Just in Case

I make my art from common things
more cabbage patch than pearls on strings
right plain I spoke no riddles made
among the words where I have played.
 
Still,'  folk pretend to be bemused
make mock amazement, seem amused,
a sly attempt, it could be said,
to deride words grown, from my head...
 
I say it's they with their mean minds
wilfully closed snide and unkind,
no laurel leavers I could crown
if they write up it is to put down.
 
They are gathering their collective breath
to blow me into literal death,
but I'll beat 'em if they essay
though spelling book be my only aide...