unique/ordinary condemn/praise
ARMCHAIR CRITICS
We sit in our arm-chairs and view the passing show;
We're rather fat and slobby and our energy is low.
We never run or jump or swim or even walk too far;
And we surely never kayak or stand wobbling on a bar.
And yet we think we have the right to be a bit disappointed
If 'the athlete that belongs to us', our very own anointed,
Doesn't win a lump of gold to dangle on his chest;
For we demand, yes, we insist that 'ours' must be the best.
We praise a winner to the skies.....he represents us all;
But woe betide the athlete who may stumble or may fall.
We condemn someone who does his best but ends up in seventh place;
He's 'let us down', he 'hasn't tried'; he's a positive disgrace.
It may be true that he can't claim to be a true unique;
It may be true he's running but he's not quite as his peak;
But compared to us he's a hero, and should be viewed with pride.
And we ordinary slackers should be thoroughly mortified.
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ONE MAN'S MEAT
It takes all sorts to make a world,
We hear that all the time.
I find there's something addictive
About a poem in rhyme.
And yet I know there are others,
Who find it too sing-song,
To predictable and bland,
Too easy to get wrong.
It wasn't always like this, of course;
Way back in another time;
A poem wasn't a poem,
Unless it utilised rhyme.
Keats and Shelley revelled in it,
Wordsworth did as well;
Even Shakespeare's sonnets
Cast a rhyming spell.
So it's a matter of fashion;
Rhyming is 'in' or 'out';
And rhyming will be 'in' again
One day, without a doubt.
I find the little cartoon, above,
Very much to my taste,
For I find similes galore
Frequently misplaced.
Some rambling modern verses,
Concerning 'deep emotions',
Often leave me all at sea,
Drowning in verbose oceans.
Having said that, I sometimes find
A gem which strikes a chord,
With not a single rhyme in sight,
It's instantly adored.
So I'll continue writing rhymes,
For writing them is fun
And 'one man's meat........' and all that jazz
Means there's room for everyone.
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