In the Name of Poetry

"In the Name of Poetry"
By R. Gollapudi

I’ve committed a pitiless Freud,
On the Plath toward insanity’s void.
I’m artful and Wilde,
My Wordsworth More than
Anything Mailer delivers.

I’m a foe Poe,
Selling verses by the Pound.
I Kant see the Hughes of waves,
Flowing Twains, deep, below the caves.
Of poetry, I’m Defoe.

I have not knowledge of where and Howe,
I’m a starving artist – and Donne for, now.
The Frost has long since Dryden spring,
Inept rhyming Burns the soul of everything.

Should Hugo home and hear the Keats of poetry,
And Cope with the Paine; heed the Bell of reality—
Pick up your Penn, whether dreadful Orwell versed,
And Wright into the Knight, a Bard, immersed.