Today it’s National Poetry Day, 

So skip and jump and shout hooray, 

And at this most auspicious time 

Let your words be said in rhyme. 

Say them boldy, make them scan, 

Deliver them the best you can. 

Speak your lines with oomph and meter. 

Try not to allow them to peter... 

out. 

 

Anyway... 

 

Today it’s National Poetry Day, 

At least it is in the UK. 

So every year upon this date 

Don’t forget to celebrate. 

Open up the wine and beer. 

Just ignore all those who sneer 

And say that poetry’s oh so dull, 

A total pile of minging bull, 

 

A vile, repugnant ball of slime, 

A tedious, wretched waste of time, 

A crock of onanistic shite 

That sad pretentious fuck-ups write. 

We know that it’s really great; 

We won’t rise up to their bait. 

Here we’ll lie amongst our readers, 

Drifting, roaming, bottom feeders. 

 

Errrrrrr.... 

 

Okay, I think I have digressed. 

It could be time to take a rest, 

So I’ll leave you to celebrate 

And crack into your beer crate 

And drink a toast to our great skill, 

To Byron, Shelley, Keats and Will* 

And all who fill our hearts with joy 

For today it’s National Poetry... 

 

Damn! 

 

*I am, of course, referring to Blake here rather than Shakespeare (or that tosspot Wordsworth).