Letter To John Betjeman (Poetry)

Dear John, you are the antidote to blank,
uncertain lines that leave my senses numb,
uncomprehending, missing both the rhyme
and reason why such poems were begun.

I've tried to break the modern, cryptic code,
decipher hidden messages in those
much-vaulted, published posings in the small
press magazines who print their chopped up prose,

presenting it as poetry. I know
it isn't up to amateurs like me
to question The Establishment or ask
just what, in literature, it's meant to be.

So, needing some relief, I turn to you
to reassure me with each thorough line
of Englishness, eccentric, tongue-in-cheek,
that skilful verse will stand the test of time.

You share the lovely Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
and leafy lanes of Pinner quietly wind
their lost, suburban magic, viewed from trains,
and spread poetic balm across my mind.

I smile and give nostalgia its full rein -
your junior gymkhana's equine joke
affection teased into a rhythmic form
and executed neatly, stroke by stroke.

You champion of awful middle class,
true guardian of steeples, spires and bells,
defender of great architectural halls,
supporter of our crumbling citadels -

since you passed on the laureate's bright flame
I fear we'll never read your like again.