The Poetasters Club

In the lounge room at 7 p.m. of the Hunters and Fishers pub We used to have our weekly meeting of the local Poetasters Club To any of those who bothered to listen our doggerels we did recite Though our metre did seem a bit slipshod for us 'twas our weekly highlight. Any of the local poets never came to read to the roughest pub in our town They read at classy poetry gatherings in their quest for literary renown, The Hunters and Fishers left to the poetasters those who only pen doggerel Those who never will become famous and their rhymes they can't give away never mind sell. There was Andy and Danny and Sadie and David and Vicki and Sue And Matty and Joe and Lucinda and I read a doggerel or two But not many of the patrons bothered to listen they drank in groups and talked of football And to be ignored to any performer perhaps the greatest insult of all. Our Poetasters Club is now past tense not suprising that it did not last And it will not be resurrected it remains as part of our past, It dawned on us our weekly readings were a waste of valuable time And we came to realize that poetry is for poets and who wants to hear slip shod rhyme? Saturday evening was the poetasters evening at the Hunters and Fishers pub But it lasted for seven weeks only the life of the Poetasters Club And the few who bothered to listen they did not seem impressed at all Whilst the others they choose to ignore us and drank beer and talked of football.