At a loss for a topic this month (not an uncommon experience), I resort yet again to gap-filling nonsense.
We sit in our studies and think
Of the time we can stop for a drink.
Then in through the casement 1
Comes welcome displacement
And, forthwith, we feel in the pink.2
The reluctance of our fickle muse
To produce a rondeau we might use
Or a haiku or ode
Or a Da Vinci Code 3
Plunges us into Keatsian blues. 4
But we rise to each challenge. We’re fighters,
Agents provocateurs and inciters
Of readers to sample
Each thrilling example
Of purple prose what’s wrote by writers. 5
An Abecedarian rap,
Ballads Bawdy or just arrant pap,
Cunning Cantos Dramatic
We can really write any old rubbish.
Of our value this verse is the proof
We litterateurs aren’t aloof.
To supply what you read
We follow the creed:
‘Troof is beauty and beauty is troof’. 6
1 No, of course I don’t have a ‘casement’ but ‘window’ or ‘door’ wouldn’t rhyme.
2 Of course I never use such an expression or experience such a condition as ‘in the pink’ (I’m an existentialist, after all), but again, it’s the tyranny of rhyme, dear people, rhyme.
3 It’s important to note that, however complaisant my muse, I’m incapable of writing any of the forms or works mentioned.
4 Academics are advised, before using any of the above in a scholarly publication, to verify that Keats did have the blues or even knew what they were.
5 This is a first draft and may need some editorial input.
6 See 5 above.