POSEY? NO-SIE

No frail flowers but Villon,
Lyric poets strutting in their rhyme,
Master of meter, rhythm their own,
And never so completely out of time.

We are ages past that have returned,
Thrust against the modern kind of grime,
We can count machines as lessons learned,
And leave the vales and flowery woods behind

We can write in meter of the poor,
We ourselves reduced to wretched rags,
Celebrate the language of the whore,
And see within the beauty of a hag.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “POSEY? NO-SIE

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s