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Lament for Rhyming Poetry

Where has the rhyme gone?


The tool of my trade is

The language of rhyme

And it seems that I

Am out of my time


Perhaps if I write

Of moods

And blues

And clouds of grey

I can find my way

To prose


For that’s what it is –

this un-rhyming verse

Desired by the press.

And if I dare to suggest

A sonnet, rondel

Or a sweet villanelle

I’m rejected




It’s here to stay –

You can choose to believe

That it flows.

But I would say

This prose of yours

May be clever, but it bores me.

It doesn’t scan

It’s got uneven stanzas

And most of the time

I don’t understand it

-there’s no fun.

I’m done.