Kill your darlings

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I have nothing against free verse... Really! :)

To poets who find themselves past using meter –
To poets who write without syntax or rhyme,
To those who think writing in free verse is neater
And leave their work fraught with grammatical grime:

You – writer – just start with your poem, yes, you sow it,
But there you run out of all patience and grace.
You – poet – don’t bother to nurture and grow it,
You leave it contemptibly vile and base.

Another pain my heart doth rent
As I doth read that wrenched accent!
That dreadful scourge of poets global
Doth the most serious poem make so droll!

A ladle or two of depressed melodrama
Can dumb down or ruin your verse altogether!
So pen your deep insights as light as a feather…
Or risk blocking out your pristine panorama.

Beware – fraudsters – spellers of veld with a t!
That veldt is a word to be met with by snarlings!
Go study your fat, fancy dictionary –
Come back when you’re able to kill your darlings.
"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts" - Einstein




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I found this witty and funny and I couldn't help but smile as you turned this into a poem a lot of us (YWSers) can relate to. :) The old English type wording is usually ill-used and cliche, but you pulled it off pretty well and I think it actually *added* to the work. So kudos! I'm glad I'm the first commenter, because that way you get a positive review first, which is always a good thing to see. Keep writing, because your style is intellectually witty and eloquent.


-Renn
'Evil exists in all of us Torak. Some fight it. Some feed it. That is how it has always been.'

"There is always a choice," said Torak, and he backed off the cliff.




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This was good, it definitely made me smile and nod. *sigh* So true, and I'm guilty of many of these things myself. My one issue is that you changed rhyme schemes throughout this. Not hugely noticeable or really inconvenient, just something I noticed and kind of stopped me for a second.
Keep writing,
StoryWeaver
Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another. ~Lemony Snicket



It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien