Whyabother?

On the pages of this web-site,
under names like Nosferatu,
we are humble Poetasters,
making rhymes that are just 'taters.
See the mark of fearsome Trochee,
oh so fearsome, gruesome Trochee,
who can tell it from a Spondee?
Read the swathes of spastic metre,
laved in bathos by the litre,
full of ethos narcissistic,
trapped in schemes a mite elastic,
'ware the venom of the critics;
Stefano, Footsie, Mighty Critics.
We shall tremble at their mention,
loudly echo their distension,
rue the fate of our submission,
delete it of our own volition.
None shall merit any cherry,
fulsomely desired cherry;
we will mewl and wail our sorrow,
in scansion vile to chill your marrow,
'til you cry in pained exhaustion:
do not scribble in this fashion.
On the pages of this web-site,
under names like Nosferatu,
we have set alight the bushels,
piled up shit with clumsy shovels,
filled the spike with senseless drivel,
let us praise the senseless drivel.

Audio here