Not the brash, brain numbing trash
As depicted by, young, strutting peacocks
Their brand of noise, I find irritating
To the point where I try not to listen.
Recently, whilst in a crowded pub
People were all talking at once
The place was racked, with strained conversations
People having to almost shout, to establish their relations.
On top of that, the music volume was so high
Adding to the difficulty, of nil, entertainment
That blatant, barrier to civilised conversation
More likely to cause my, Cardiac ablation.
Why do places of enjoyment, choose to do this?
Rather than encourage elderly old gentlemen like me
It seems, pub landlords have become the bourgeoisie
Eager to embolden me, to become just another absentee.
How much better would it be, if Chopin, or Mozart, would gently play
Softly, background music, old favourites, written so long ago;
Civilised, crystallised – sweetly tripping across a key board
Gently bringing memories, solidified, so many years ago.
I’m a bit set in my ways
I don’t pretend to like discordant noise
I hate Ravel’s Bolero, and any of Gershwin’s tripe
But could happily listen to Joplin, or Shostakovich, without a gripe.
Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky, or the romance of Brahms floats my boat
Rachmaninov, Beethoven … all worthy masters of pleasure
Pop music, was never my favourite pastime
I like the news, some films, but give me music anytime, as my preferred leisure.