I, Poetaster

I, Poetaster Throughout the mess of muddled murkiness; Of questionable, predictive, clichéd verse There rests sometimes a message, with finesse; Veiled, though with humour interspersed: A kind that pleases seemingly myself For never has my candour pleased none else - A melody of rhyme that goes against, The grain yet seems to stand strong and remain Within the structure of the poets vein