Poetry magazines are a lot of poo
They send your poems back to you
With little notes and friendly words
As a poet you`re a wordless nerd
They`d probably send Bill Shakespeare back
And call John Keats a lot of crap
And as for our dear Ezra Pound
I`m sorry sir- you`re so unsound
Your iambs are no good at all
Your prosody a lot of balls
The theme this month is vegetables
From turnips we read nothing at all...
So here`s a tip to all you poets
Forget this literary posh don`t-know-its
Let the people judge what`s good or bad
Here`s to a democratic, international, anti-capital
publisher and magazine free Internet - FREE POETRY
(O.K., the last line doesn`t rhyme, but hallo
Chicago and London, I`m no good, am I?)
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Comments about this poem (Poetry Magazines by Leslie Philibert )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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