scarecrow poetics/essays

Thursday, September 08, 2005


Bards and Vicars?...

Like a reverend yet irreverent as such
Satire more noir than a rockabilly’s comb
The man ordained a thinker and a messenger
Delivers the sermon from the good book
Bound and flogged by conscience
Guided by voices who never give reason
Excuses made for the path chosen
Only at night when the angels turn out the lights ...
Can the desires that lay in the hearts of men
Be drawn out of the cave where they dwell
Under the duress of a higher power
They lie dormant yet pulsating
Congregations shiver subconsciously
At the thought of bearing witness
To a terra firma saint who walks alone
With only the rules once written
To aid his time and prophetic rhetoric
The collar that he wears is stiff
His lip that he curls is soft
His delivery ... Right arm fast ... With spin
Grasping the written word that lives in ragged pages
He steps to the lectern swift, a predator
The congregation hushed, anticipating venom
The poet prepares to strike ...

Stephen Monaghan © 2005.


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