Sacred Stanzas of Assassination

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Gods—Odin, Bragi—gruesomeness, give lines

To bards as shamans.  Shame lacks any ruth.

Their stanzas grow strict dinosauric spines

For slashing.  Sense of slaughter is their truth.

Their trance in drunkenness in verse and gods

Goes glamming up the glories of the gash

That gobbles till alliteration’s frauds

Turn into beauties, butcheries of slash.

The spear and slash of sword are meant for song

Of savages and gods.  The slaughter of

The innocent is praised when piercing prong

Brings barbarism, thrust of godlike shove.

  The point of poetry pipes most of all

    In godly purity of death in thrall.

©  Phillip Whidden