I’m not the sort of poet
Who sits in draughty halls
With tweedy horn-rimmed women
Or men with little beards
Reading their untamed verses to each other
And to polite applause
Passing smiles from cheek to cheek
With handshakes and hugs to say
“Well, I liked it, anyway.”

[cut]

No, I’m the sort of poet
Who writes the sort of thing
That people read for pleasure
Or sit around and sing.

Extracted from “Writer of Songs”
from The Things That I Can’t Say


(c) 2002 & 2011 Jefferson Galt.

(Title in homage to Harvey Andrews
the songwriter who makes strong men cry)

words by jeffersongalt.com Songs, Poems and bits of this and that