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. 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.