again
i’m insulted pompous
young i
often custard pompoused
an enthusiasm an interest
a thing known
listeners to know
to work to grasp
most took the meant
i’d put effort
i’d interest
i’d an understood
but resenters resent the rattle on excited
perhaps they’ve no ability
perhaps they’ve no intensity
perhaps they’ve never gumptioned
no don’t fix the failure
insult
and by insult
admit their fault
can’t think
can’t work
can’t learn
often i’m pompoused
rattling modernist enthusiasm
complexity takes a stress
reward for work
i’ve challenged insulters
they’ve not tried
they’ve not worked
they’ve not heard
they won’t test
won’t work
won’t learn
so they insult
admit my work
admit their none
resent their state
resent their lazy
can’t think
can’t work
can’t learn
too thick to know
even the naïf grasp
music is personal taste
for the young me
programming a rare profession
silly media labelled
for whizz kids and genius
a nonsense
we all know now
anyone with fascination
can understand
i knew then
i was no whizz
it was a profession
wrapped in nouveau fear’s blood shine
i’d had the luck to find
that’s all
yet pompousers pompoused me
resenting my rattling joy
refusing kenning’s work
they labelled themselves
intentionally ignorant
the dictionary’s pompous
windbag false pomp
glamour sans amour
that’s the insulters attempt
they see no substance
they don’t look
they won’t look
they don’t see
they won’t see
the pleasure of modernist music
the simplicity of programming
substance itself
they insult those who do
they won’t think
won’t work
won’t learn
they can’t think
can’t work
can’t learn
pomp itself’s a spectacle
a trance
a bright pride in dull times
of culture of history
if the pompous make associate
we’re accused
of taste
to be insulted pompous
means
you think
you work
you learn
you express
and a lazy resenter
resents
his lazy–made
bête