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.
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