© The Plagiariser

© The Plagiariser

Are any thoughts original?

This intellectual miser, has Shakespeare turning in his grave

And am I none the wiser?

I trawl through texts, devoid of sex

And contemplate the geyser, of random intellectualism,

I am the Plagiariser.

Post-modernism at its worst,

This ruthless two-leg spider spins a web of counterfeit –

Beware the advertiser!

I work the crowd, who talk too loud,

Contaminate the Kaiser abandoned in his counting house,

I am the Plagiariser.

Did Marlowe just in-jest the Bard?

Or does it taste like Bacon?

Usurp the work of Marx, Foucault…a sprinkling of Lacan.

Aboard the train, here’s Emu Plains! Graffiti becomes higher…

Art? I doubt it – seen before.

Despair the Plagiariser.

Has romance sunk to Mills and Boon?

The Lady Chatterley Choir, sings…

Just slightly out of tune,

“Oh kiss me Oliver” – “Hire!”

Screams the bus conductor,

“Do Little!” retorts Eliza, “I danced all night with G.B.S.”

Et tu the Plagiariser.

© James Craib, September 2004.