Don’t make your poems rhyme,
unless you’re a genius with syllables.
Don’t stuff yourself into a wedding dress,
nor imitate Cinderella’s sisters.
Half-rhymes are a different matter,
provided you miss the end of the line.
Ignore my view if you’re happy
to write mediocre cant,
bland, sentimental, niceties
your friends will lap up
and forget.
Crimes against umbrellas,
fine, generous and irritating
stress on the wrong core
of earth where you scatter salt
pepper, cardamom and treacle.
Stop fretting over dictionaries
in search of le bon mot.
You’re better to scatter and slant perspiration
before you blame your education.
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 