
Those frustrated writers of rhyme
Now feel that their strike was a sin.
They're scrambling to make up lost time.
Contentment all comes from within.
