Sits the monkish owl.
Beneath its own cowl.
If not candled and windowed, lit as
Soft, meditative.
That, wakeful, before
Sinks, wearily, more.
Grass-burnt, sunned life. Flashed too lewd, pranced through.
Dawned; hell-reactive.
Through the ages
monkish chapels have erected alters
built from human skulls.
Mystics have understood
that such morbid displays
can lead to a fervor
of jaw-dropping moments.
The human skull reminds us
that death leaves its own gravestones.
Besides,
such boneyard objects de ’art
simply beg to be made into candle holders
or useful paperweights
additionally,
a dislocated mandible
serves as a most adequate rest
for a lit cigar.
In the house where I was born
We tied our laces in the dark
Then shuffled down the stairs without a lamp.
We breathed a foggy whisper
On a window webbed with frost
And we swore, and we swore,
And we swore the vows of knighthood every day.
In the house where I was born
We ate our breakfast standing up;
The better for to make the swill go down.
We dipped the dripping ladle,
Closed our eyes and swallowed hard
And we swore, and we swore,
And we swore the vows of knighthood every day.
Gravity, brevity, granite and lead,
War bread and horseflesh, a pillar of salt,
Tilt yard, curtain wall, tallow on slate,
Crossed swords with diamonds; Et monstro fides.
In the house where I was born
We swept the dirt beneath the rug,
Then nailed its ragged edges to the floor.
We strapped our monkish duties
Hemp and leather to our backs
And we swore...
CUM ET PIUS VIRTUTIS (With devout courage
ET SUPPLEX VIRES And humble strength
NOS PAREBIMUS DOMINUS We serve our lord
ET MONSTRO FIDES Faithfully)
Frankly, the house was crooked
and glum to the bone.
The usual dead bugs and dust,
some flaking rust.
The weight of all this closed-in time
hung heavily on the realters shoulders.
for a while, it made us all
spasmodically mute.
The kitchen was a small grotto
for long deceased gnomes.
The agent led us through other rooms,
where dead spaces roamed like foraging hogs.
Glazed windows let in only shadows
which then retired to expire
into monkish cubbyholes.
Upstairs a gothic renaissance had faltered
after its chained dragon had died of ennui.
Being young and broke, we moved in,
and until we could afford cable,
we learned to love Spam sandwiches,
while studying by candlelight
all the lesser known
Gregorian chants.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.