Hello, this is Nigel Frickenhoffenpeppergotliceinmejeans, the world authority on all things poetry.
During the pandemic, which some feel is still not over but no one wants to breathe their own garlic breath through a fucking mask anymore, so bring on the disease – today’s a good day to die … ahem …
People at home with nothing (or nawt) to do wrote. They wrote terrible novels, often about themselves and their wacky lives, or even better: terrible Hallmark sentiments to give us all hope and get us through this tough time … and they quoted Gandhi, Orwell, Martin Luther King, and possibly even a muppet or two.
And a fuckload of poetry! Some of it even rhymed (which hasn’t happened since Percy Bysshe Shelley forgot how to pronounce his middle name).
So I am here to tell all you poets, rip it up, burn it, please stop – just STOP! If you use the words “betwixt”, “forsooth”, “shall”, “unto”, “alas” or “swoon”, you will soon be sent to a gulag in order to truly suffer and write something half decent.
This is your only warning. (Amazon self-publishing is full, and has a lot to answer for.)
