This is definitely a light-hearted poem for those that are easily offended! It contains several references to a mysterious past when presidents, prime ministers and heads of state were seen as international leaders that spoke for all of their people and not just for the minority that got them elected. That was a time when telling the truth, questioning absurd accusations and trying to avoid tribal reasoning were things that we all aspired to, even if we disagreed on details. It was a time when the complex was not deliberately obscure and when to work hard to get something right was seen as a sign of artistic integrity rather than a proof of lack of talent!
Post Truth Poetry
I may have to accept to live in my time
By assuming truth to have no sense
And by abandoning use of rhythm and rhyme
With disregard for grammar and tense
Then, maybe, my words will become true art
And I will cease to be called an old fart
I’e never really been a follower of fashion
And certainly not one of great dedication
As a youth, I believed in some stuff with passion
But mostly at times of self-medication
I used to think that a life international
Was as enlightening as pursuit of the purely rational
I now understand that all that was an error
And, like a show trial before Mao’s Red Guard
Or at some, middle aged, inquisitional terror
I will recognise the sins in my own back yard
I will promise to become terribly tribal
And, in passing, ignore any laws of libel
I will also now write with gay abandon
And accept the new meaning of that word
No structure or method will now be planned on
And I’ll avoid the comic and the grossly absurd
As Zappa once said, I’ll be a monger of trends
And write verses or lines without any ends
I’ll honestly welcome this New Age of Reason
When long-dead poets will turn in their grave
What I have done, thus far, may be considered treason
And a disgusting way for the old to behave
I might even start saying some new-age prayers
And kicking the disabled down logical stairs
My poetry will be a true revelation
Not like the trash of a Larkin or Joyce
I’ll dedicate my work to some weird conservation
And destroy my seemingly classless voice
I’ll try to speak with a street-wise tongue
And emulate the uneducated young
But let us return to this post-truth notion
I cannot be sure if the expression is British
Or whether it comes from across the ocean
In any case, for the moment, its usage is skittish
Apparently truth is no more to be sought
And plural realities at school must be taught
I’ll have to write to the Royal Mail
And ask for some friendly advice
From this service that should never fail
For people for whom the postman knocks twice
Thus I may finally recover my youth
And discover true meaning in a world post-truth