(with apologies to Mr Orwell)
Let’s keep politics out of this.
It’s only entertainment, after all.
There are many Truths and Beauty, as you know,
is always in the eye of the beholder.
As for narratives, be they ever so grand,
they really are so very last year.
Let us, as professionals, polish our skills;
let us make a whetstone of perfection.
Poets, though, do it mostly for love,
there being piss poor profit in verse.
So when is a poem not a poem at all?
When it’s song that breaks the rules.
And when does the song-bird forget to sing
if not when she’s hobbled and tied?
The smart set would strive for anonymity now
but how will they know when they arrive there?
Perhaps, after all, we have waited too long
to find we all have a story to sell.