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Trigger Warning!

{I have, with some trepidation, published the following rather rude and insensitive sonnet due to the persistent urging of the author — an unfortunate and somewhat misguided acquaintance who refers to himself as “The Sonneteer”. This anti-social but arguably talented individual has been banned from all online platforms and I realize that I am taking a risk here in publishing his work, but feel it is my duty as a passionate supporter of free speech to give him a voice. I must, however, state very clearly that I do not necessarily condone the graphic language used nor the sentiments expressed by “The Sonneteer” and have warned him that while I wish to support him, the possibility of my posting any of his works (sonnets no doubt) in future will require a reasonable toning down of such profanity.}

The Sonneteer!

Come, sing high praises to the sonneteer!
And damn to Hades all those worn-out crocks —
Those fiends who’d mock him, and his good name smear.
Upon their houses and their heads a pox!
On them, from high, descend a rain of rocks!
And let them burn in Hell for wicked words!
The sonneteer knows well the knave who knocks
His works — he knows the smell of stinking turds
Of cawing crows and vultures — bitter birds
Who feast on carrion and call it art.
The sonneteer, his loins with courage girds,
And in the faces of such fools does fart!
He voids the moist miasma of his bowels
Unto the lungs of such fine-feathered fowls.

© The Sonneteer, 2019