The Lot Of The Poet Poem by Warren Brown

Well, its damned hard going, this apprenticeship at poetry
What with wives that don't agree and Aunts that blanche
At what life presents, the things I see, seems they don't agree
I write it like it is but Gawd! I am in trouble, no panache!

I suppose that Henry and Banjo, they took it on the chin
To hell with the critics I say, sock it to ‘em is the message
Culture, I say, in this day and age, its getting rather thin!
Aunt Nell it seems, was embarrassed with the mention of me sausage!

It's a terrible crime to bend the story to make it rhyme
Its harder still to stay on track to keep to a flowing theme
But it's a bit like music, one, two, three, four, have to keep in time
But I might wake up and decide its naught but a bad old dream!

All the old romantic bits, they've been done before, I therefore
Decide to capture what I see and what I feel and put it into print
How am I to know that what I see is not fit for mass consumption?
This doesn't rhyme I know - but do you see some hope, a glint?

The English language, it is a living thing, you can twist it all about
Bodily functions, birds, the lovely view, you can talk about anything
But its got to rhyme and keep in time, otherwise its all put out
To air, where the domestic critics will pull it apart and everything!