A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
I live in luxury. I’ve got it made
and pity these poor priests who’ve tagged along.
They sell religion just like I sell jade.
If I were them I doubtless I would have stayed
in Persia where there’s wine, poetry, song.
I live in luxury, I’ve got it made,
but these poor saps—well, I can see they’ve strayed
from common sense. Their piety is strong:
they sell religion just like I sell jade.
I sneer at their bare feet, how they’re arrayed;
for them, girls, poets, music would be wrong.
I live in luxury, I’ve got it made,
but they want converts. What an escapade!
Walking the Silk Road, this unsightly throng!
They sell religion just like I sell jade.
The greenstone makes me rich when it’s displayed
in Persia, where these sorry monks belong.
I live in luxury, I’ve got it made.
They sell religion just like I sell jade.
David Landrum is professor of Humanities at Cornerstone University, Grand Rapids, Michigan. He has published poetry and short stories in Web Del Sol, The Barefoot Muse, Umbrella , and others journals and he edits an online poetry magazine, Lucid Rhythms.