Foobs:

Two weeks in a row
I've been holding my nose
while you sang the week's poems praise;
Are you going soft
or is my palate off
should I worship or tremble for grace?

Oh, oh I'm perplexed
and left by this state feeling vexed
has left turned to right
are we calling day night
or is it my taste that's suspect?

(Parodist replies in song:)

Don't misunderstand;
Even old Fooberstan
Should give credit where credit is due.
The fault these two times
Lies in poets (sans rhymes)
Who publish before they are through.

(Parodist, to poets of that ilk:)

Write, write it again!
Engage your cerebrum, then pen!
A half-finished work
(Though it's not by a jerk)
Just leaves an unsatisfied yen.

(Parodist to Foobs again:)

The middle part's good
Like one's poetry should;
Just a nip and a tuck would suffice.
Sometimes I'm with you --
Where it's almost cut through,
Like a golf ball just after a slice. :)

Foobs, master of form,
We differ in what we call "norm".
I'm not as averse
To a blank or free verse,
And so, when it works, I conform!

I like the conceit
Of this poem -- it's neat
That we follow an Ultimate Quest.
In spelling it out,
We agree (there's no doubt),
Our poet's not quite at her best.

Oh, oh what dismay!
I guess it won't get me a raise
To kindle debate
On a work that's not great
By damning the thing with faint praise! ;)

wr ()()