Enough rhapsodizing . . . Act now!

Having memorized their features metre by metre,
He recites — or rather — rhapsodizes,
Much like Paul ‘n his silly love songs

Each drippy line foully spending passion,
Passion that should otherwise serve.

Bah! I’ve heard enough poetry.
What’s it worth, anyhow: –
All that romantic Wordsworth fluff
On nature and youth and our connectedness?

Now’s the time for more . . .
Now’s the time for action!

Which forest did feverish words from Tennyson save?

We are fools; he’s right,
Sailing right into the no-go zone
Weakening and weakening, beyond the hope his pen would share;
Weakening and woebegone, like Death’s earliest bloom.
We’ve willed ourselves into irons, when closer to the wind we should sail

Argh! Enough of the stinking telling . . .
The endless, weedy rhapsodizing.

Listen good:

Now’s the time to lead.

Arrest the word, like the sail, and free the heart
Leap off the page . . . Run.

Act now!