'' Variation's What Makes Poets Unique '' Poem by Bri Mar

It's pantomime season,
No rhyme without reason,
It's time for us all to rehearse,
Either or will be classed as treason,
Alliteration or is it free verse.

You think you're a toff,
Slagging mine off,
His reply is, oh no I don't,
Whenever it's read I know you'll scoff,
Then you say oh no I won't.

It's talent mine's got,
You say it's not?
Mine has a magnificent flow,
Your lines are rubbish while mines are hot,
Let's put our talents on show.

A poem must rhyme,
Not to is a crime,
It makes it much easier to read,
Look at the content it's just so sublime,
To my wonder we all must take heed.

Free verse is speech,
A way to teach,
It's a method of conveying a story,
The rules of poetry it doesn't breach,
It can cover the author in glory.

Who's right or wrong?
Where do you belong?
Or is one just as bad as the other,
Which one will win the gold plated gong?
It's talent we must not try to smother.

Don't make a fuss,
Poetry's like us,
Some of them mature with age,
Others you'd gladly throw under a bus,
It shouldn't get you in a rage.

Don't judge in haste,
If you've a different taste,
We all have our troubles to seek,
Petty squabbles should be classed as a waste,

‘' Variation's What Makes Poets Unique ‘'