We Hate David Gottfried


We award flat and flaccid floundering verse

Rather prolix, never terse

Meandering musings are our curse

David Gottfried belongs in a hearse


We hope to see him feeling worse

To aspiring writers we’re averse

Their ascension seems quite perverse

Ask for grants; we close our purse


We love oddities, all things diverse

But certain rules we won’t traverse

Rhyming bards we will not nurse

Such drivel we won’t reimburse


These haughty edicts we won’t reverse

Not a speck of solace will we disburse

The world we needn’t meet, converse

Into solipsism we submerse


David Gottfried, Copyright, 2012


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