The Egg Box
Issue 0, June 2001
luke wrightmen are from mars but this cleaner's from venusa poem written for martin newell, the independent's poet laureate
a sultan of syllables a metaphoric man
his words are deliverable his tunes are in the can
a wildman no five year plans
his humour's sharp but his beer is bland
the average punter won't understand
why some say he's the greatest living englishman
his quick witted written writs are a poetic blast
an educating blitz he's with his readers till the last
a microdotted past refusing to live fast
he went from cutting records to simply cutting grass
and now the average punter might occasionally ask
where the jangling man got his bombast
he's a dying breed of brit with a keen poetic license
an up yours wit that's suffice to finance
keep his critics' silence a popstar's defiance
making poetry a modern day acidic science
the average retailer will tell his clients
that this man's an essential household appliance
a prog rock wizard his fi is lo
a brotherhood of lizards and shortage of dough
come sun or snow he'll give you a show
and tell you how your english garden grows
you'll find him where the winds of change don't blow
he's the psychedelic gardener of wivenhoe
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