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A Man of Yet a Few More Words - by Swan Morrison

Real Poetry (Poem)

I champion Real Poetry
As proven now, these many times,
‘Cos all the verses that I write
Have lines that terminate in rhymes.

The other factor critical
To ratify a poem’s worth
Is content of amusing kinds
To stimulate the reader’s mirth.

Although it’s not so vital, quite,
A verse that scans is rather fine.
Best try to keep the same number
Of syllables in every line.

Ask those who know true poetry
To name Real Poets that they can.
They’ll cite you Lear and Nash and Ayres,
Belloc and Saxe and Milligan.

Now all of them defined the genre,
And though they wrote in different times,
They raise a smile whenever read -
And every single bugger rhymes.

What is the point of so called 'verse'
Comprising grave, non-rhyming prose
And complicated, hidden thoughts
That only some posh smart-arse knows?

John Betjeman could make us laugh -
Great Laureates can write in jest.
But then they go all serious
And self-obsessed, like all the rest.

If solemn matters must be said,
Ignore devices literary:
Allegory and metaphor
And all obscurant imagery.

Just think of what you want to say
In simple words, we each have seen.
Then just come out and say your piece,
And all will know just what you mean.

If you would like to make us laugh
And think a verse form might be fun,
By following the rules, above,
You’ll be a Real Poet, my son.