I like to think that I invented a poetic form that I call The Diatribe, a poem, usually free verse (who has time for meter when they’re really pissed off?), that rants self-righteously and directly against one or more objects of scorn. Once in a while, though, I run across a poem that proves that others have already stumbled onto this form themselves: Amy Gerstler’s “Fuck You Poem #45” is a fun example that comes to mind.
While such poems are cathartic to write, they are difficult to control, as anger most always is, and to be good, they require an unusual lack of vanity on the part of the writer. That’s why I was so impressed with Sharon McCartney’s rage-fueled collection, “For and Against.” Read my full review on Rover. And let me know if you can think of other diatribe poems.