Naked

Naked

A Pantoum

When you’ve made a three piece suit from your fear

it’s hard to learn to go naked.

When you’ve screamed so loud stones can hear

its hard to admit that you faked it.

It’s hard to learn to go naked

when you weave your own lies at the loom.

It’s hard to admit that you faked it

when you love your own prophecy of doom.

When you weave your own lies at the loom

your tongue wears them often and well.

When you’ve written your bible of doom

you have to keep preaching the sell.

Your tongue wears it all often and well

because truth has become too complex.

You have to keep preaching the sell

since it has what you want to come next.

Your mind will forget how to flex

and the soul will forget how to see,

because it’s all about special effects

making horseshit of reality.

The soul will forget how to see

when you’ve cried wolf so loud stones can hear.

You’ve beggared reality

when you make a three piece suit from your fear.

September 2011

Posted better late than never for   FormForAll   at dVerse Poets Pub

where Gay Cannon does an informative and impossible to resist exposition on the Malay poetry form known as the pantoum. It's a cascading form which uses repeating phrases, and you can find the full definition laid out clearly and succinctly with examples, including a great pic of Baudelaire with a cigar, at the link above.

(I've taken a few liberties with not reproducing the repeating lines word for word.)

Front Man

Front Man

Every power needs a front man

someone blameless, bright and shining,

a stooge who’ll never quite understand

how he’s used  for pocket lining,

the place he fills in the master plan.

It's essential he speak with charm as he preaches

from a  humble soapbox in the village square.

It stuns the crowd if he gives up his riches

or sometimes shaves off all his hair.

While standing up to the scapegoat leeches,

he should radiate upstanding prelate,

woman’s fancy and man’s self-dream.

It helps if sour milk suits his palate

better than  lobster stewed in cream,

his rhetoric smooth as threadbare velvet.

Above all he must seem pure and sincere

strong and innocent, honest in belief,

for that’s what it takes to front the career

of the invisible, guileful, controlling thief

who mints gold from blood and rules through fear.

May 2011

With apologies to St. Francis, for whom I have the highest respect. This photo  just happened to spark a train of thought that has more to do with politics than religion.

Posted for Magpie Tales # 65 

and also for

OneStopPoetry Form, A Look at Rhyme

I've tried to include a variety of different types of rhyme in this poem, with at least one 'perfect rhyme' per stanza and the others a mix of feminine and slant rhyme. Gay please critique this aspect as you see fit.

Uncredited Image provided by Magpie Tales
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