Crucified by Lack of Talent
Crucified by lack of talent,
He lashes out at the establishment
Of academic aristocracy
That fails to see his significance
Or genius, wrapped in the unoriginal
Sentimental longings for the past,
When vagueness concealed lack of depth
And pretentiousness would win a large
Audience, but no siree, no cigar --
His bullshit doesn't fly these days
With a more discerning and sophisticated
Audience, who knows the difference
Between some grandma's clumsy verses
For her grandkids and a more serious
Type of work, that requires a bit of
Thinking, but he just shoots off his mouth
About being some bold revolutionary,
Beheaded and crucified by rigid dogmas
Of his academic peers, who view
His bullshit with a skeptical reserve,
For he is as original as a marshmallow,
Toasting in a fireplace on a Christmas Eve,
And only the ignorant are impressed
By his lack of depth or substance --
For he's just a poetic Santa Claus
Or Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer,
Hiding behind a martyred persona,
Trying to pass for some Nietzsche or
Schopenhauer to the clueless housewives
And Jesus-enamored senior citizens,
Animal rights activists, new age weirdos,
And look-at-me-out-of-the-closet gays
And lesbians -- but it's just a circus
Of hacks and ne'erdowells, shooting off
Their agendas from their soap boxes,
Who have no interest in the esthetic
Aspects of art or poetry, where all writers
Are talentless hacks and all poets
Are loudmouths like some insurance
Salesmen or game show hosts, and it
Doesn't take long to see that it all
Amounts to just more noise and who
Can shout the loudest in the crowd
Of self-important fools.
February 5, 2007
--Alexander Shaumyan
