Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Poet Racing

Twenty poets at the gate
all ready for the off.
The flag is down - they're on their way
o'er hedge and water trough.

Rushing, jostling, flailing pens,
striking with their ipads
whilst galloping in meter
and kicking other's gonads.

But look - here comes a cliché trap:
and five have fallen in!
Hard to miss it in the rush,
the rampage and the din.

Their glasses sure are misting up,
their corduroy is askew!
One middle aged librarian
has eschewed her comfy shoes!

Two furlongs left to trouble them
they're sweating badly now
the bardic perspiration
just gushing from their brow.

And as they round the final bend
all looking for a novel thought -
who knew that Poet Racing
could be such thrilling sport?

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