Indie Poem Special! Best of Wallace’s Poetry on Patreon…

Serpent fable allegory

Glossy News Satire has plenty of funny poems from our talented satirists and comedians, but we also welcome the odd serious poem, even if it’s not exactly our staple content. Here are a few examples of the very best poetry from my Patreon…

1. THE WEASEL AND THE SERPENT

A long-unpublished poem. 

Inspired by Tess of the D’Urbervilles, and by those who read it well.

PRELUDE:

I saw the sly serpent,

WIth his uncoiling.

A squeak of rage!

Weasel chased the serpent. 

Over time, the weasel, he drew closer.

Then the weasel slowed down, panted, exhausted.

With a naughty glint in his eye, the serpent slithered over and bit the weasel on the neck. The poisoned weasel started trembling and crying. The Judas Kiss had done for him, in the end…

THE WEASEL AND THE SERPENT

How great the love seducers harbor slyly

How wily is the loving of the snake

The hissing of the modest, crawling serpent

How this hath set the towers of truth aquake!

The serpent’s kingdom is all artifice and folly

He makes black white, and white to black again

Yet once discerned, the serpent’s power is vanquished

For he’s not the vilest liar among men

How slithering, cold of blood is this seducer

The first and greatest father of confusion

Yet once his aged skin is shrewd espied

How easy to evade his hissing wiles!

But the creature that is viler than the serpent

Is not the one who slumbers in the grass

Our naughty friend, the cheeky little serpent

Is wicked, but far greater is the wrath

Of a stricken conscience seduced not by a reptile

But by a creature of warm blood like yours and mine

Our friend the weasel has no malice in him

His fur is civilised, his gentle eyes do brightly shine

The weasel means no harm to his beloved

He makes grand promises, and he breaks every one

Like him, the serpent also is a liar

Like him, he lies from dawn to setting sun

There is but one difference between these vicious creatures

There is but one inconsequential feature

That sets a single scale of virtue and of vice

Betwixt the twain. O fouler far than rats and mice!

The judgment here is this:

Weasel believes his lies, while snake dissimulates.

The weasel weeps and mourns, heart fit to perish

The serpent smugly hisses, midnight gloats with relish

Now which unhappy creature is the most pernicious?

Some rush to answer, Mr Snake is clearly vicious!

But as you headlong plunge into such certitude

The wise deplore your foolish attitude

The Serpent is a creature from hellfire

Nothing good may ever come of his desire

But the weasel? He was once a lad of virtue

With some beauty, some goodness and some truth to

Chase away the devils of temptation

That virtuous love would share his coronation

Instead he fell from Paradise to Hellfire

Now, tell me, candid friend: is he not the greater liar!

Fools Rush In Where True Love’s Slow to Tread

All earthy loves to us are patterns sent

The robe is One, though t’ threads be sadly rent

We murmur, mutter, heedless we rush on

Deaf to the wisdom two thousand years agone

That those who cast away their precious patience, heedless

Are pierced with countless sorrows, O vain and needless

Is the pain of he who cannot wait for love!

Of she who doth surrender to the tide above

Of surging passion’s torrent, tempestuous, sans restraint

Both surely shall be carried off, unless the great

Resplendent mercy of their continence shall shield them from the storm

And keep each precious soul and body free from harm.

The only fortress grand that saves from danger

Is the humble, strong simplicity of the manger

Where strength through weakness, lion’s heart in wool

Reproached the blustering arrogance of the fool

Who says ‘If not now, then never!’

When he ought to say ‘O tender patience, be thou mine forever!’

The one who shines his wisdom to the world

Shall be kept safe, undrowned, unstarved, unburned,

No beloved one he ever shall reject

He has for them two precious, painful words:

Not yet!

Not yet, ah me! The sorrow of the solitary

And yet, it is the seed from which all charity

Shall grow and grow, as fear and hate grow sweet,

And self-sacrificial love, kenosis, puts out her tender shoots

And as our faces begin to shine His radiance,

The greatest of all Loves is mirrored here below:

Be it loyal husband, generous wife,

Or brave audacious comrades of the soul!

THE DREAM OF PLATO (ALSO PUBLISHED IN CENTRIFUGUE, SAD PRESS)

Mothers.

Fathers.

Brothers.

Sisters.

Family.

Friends.

Fellow-laborers.

Weepers.

Players.

Laughers.

Dreamers.

Come frail, come fallen!

Come boisterous, come sullen!

I summon here all God’s plenty

Now hearken to my weeping

And your joy!

There are 250 billion galaxies

Under the most towering, thrillmost canopy

Of our heaven.

But this is the one where we chose to be born.

Because we did not wish to be alone.

We could have been the angel of an entire galaxy,

The sovereign God Almighty of ten thousand times ten thousand clusters,

The unchallenged lords and masters of all the eye surveys

Across the unboundable reaches of the Kosmos.

But we chose, instead, to shrink our bodies

Even if our souls are great as ever

And we ever exceed the weightiness of our silver yokes.

We could have been the glorious emperors of our eternal leisure

But we chosen instead the path of humility, and of diligence, and of pain

For we said in our hearts:

“It is not good for the individual to be alone.”

We chose to weep, to bleed,

E’en presently to die.

Worst of all, we chose discord and disharmony and enmity

And the most painful of all of these is misapprehension

The stab of stabs

The bleeding of bleedings

The wounds we were given in the house of our friends.

And yet, we chose to honor our sacrifice of love

And swore to triumph over every pang

So that as the heavens are glorious above

So also would the beauty of our deeds and of our hearts

Adorn this emerald meadow here below.

That we would shine and weep glad tidings as the stars of the sea

And blaze like the sun of mercy,

The moon of sweet, sad consolation

And that as the eternal Law above us runs with vigor and with majesty

So also we would have the chance

Once fallen, stricken, wounded and amazed

To strive

To be as one

As the weeping bride of Love joins hands

With palms of righteous Mercy

And every child of Heaven shouts for joy

As the mighty wheel of Time doth yawn and crack asunder

In our headlong middle-flight beyond the stars

And all earth’s green creation

Springs anew

And solitude’s pain and sorrow

Bursts out and flowers scarlet

In the all-embracing rage and giddy glory

Of the victory of compassion’s noontide waves

And the never-ending pilgrimage of catastrophe

And the sullen, shadow’s birth

Of a Bethlehem beyond the railings

A sweet, sweet smoking chugging

Into a vast red sunset, athwart endless hills of memory

There is room aplenty for one, and two

What lies beyond this

Only the deepest treasuries of the heart

Dare dream disclosure?

Confucius Said

Confucius frowned, his eyebrow’s furrows jagged

We his students gaped, the brightest? Aye. And laggards!

“The Heavens do not speak,” he said

See me and Yan dismayed!

For Yan, the gentle dreamer, was a precious soul

But like our beloved master, he knew the whole

Of what was lovingly and fearfully instilled within

And thus he died, so young, yet free of swagger’s sin.

Oh solemn Yan! We used to mock and tease him!

Especially when some solemn vision seized him.

But his wondrous daydreams, had we eyes to see

Could have brought great light to you and me…

And you, O aged Master! The wise one of all ages.

Although you shuffled, shameful at all sycophantic quatsch of ‘Sages’

You emptied out your pride and gave us freedom

You prized our tribute ounce, as though t’were jade from Heaven

But many there were who saw you as a pedant

The workmen scoffed.

No less did lily-trousered pheasants!

Peacock and peasant, farmer and princeling were your foes

But such also were your friends, as served your virtuous ends

As alway your solemn brow, a steady prow

Outrose fell, rank corruption’s haughty nose

And one sad evening, we heard your staff once more.

‘Master!’ I wailed, as you gently rapped the door.

‘Where have you been? Did you see him once again?’

You frowned and stony-lipped did warn:

‘Good order please, young man.’

I wept because I’d spoken out of sorrow.

Good manners, yes. But can’t we wait until the morrow?

Seeing my tears, you also wept a while

Then you explained your joke; bestowed an echo for my smile.

‘The Old Master, Lao Zi, is a curious man,’ you muttered.

Normally your voice was bright and clear.

But you were weary, like a great four oceans’ sailor

This one sad evening, there would be no joyful singing here.

Zigong was rowdy, ever true to form.

‘Surely not! We ought to have been warned!’

Just this once, his liberty was met with laughter.

And strange to say, our fellow comrade gay,

Would make no more such naughty jests thereafter.

Just this once, silent Yan piped up, to break his musing.

Like a ringing temple bell, sans bewilderment’s confusion

He said ‘The Old Master must surely be a learned man,’

And then the Beloved Master grimaced.

Silence, as the autumn’s gutters ran.

I would like to tell you all the Master told us

For in his heart he had ever sworn to hold us

As he pruned our spirits, watered intellects

But to tell a peck of rice would truly vex us

How much more so the treasure houses he erected?

But if there is one truth that I could tell

Our Master wielded for us,

Fending off rank presumption’s wheedling hell

Perhaps this one grain I can spare for you

So you and yours shall thereby be nourished too

This law is firm as the rules of eight and seven:

Look to yourself alone; the rest must rest with Heaven.

THE RUNES OF LOVE

Thine azure orbs flash fury

Yet thy single eye is fear

Ears pierced by naught but thunder

Deaf to the pleadings dear

I quiver, at thy lightning

Knowing not a summer’s breeze

Trembles ‘neath the gallows fit for

Love’s dread lost ten thousand years

I divine thou art perplexed

Mine heart pierceth rage of red

But far from me the knowledge

Of th’ enwoven tendering threads

If my choler make thee tremble

Must needs be nor for hurt nor woe

Why incarnate such madness

Unless I loved you so?

But love is blind, and blinder still

The lover in a slough

The one who careless reads the runes

Hard-necked, shall be cut off

A NEW POEM, OLD AS MOUNTAINS (To appear in forthcoming book, ‘Morsels of Mercy’)

Mighty of fate,

Whose homeland was among us,

Weak of breath and heartbeat,

Whose courage did redeem us,

Resplendent darkness,

O thou great unmanifest mystery of time!

Be with us still, e’en as the sun declines…

Bless us, that we may bless thee,

Comfort us, we thy healers

We soar, thou fallest, and yet thou hast risen again

Dwell among us til the day of doom,

Until the dayspring strums our famished hearts again!

Author: Wallace Runnymede

Wallace is the editor of Brian K. White's epic website, Glossy News! Email him with your content at wallacerunnymede#gmail.com (Should be @, not #!) Or if you'd like me to help you tease out some ideas that you can't quite put into concrete form, I'd love to have some dialogue with you! Catch me on Patreon too, or better still, help out our great writers on the official Glossy News Patreon (see the bottom of the homepage!) Don't forget to favourite Glossy News in your browser, and like us on Facebook too! And last but VERY MUCH not the least of all... Share, share, SHARE! Thanks so much for taking the time to check out our awesome site!

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