Call me a poet who is yearning
To make it in these halls of learning
My first year was confused and wild
But now I found my hidden child
Thanks to a teacher who is wacky
I now disdain lines that are tacky
Throw commas, adverbs out the door
Call counting syllables a bore
When reading books of rhyming verse
I feel my nerves get terse or worse
For I spew words quite helter-skelter
Like primal screams in moldy shelters
When rage and anger in me mount
I cannot stop and verses count
Or slow my flow of thoughts and tarry
To search a rhyming dictionary
I say 'pish-tosh' to dots and dashes -
All rules of grammar give me rashes
My venue is to vent my id
In torrents like a school of squids
Oh spare me from the likes of Burns
Who talks of lice and mice and ferns
My poems deal with the surreal
That only I can truly feel
Don't bother me with couplets, sonnets
Describing muffets, tuffets, bonnets
Green freshmen may find them quite charming
But I've matured to dense and barmy
Today I shun all love and laughter
The gritty truth is what I'm after
Weltschmertz in all its grossest forms
I do explore in my small dorm
I won't be cute like Lewis Carroll
Who sports his 'brillings' like apparel
The path of the iconoclast
I tread and stomp traditions past
Let's hope the prof. gives me good grades
Or else my stipend will soon fade
And spoil my hopes for junior year
To float along on kegs of beer
Well, that's my tale of student days
With hopes of shaking hallowed ways
To make a mark with my own slant
In chapbooks sure to make aunts pant
I wonder as I watch the seniors
So cocksure and unlike their teen years
With class keys hung on golden fobs
What it is like to get a job,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brilliantly funny, Liilia!