© Copyright 2005-2009 The Penpoint View
“Teach these boys and girls nothing but facts. Facts alone are wanted in life.” -Mr. Thomas Gradgrind in Hard Times by Charles Dickens.
Arriving in droves, those of undimmed light
Seek to scale walls of such great height.
Unbeknownst to their yet ignited wick,
Knowledge speak softly, yet carry a big stick.
Wielded with malign, the misers of flame
Thrash it ‘bout until Prometheus become lame.
With bold strokes, a pen engaged in noble cause,
Its sweep now confined to the dogma of laws.
Life’s lessons hang framed, the ink long dried,
To live by what is known, is but a life survived.
They know not of the plowman’s sorrow
Nor broken wingéd youth’s intrepid spiral.
Ne’r tasted of sweat afore dawn
Nor flown so close to the sun.
Truth elusive save for adamant pursuit
Not ne’r ending talk of those better left mute.
Through silence, knowledge transcends the self,
Though oft interrupt, the intellectual elf.
The mind yields fruit of the sweetest taste
Unbound by the chains of a fascist state.
A fading light bequeaths one last wish,
To practice discern with that you ingest.
Perchance it is the critic’s...
Perchance it is the critic’s ale,
To criticize that at which we fail.
My cup, hath brimmed speciously
That I may drink it to the lees.
I offer forth a modest syllabus
And humbly begin qui mihi diciplus .
The Ides of March, fear not, nor cabal,
Only vengeance for slain Abel.
No cask of Amontillado await,
Nor crested harbinger of ill-fate .
Retribution sounds amidst your tomb,
Nemo me impune lacessit , nitre, loom.
Would pale as proper penance for such sin,
Jove’s pardon, waits not East of Eden.
From piqued to contrite, I your Virgil,
will guide your Oedipal Exile.
Once cipher of the sphinx riddle,
All of Thebes’ honor upon your toil.
Now sire of intellectual incest,
Blind thy eyes, leave thy wound undressed.
In effigy, you will forever burn,
A Dantean fate, tongueless at your lectern.
Devoured by an abstemious pupil,
No longer sate by insipid platitude.
May your pompous lessons, by de Sade’s valet ,
Be returned, with equal vigor, from whence they came.
Pedantic thoughts followed by unwieldy tome,
A debauchery to rival that of Rome.
Marlowe Fox
Arriving in droves, those of undimmed light
Seek to scale walls of such great height.
Unbeknownst to their yet ignited wick,
Knowledge speak softly, yet carry a big stick.
Wielded with malign, the misers of flame
Thrash it ‘bout until Prometheus become lame.
With bold strokes, a pen engaged in noble cause,
Its sweep now confined to the dogma of laws.
Life’s lessons hang framed, the ink long dried,
To live by what is known, is but a life survived.
They know not of the plowman’s sorrow
Nor broken wingéd youth’s intrepid spiral.
Ne’r tasted of sweat afore dawn
Nor flown so close to the sun.
Truth elusive save for adamant pursuit
Not ne’r ending talk of those better left mute.
Through silence, knowledge transcends the self,
Though oft interrupt, the intellectual elf.
The mind yields fruit of the sweetest taste
Unbound by the chains of a fascist state.
A fading light bequeaths one last wish,
To practice discern with that you ingest.
Perchance it is the critic’s...
Perchance it is the critic’s ale,
To criticize that at which we fail.
My cup, hath brimmed speciously
That I may drink it to the lees.
I offer forth a modest syllabus
And humbly begin qui mihi diciplus .
The Ides of March, fear not, nor cabal,
Only vengeance for slain Abel.
No cask of Amontillado await,
Nor crested harbinger of ill-fate .
Retribution sounds amidst your tomb,
Nemo me impune lacessit , nitre, loom.
Would pale as proper penance for such sin,
Jove’s pardon, waits not East of Eden.
From piqued to contrite, I your Virgil,
will guide your Oedipal Exile.
Once cipher of the sphinx riddle,
All of Thebes’ honor upon your toil.
Now sire of intellectual incest,
Blind thy eyes, leave thy wound undressed.
In effigy, you will forever burn,
A Dantean fate, tongueless at your lectern.
Devoured by an abstemious pupil,
No longer sate by insipid platitude.
May your pompous lessons, by de Sade’s valet ,
Be returned, with equal vigor, from whence they came.
Pedantic thoughts followed by unwieldy tome,
A debauchery to rival that of Rome.
Marlowe Fox
