title. Robert Burns is Shite

name. Chris Henson

right now. Second year studying English Literature at the University of Edinburgh

Current favourite writerSamuel Taylor Coleridge if only because I just did an essay on 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner'

Robert Burns is Shite

Robert Burns,
Like everyone knows,
Described his love as
‘Like a red, red rose’.

Which is a pile of wank and toss.
I am at a loss.
Because Burns is meant to be good.
That some people think he is
Is an utter falsehood.
Like man I’m shook;
Don’t be mistook,
It’s a nice look to describe
A red rose, as in love,
A good outlook.
Yet the phrase is literarily abhorrent,
Disgusting, and a stain on the page.
It spits in my face,
It fills me with rage.
Let me explain:

‘My love is like a red, red rose’;
Like a red, red rose,
Red, red rose.
Red. Red.
Now is it just me,
Have I been bumped on the head,
Or did Robert Burns simply repeat the word
Robert Burns’ literary capabilities,
Descriptive proficiency,
Extends only to the dysentery
That is using the same word
As if it is sufficient, see
He’s gunning for efficiency,
Like it’s easy,
Use the same word
And the poem will still be
Well not to me, Robert Burns.
Not to me.

Robert Burns,
In describing a red rose,
Used the word ‘red’.
Either he’s dead inside
Or his poem is a pile of shite

Stacked up high in textbooks
Studied nationwide;
If Robert Burns is a king of poetry,
Consider this regicide:
I’m not saying that I’m a
better poet;
That would be a lie;
But if I was writing a poem
I’d at least try
To certify
That my technical
Lexical ability went beyond
The daft antics
Of using the word ‘red’ twice.
And here are some examples:

My love is like a blood red rose;
Like a bright red rose;
A setting-sun red rose;
Like Santa’s nose red rose;
Like a freshly picked tomato red rose;
Like a can of chopped tomatoes red rose;
Like a Ferrari that Steve, 42 from Hartlepool bought even though the suspension does his back in red rose;
Like a well red rose;
Like a well-read rose
Like the red, red robin that goes ‘a’ bob bob bobbin’ along red rose;
My love is like that Lancashire, best known as Yorkshire’s ingrown toenail, red rose;
My love is like a WHITE ROSE WHITE ROSE, just kidding red rose;
My love is like a red, though some prefer a rosé.

This may seem extreme,
Angry, loud and shouty,
You’re probably thinking
‘Robert Burns is a treasure!
He’s Scotland’s heart, he’s our mountains!’
And I understand;
Such an attack appears unsightly,
I should look at things more lightly
Stop being so high and mighty, so:
I retract absolutely nothing.
Fight me.