Philistine Fred

You say that all poetry is gobbledygook:

That Art’s a waste of time

Elvis was just a Showman

And Freddie Mercury…

(Yes the same first name as you!)

…I’d better not say.

Where is your soul, Philistine Fred?

So many like you around.

Your mind cluttered with clinical facts,

Everything measured

And boxed –

Fastidious and precise.

Emotion killed

By setsquares

Set by Pythagoras

On a geometrical day.

You hate historical dramas

And all things learned.

Admitting any Education

Loses any street cred earned.

Stories are for dreamers

Yet you watch hours and hours

Of soaps.

You love supporting football teams

From places you’ve never been near.

But at least you like your pubs

For a lovely pint of beer.

I guess I’ll have to keep trying

To get through to you and your kind.

Yet I know some things ain’t possible

And you may never change your mind.

But yes I’ll keep on trying:

Keep banging out my poems –

Knowing that my pockets

Will never be lined with coins.

I know that you won’t read this,

But I will carry on.

For there are people out there

Who will listen to my song.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\7\2020.

(Partly Inspired by “How Do You Sleep” (1971) song by John Lennon.