Paddy Hannigan

Poetry “Reading” Laureate . . .

(a cautionary tale)

 

I, am the poetry ‘reading’ laureate,

Of Ledbury,

Around the town

I’ve got quite a name,

Festivals, readings, competitions,

They’ve all added to my fame!

My delivery

Is silken . . . smooth . . .

Yet, full of twists and turns,

And the audience sits,

Enraptured,

As their emotions I slowly burn!

Iambic pentameter, alliteration,

Rhyming too,

No line of poetry, I’ve ever had to eschew!

Byron, Burns or Shelley,

Even de la Mare,

Every classic poem,

Well, it’s such ordinary fare!

I’m an artist, a conductor,

And yes,

Listeners hang on every word,

There’s no-one quite like me,

I’m sure, that’s what I heard!

No other reader can touch me,

The absolute master of my trade!

Their efforts so derisory,

They just wither, in the shade!

And the audience?

Well, they smile, knowingly,

Waiting . . , . . yes, just for me,

To end the show, majestically,

Like the setting of the sun,

Whilst I survey the scene, so graciously,

Another victory won!

The applause? It’s quite deafening,

I’ve given them, yes, so much fun . . .

Until a loser from the back, shouts out,

“It’s your flies, mate . . .

They’re bloody well undone!”