Tag Archives: rime royal

What Good is That: rime royal

What is the Truth, that we spend all our days,
from birth to death, imagining so fair
that we invent, seek to avoid or praise
some vain ideal constructed from thin air,
that as illusion is beyond compare;
it casts religions merely to take form
that neither breathes nor catches fire to warm.

What is the Truth that holds no little lies,
that is just pure just “that” and so and so.
it disappears from view when cut to size,
each grain of sand both yes and no;
the smoke and mirrors added just for show.
Each leaf of truth is part seed of deceit;
the laurel leaf the child of base defeat.

What is the Truth? An absolute so still
it stagnates to allow algae to grow,
and in the rotting flesh of every kill
injects the future’s chance of overflow,
converting into yes each maybe so?
What good is that, some fickle god’s ennui,
to folks just trying to live, like you and me?

2 MAY 2017

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Wounded to the Core: Chaucerian stanzas

If you would comprehend the world at all,
imagine this: a place so pure and wild
it knows just spring, not summer yet, or fall.
Like a capricious, spoiled and errant child
it knows not between sacred and defiled,
but treats all things with equal joy and lust
until their centers start to rust.

Once wounded, everything betrays its core;
the earth, no different from a broken limb
that was fed by the tree, but is no more.
Inside the wound, there is no chance or whim;
just living and then death, which is not grim,
but time to put one book back on the shelf
and start another version of one’s self.

28 APR 2011

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The Confession of Revenge: rime royal or Chaucerian stanza

There is no good in a war of revenge,
which at best requires its combatants cold
while for its public approval depends
upon hot blood if it is to be sold
(and hue and cry, if the plain truth be told,
is of no use when seeking for amends;
it only serves one’s foes and fickle friends).

Yet vengeance (the Lord’s, still we seek it too)
is the rallying call that excuses
much evil; a feeble pretext or two
can always be found, if one so chooses,
to spot dark designs even if the news is
unclear at best. For war, that which is true
is easily perverted and forced to

serve those who would usurp the common good.
Of course, then it is verity no more –
for those who speak out plainly, or who should,
are quickly lost in propaganda’s roar,
while the conscripted ignorant and poor
(the ready kindling for armed conflict’s wood),
trained to be mute, speak volumes with their blood.

The war machine thrives on retribution,
and so perpetuates its forward thrust;
it seeks for no permanent solutions,
knowing well that any measure of trust
would serve to crumble its dreams into dust.
For vengeful hearts, bloodless revolutions
cannot satisfy or quench power lust.

But a war of revenge cannot succeed.
Its end is not justice, its goal not peace;
and the public support on which it feeds
soon fades. Those that are so quickly fleeced
must, to guarantee their votes, be policed,
lest their swayed minds return to other needs,
and the savor they found in war will cease.

For a war of revenge is a lesson
in mindless carnage and in pointless waste;
and those who counter naked aggression
with its kin, heated anger, have misplaced
their sanity, and with their own acts, erased
shared humanity, and made confession
of their own blind greed and mad obsession.

10 AUG 2003

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