No Market for the Rhyme Hacks

It's no good receiving
pats on the back, they're deceiving.
Or critical acclaim, it's demeaning.
When all I want is fame.

I've gone beyond head swelling.
I'm fed - up with editors telling
"It's not quite what we're selling."
In their Masonic law.

I'm fed up of being christened
at slam events they've listened
where I've shined and glistened.
applause don't pay the bills.

The modernist movement is bull.
The prose I've read is dull.
It's like listening to Jethro Tull
when folk music's not your scene.

I like the stance of Wendy Cope
she gives my writing hope.
She loosens the editors rope.
Although not always.

Surgery events sound appealing
but the 'doctor' could be stealing
my words of heart-felt meaning.
Advice never helps my cause.

Competitions in the daily press.
I send off work to impress.
I'm offered a book for ten pounds less.
Preying on the hacks.

At the publisher's desk sits Mr Boff
with rejection slips - 'Fuck Off'.
They browse and then they scoff.
With no construction to their calls.

^

Biography

I live in Birmingham, England and am married with 3 children. In 1998 I won the Poetry Slam Champion of Birmingham award. I have submitted many of my poems to PostPoems.com where I have received critical acclaim.