Man Of Constant Sorrows... Poem by Ted Sheridan

He likes the tone of this one, but not entirely sure; it could be
a little tighter or maybe more to the point. Loose in its construction
the poem fell apart for him in the end; however the good news is
that the majority of the time, he usually hates what he reads….
or should it be said that he generally hates what he didn’t write.
So all in all, as the poet of this piece, you should be very pleased.
But I feel for this poor soul who fancies himself a literary critic.
Has he never had a great cup of coffee or a terrific mixed drink?
And I don’t even want to know about the sex...
When he was younger and still in school, did he like any of his teachers?
Why does he feel the need to find fault where there is beauty?
It’s a question that I believe to which he does not know the answer…
At least not one with which I could concur.

2008 © T Sheridan