A pot of pious prattle
simmers slowly on the stove,
and no one questions
where the hunger ends,
as the patriotic pillars
of a nation under God
concoct their latest
tax avoidance scheme.
Pugilistic packs of peers,
each louder than the next,
shake spears and rattle sabres
at those on the other shore;
for when tribalism rules,
the unity of man
is nothing but
anachronistic tripe.
Pontitectural pursuits?
A waste of precious time—
there's news to fake,
and rumours to deny.
Subversive sorts suggest to us
that bridges should be built,
when we all know that
they are made to burn.
Walls don't really fence us in
they keep the "others" out;
you've no place here
if you can't be like us.
Compromise, consensus?
These are Satan's tools—
I'll shout you down and
turn your name to mud.
If we can't learn to get along,
it matters not to me;
contented in the
knowledge that I'm right;
and when the skies begin to rain
Fire and Fury down,
I'll proudly shout "I've won!"
as I kiss my ass goodbye.
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Author Notes
I seldom venture into writing free verse - this sample probably demonstrates why. But hey, I've 365 of these things to produce if I keep going all year, so why not throw everything into the mix?
Today's word:
pontitecture (n.) the building of bridges.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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