Oh, I wish I’d look after me verse,

But I found it too much of a curse.

I thought I could astound

Without being profound.

But the reviews are all strangely perverse.

I found rhyming a bit of a bore,

And decided to do it no more.

I tried Kenning and Trope

But I hadn’t a hope,

Cos’ I didn’t know what they were for.

I just wanted to get it all written,

By the poetry bug I’d been bitten.

I thought metre and rhyme

Were a big waste of time,

And I remembered I’d given up rhyming.

I just feel the need to emote

With all the angst that I have to promote

My muse must be pampered

And can never be hampered

Yet my poems cannot get a vote.

In desperation I sought to be comical,

Although, as a poet, it’s inimical,

And I wanted to try

To keep the brow high

But the verse just resembled Mc Gonnigal.

I thought form was  constricting my art,

And the theme that I had to impart.

I ignored any mention

Of structure and tension,

If you hate it, its you that’s not smart.

I thought a villanelle was the way

To express what I wanted to say

 But  I found Clerihews

Were far too obtuse

And I've just had a bad Haiku day

The reviews of my poems are so terse,

But I fear it’s too late to reverse.

Whatever I write

Is  considered so trite.

So I wish I’d looked after me verse.