Saturday, February 28, 2009


This vile container of spleen and liver, appendix, ducts
And a brain upheld by reptilian cords older than the coldest rocks --
Easily pierced by soft steel or rusty bodkins --
Hath assert'd its dominion, as per instructions, over Earth and all the beasts:
Those of the field, those that swimme,
And the rest that mock us by flight and the flapping of wings.

And now the dead, extinct and nearly so
Crie out to the black heavens,
The heavens that house the phony gamekeeper
That Man hath fondled with his tongue, and worshipp'd
In writing
And seas of blood.

Oxenforde, 2009


unokhan said...

"And the rest that mock us by flight and the flapping of wings."

might read:

"And the rest that mock us by flight and flapping wings." (economy)

besides that, and the mischronology of reptiles and rocks, excellent verse man!

The (late) Earl of Oxford said...

Uno: The reptile/rock thing... I left it on purpose. As though the idea of mankind, in all its hideous splendor, was writhing about as the place was beginning to cool.

Yikes. Sounds almost creationist. I'd best be off to church.

unokhan said...

okay how bout "colder than the oldest rocks"

i know, shut up, it's your poem

The (late) Earl of Oxford said...

Fucking editors.

Actually, I can live with 'colder than the oldest rocks'.

Being dead allows one a wider perspective.