In the style of the Sapphic Ode - 3 eleven syllable lines, followed by 1 five syllable line.
(Compare with ‘On this day I compare with my thirty-sixth year’ by Lord Byron. 8,8,8,5.)
Get me a stick, I’ll browbeat each one of them,
Elegant-clumsy, inviting or snobbish,
Noon and night these words keep tugging at my hem,
Penitent Ms Magdalene weeps in mural
Thus maudlin is overly sentimental
On religion, Laodicean’s frugal,
not at all anal.
Avuncular is uncle-ly, genial and kind
Diverse duties reside with a factotum
In need is indigent, for he’s in a bind,
fire’s under his bum.
A string of M’s I now pick up, Monism’s first-
Ultimacy of a single principle
Micawberish, wretched, hopes with ceaseless thirst,
Through repeated ticks metronome counts a spell
But metonym’s just a word substitution
‘Suits’ stands-in for ‘executives’, easy to tell
what’s the intention.
I wonder what they’ll do with my poetry
Rewrite over it, use it like palimpsest?
Will it cause paroxysms, be shunned by gentry,
and also the rest?
Will they find it purulent, full up with pus?
It may rouse stupor, make them soporific
But there’s a small hope that my magnum opus
is termed terrific!
Will they use these to adduce my craziness,
Or politely wait for the peroration?
For some time I pray, stick with the clumsiness
of my creation.
Making a few abstracts concrete, is Reify
There’s no scope for subterfuge or chicanery
Concupiscence - strong desire one can’t defy,
So just make merry!