I, Poetaster

I, Poetaster
Throughout the mess of muddled murkiness;
Of questionable, predictive, clichd 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