Bowled Out - Poem by Andy Brookes
An affectionate tongue in cheek homage to William Mcgonagall
a Scottish poet of fragrant verse and worse
said he I'm at a loss.
why is there so much dross?
no perfect meter, nor clicking rhyme,
not like when i was young, now there was a time.
these modern poets call it free verse,
well if you ask me there's nothing worse.
did Wordsworth write of nature, all in vain
or Byron write about a grubby train.
what have we come to as a nation,
when poems have no punctuation.
well count me out of the modern stuff,
all spiky angles, torpid, rough.
for there's no arty angsty alliteration,
understanding it is just frustration.
no bold capitals that starts a line,
so for the old ways do I pine.
I used to read and spit out by rote,
this modern stuff it gets my goat.
no I find i like old Mcgonagall
who wrote great rhyme and wore a monocle.
I find it hard to carry the load,
and with that he did explode.
he was always on, a sticky wicket,
the Western Times, poetry critic.
Comments about Bowled Out by Andy Brookes
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You