|ELCore.Net > Poetry > Catholic Poets > Poems of Joyce Kilmer|
|To Certain Poets|
Now is the rhymer’s honest trade|
A thing for scornful laughter made.
The merchant’s sneer, the clerk’s disdain,|
These are the burden of our pain.
Because of you did this befall,|
You brought this shame upon us all.
You little poets mincing there|
With women’s hearts and women’s hair!
How sick Dan Chaucer’s ghost must be|
To hear you lisp of “Poesie”!
A heavy-handed blow, I think,|
Would make your veins drip scented ink.
You strut and smirk your little while|
So mildly, delicately vile!
Your tiny voices mock God’s wrath,|
You snails that crawl along His path!
Why, what has God or man to do|
With wet, amorphous things like you?
This thing alone you have achieved:|
Because of you, it is believed
That all who earn their bread by rhyme|
Are like yourselves, exuding slime.
Oh, cease to write, for very shame,|
Ere all men spit upon our name!
Take up your needles, drop your pen,|
And leave the poet’s craft to men!
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|Webpage © 2001 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created April 3, 2001; not revised.