The rain pours
As I read poets long past heeding applause.
Their words will continue to speak
For many a week.
While papers display
Pictures of prancing idiots who have nothing to say.

The celebrities are revered for a while.
Their style
Is all the rage
Until the papers engage
In character assassination.

It is the sport of the nation
To throw stones,
Yet bones are brittle
And journalists loyalties fickle.

Beware for people may find
Behind
Your rictus grin
Your own particular sin!

Poets anthologised stand
As beacons in this troubled land.
While half-dressed celebrities are here today.
They strut and threat
Then fade away.