Blasphemy against the bards of old and Iconoclastic Tendencies

The alpine air lends wings to my Muse’s ethereal flight..
Wait what conspires here?
My Muse is no old fashioned maid to flit among verdant blooms
She dreams of Boost Juice and Zumba
Stomps with the Wii Fit and dances to Video Hits
No heavenly angel that lightly treads
She makes her mark upon the world in Doc Martins
A pox on you Byron
A plague on you Keats
Shakespeare be gone
What care I for Dido, Titania, Oberon, Endymion & Apollo
You bards whose landscapes are overcrowded with Sylphs
Creepy Nymphs stalking unwary lovers
Men of their time living in the past
Public school boys using “Thou”, “Thy” and “Thee” as pick up lines
And still I fall back upon your graceless ease
You overly romantic self-pompous pedants
Infect me not with your insatiable appetite for nostalgia
Arrrgh!!!
The present will propel my pen

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