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Poem

The Critics


This poem begins with a short story


Once upon a time in a land and time far, far away
People would listen to music
Read Novels
Read Poetry
Watch movies
Look at art
And decide for themselves
Whether or not it looked good
Sounded good
Kept them entertained
Or touched their soul
These people knew beyond doubt
When they were moved
And often moved to tears
Moved to smiles
Moved to silence
All this happened 
Once upon a time in a land and time far, far away


Then one day The Critics came
Deciding that they new better
Than everyone else
So they formulated their opinions
Joined their clubs
And backed each other up

They stole our appreciation
Convinced us
With complex hyper intellectualism
With clever explanations
Of artistic social statements

They took away the art
And made it feed their world
They took away the art
And made it feed their ego
They took away our art
And told us that we the populace 
Just didn’t have a clue

It’s always seemed strange to me
That a critics talent propensity 
Is to criticize
Do they stand there with a brush
And pour out the colours of their heart
Do they ache on the tip of a pen
Trying to capture burning lines
Written in their souls
Do they have the talent to produce the music
Do they even know what a muse is
Do they produce anything of note

Anything which “we” may consider worthy
Of taking note

It’s the strange talent-less world of The Critic
They wish that they could do it
But they know they can’t
So instead they just steal it
And try to tell us they know what art is
But we know they don’t

These people will use our indignation
To get the worlds attention
To make us listen to their opinions
Of our own creations
They will sequester our right to see
Any beauty that we see
And sell it for the price
And do it for the money

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