George J. Dance
2022-06-02 11:36:33 UTC
Guess Who?
I'm usenet's greatest poet,
At least that's what they say.
The Village People love my work
And I'm not even gay.
The most prolific poet
The internet has known,
I've written fifty thousand poems
In the past week alone.
I sit at my computer
And dream of South and North,
And just like vomit from a drunk
The poems come gushing forth.
It's sometimes hard to type them,
They all come out so fast,
And some of them are really long
While some are just half-vast.
I've never learned poetics;
I know that I don't need 'em
Because I simply write the poems;
Let other people read 'em.
Oh once Bob Dylan phoned me
But didn't praise my work
So I hung up on him. He's just
A pissbum and a jerk.
I know he's simply jealous,
Like all those guys, of me.
That's why they bury all my stuff;
It's a conspiracy.
I know I could be published
And everyone would buy,
But knowing the conspiracy
Why would I even try?
So I just stay on usenet
Where true success depends,
Not on your money, or your fame,
But on your online friends.
I'm friends with half a dozen
True poets just like me.
(Sometimes we write, sometimes we fight
With the conspiracy.)
They say my poems are perfect,
And all I have to do
Is thank all six, and tell them all
Their poems are perfect, too.
~~
GJD
I'm usenet's greatest poet,
At least that's what they say.
The Village People love my work
And I'm not even gay.
The most prolific poet
The internet has known,
I've written fifty thousand poems
In the past week alone.
I sit at my computer
And dream of South and North,
And just like vomit from a drunk
The poems come gushing forth.
It's sometimes hard to type them,
They all come out so fast,
And some of them are really long
While some are just half-vast.
I've never learned poetics;
I know that I don't need 'em
Because I simply write the poems;
Let other people read 'em.
Oh once Bob Dylan phoned me
But didn't praise my work
So I hung up on him. He's just
A pissbum and a jerk.
I know he's simply jealous,
Like all those guys, of me.
That's why they bury all my stuff;
It's a conspiracy.
I know I could be published
And everyone would buy,
But knowing the conspiracy
Why would I even try?
So I just stay on usenet
Where true success depends,
Not on your money, or your fame,
But on your online friends.
I'm friends with half a dozen
True poets just like me.
(Sometimes we write, sometimes we fight
With the conspiracy.)
They say my poems are perfect,
And all I have to do
Is thank all six, and tell them all
Their poems are perfect, too.
~~
GJD