10-4 poetry

The Center for Literate Values ~ Defending the Western tradition of responsible individualism, disciplined freedom, tasteful creativity, common sense, and faith in a supreme moral being.

P R A E S I D I U M

A Common-Sense Journal of Literary and Cultural Analysis

10.4 (Fall 2010)

POETRY

 

art36

courtesy of artrenewal.org

 

 

The little men

 

  

 

Hey, Chanticleer, I guess I’d better warn you:

 

    You don’t impress the Neuter School of Art.

 

The little men in Kent and California

 

    Would like to rip your laurel wreath apart.

 

 

 

They call your latest work a load of rubbish;

 

    They say your composition breaks the rules.

 

They never really thought you’d ever publish,

 

    And now you’ve shown them up as utter fools.

 

 

 

I still recall the way your concert started:

 

    You sang a Latin song of long ago;

 

You danced a very modern Persian Market,

 

    You played a piece by Edgar Allan Poe.

 

 

 

The barrel-organ bards of Barren College

 

    Whose tiny lungs have lost the will to sing

 

Will represent your rebel deeds as follies,

 

    For they in wisdom never do a thing.

 

 

They’ll tell the world you’re not a true musician,

 

    They’ll even say you haven’t any skill;

 

They’d love to write a winning composition,

 

    But now they know for sure they never will.

 

  

 

I still recall the way your concert started:

 

    You sang a Latin song of long ago;

 

You danced a very modern Persian Market,

 

    You played a piece by Edgar Allan Poe.

 

 

 

The plodding poison toads who hate a sprinter

 

    Will work behind your back to steal your crown;

 

They’ll write a fierce review to scare your printer,

 

    And do their dirty best to run you down.

 

 

 

In twenty years they won’t be worth a mention:

 

    The little men will live and die unknown,

 

For people find it hard to pay attention

 

    When those who lack a chanter play a drone.

 

 

 

In twenty years they won’t be worth a mention:

 

    La la la la, la la la la la la,

 

La la la la la, la la la la la la,

 

    La la la la la la la la la la.

 

                                                            David Z. Crookes

 

  David Crookes, a resident of Belfast, is a polymath who flirts with pantamathia.  His interests range from the musical to the equestrian to the numismatic to the homiletic to–of course–the literary.