Discredited in Birmingham
Your bland mosaics, weak and pale
More like Bud than honest ale
More like chalk than wholesome cheese
Not like health, more like disease
Just the ticket for the Tate
Your buckling sculptures, tired and stale
More like water than like ale
More like flesh than good red fowl
Not like a laugh, more like a growl
Just the thing to tickle Fate.
Your tawdry frescoes, wan and quaint
More like puke than any paint
More like frying-pan than fire
Not good at all, but really dire
Just the kind of stuff I Hate!
Your sordid etchings, smudged and faint
More like splurging than restraint
Less than wholesome, quite absurd
Not quite first rate, more like third
Just what I Regurgitate
Yet your enamel's of the best
Not Faberge, but I'm impressed
Not quite thrilled, but more than glad
It's more than good, it's not half bad
Really rather Second-rate!
|Roland, fester, The Agent Apsley, P.
|20th March 2000.