Paisley, poetry and a vent of the spleen

Today I wrote an extended ode to Ian Paisley. I know that sounds rather strange but I have always found the ex-Northern Irish First Minister both curiously attractive and hopelessly repellent in equal measure.

Odes are very difficult to write as they follow the rhyme scheme "ababcdecde" which sounds simple enough, except it traps you into making certain connections and practically forbids you making others; "the tyranny of rhyme..." as a wiseman once said. Still, having ventured onto the heinous "Poetry.com" a few days ago just to see their three million, post-postmodernist freeverse poems, along with the encouraging welcome message:

"Hello NFHampton, you need 201 points to reach the next poet level of apprentice"

I am evermore of the opinion that the conventions of metre are not only useful but need to be adhered to, on pain of death. Poetry is a game but like the best games: Risk, Chess and Scrabble, it is one with strict rules and if people don't start waking up to this then somebody better bust out the Playdough!