The Weekly Poem: Receipts

A slight glitch with my Weekly Poem site, so I’ll post this week’s offering, usually out on a Tuesday or Wednesday here. Last week’s still seems pertinent, anyway …

Receipts

For what we are to receipt, may the Lord truly thank us. (Famous grace, nearly.)

Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the moat out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the moat out of thy brother’s eye. (Matthew 7, nearly.)

British MPs claimed for everything from tampons and dog biscuits, to the cleaning of a moat, in the case of Douglas Hogg.

This poem has put in for some
bravura           caesuras, but it has not yet been

cleared by The Poetry Society
for the extra expense.

It is making some claims
for half-rhymes
but it will receive buggerall
for doggerel.

It expects its readers’ purses to reimburse
its attempts at verse –

if it were prose,
it would not expect to be paid through the nose,
but since poetry is sweeter,
you should feed the meter.

O let allowances be paid! O may thy bounty be bestow’d
if ode.

A poem also needs a second home
to enable it to subsist
so this will claim not only for the original tome
but also for the anthologist.

No names, no pack-drill, but
fork out for dactyls; and
anapaest, at the least,
palms are greased.

This poem is also putting in for
ink,
a garrett in which to think,
a goblet to catch the sweat of inspiration,
any experi    mental inno    vation,
and the cost of the hire
of formal attire.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS VERSE LIBRE

Bard whines?
Hard lines.

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