Category Archives: Sycophants

“A Most Pernicious Thought”

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“A Most Pernicious Thought”

A most pernicious thought now feasts on my heart:
So pitiful the plaintiffs for trust’s bold choice
That luminaries silhouette an arc
Upon a scrim of virtues turned vices, flat.

Without their Source what ails a consecrated voice
But that the same golden letters that  part
What creation’s wrought now style sycophants;  ploys

Are noised as their own—their precinct the arts—
While corporate cousins likewise employ boys
Within their signs as husbandmen, warts and tarts
Upon a scrim of virtues turned vices, flat.

“Take Away”

Marilyn Monroe-Pop Culture

Marilyn Monroe [1926-1962]
“If I’d observed all the rules, I’d never have got anywhere…”

“Take Away”

Take away the shackles of faculties, the prodigal powers
Of youth, the viscosity of strangers
And friends, the leonine odds of birth with dangers
Lurking in the pride of family hours,
And beyond; remove the adulation of the ubiquitous twin towers
Touted through the Belt Way from Wall Street to the manger;
Displace, then,  the landed genii, articles of faith in sycophants and trolls; anger’s
Legions, mantras of the deaf and dumb, the apostates of the flowers
Of all generations, the misgivings of those that wink at love that cannot last,
and set above all it all common traffic in camera, sessions in the night,
Rites that are never forgotten but should be,
The mythology of ends far out-weighs the infamy of means.
To forget to forget as Laius to his Œdipus, witnesses that cast
Lots in choruses eager to testify to shadows in the dawn’s early  light.

A Descent

“If I Am Alive”

“If I Am Alive”

If I am alive but barely, still I live
Beyond the doubts and casual appearance
Of hosts of others in the cast, their clearance
Measured, their endurance no further than they give
To pass the time away, or worse, nothing more than missives
On a wire, more deadly, even lethal straight through the air;  deliverance
From them becomes their desperation if but a single brick in evidence
Has not been claimed, their fingerprints ubiquitous on every page, a sieve
To flatter, conjure, mediate, to violate the very marrow of the peace.
May I care or caudle, must I savour penury in the fault
Of the age or pay homage to what is of yesterday but is today
No more than fumes and vapour from a passion thrice delayed
And more?   It is no matter in the West, but the die is cast just east
Of what was once an Eden seeded in antiquities, its soils turned to salt.             What sweeter taste distilled than from what’s begun;
What royal satisfaction compares to what’s been finished?
The lines are weakly drawn between the millimetre, the inch,
And all that follows once done must then expire; the run
Of ruts and dull inertia vie with one another while the sun
Drowns both alternatives and their inverse as does the sea the fish,
Or school, skies, the single bird or flock. See it as you wish.
But oh, had I but known! Arachne’s pride, her hubris spun
Alike from fingers and divinities in some sweet loom
That should amaze the multitudes of men and sublimity but broke
The natural faculties of all the gods in their aversion. Themselves
In terror, but more so in the wisdom of the goddess from the shelves
Of ancient vain imaginings, from the book a page from destiny revealed too soon.
In the end comes justice from Athena; through the smoke
Of perfect passion’s edifice brought low by imperfection,
Her action brewed with desire in a panoply of attributes never ratified,
Never satisfied. What star knows neither birth nor death but matter pacified
In both with rest and  final consummation in eternity? Circumspection
Not choice is the crown of those who wait and if they wait upon selection
Torn from choice and born if only then to die, they must abide
By what they learn: the end is in the beginning, a number multiplied
If only in division, hurled back again from death to resurrection.
In all creation and unique in the stations of simplicity.
Both gods and men deny they are but doomed
As both are so devised that from the void they came
And to the void in certain splendour they remain
And cannot rise above the regions of duplicity.
As is the womb, so is all creation in the end consumed.
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...something inspired to some degree by the daily news of wars, rumours of wars, earthquakes, tsunamis, savage attitudes by governments, religious and secular, who would attack and destroy their own people; economic ruin in the face of conscious knowledge of what can no longer be sustained by a world population of close to 7,000,000,000, most of which is starving, all of which are grieving what was and is no more coupled by what must now come and can no longer be avoided….

But I have that within which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Hamlet, Act I, Scene 2
William Shakespeare [1564-1616]

“Just Another Evening’s Fast”

“Just Another Evening’s Fast”

Just another evening’s fast,
By chance, a simple dinner, happenstance within the seams
And lining of sidling sibling intercourse that satisfies or possibly redeems
The thing that leaves its fossils free for future scavengers, no past
To contemplate, a coroner’s delight from the proceeds of a centrifuge.
Cleverness of movement mounts in moments somehow cleft
And processed as lesions in the lard of what’s been left
To marinate or age. Discharge, wastes from the deluge
Along the banquet boards, but dammed provide
A watershed, the simple servant to all cardinal sins
To celebrate with sufficient zeal a subtrahend
That will not be outgrown nor decompose and cannot break its stride
With backdoor vipers or ill-used garden snakes. At harm’s length
Visitations of the witnesses can only grow in strength.