A Mersey Sonnet
(to be read in a liverpool accent)
Our Deirdre says that sonnets must be serious,
that poets run them off like making cocoa.
Well Deirdre said it, and I hate to query it
but this one is less gothic, more rococo.
I write them with such style, such ease, such pace.
My Ode to Drachmas ó can a grecian urn?
develops Keatsí thought. Itís really great.
Them dead ones had their go, now itís my turn.
Sod Betjeman and Auden, C. Day Lewis,
I write more than William Butler Yeets.
If someoneís more prolific, tell me who is.
Just read my stuff. Not many can compete.
Except for Willy Shakes, now I think on it.
Shakers, eat your heart out. Hereís me sonnet.
By copland smith