Poems by John Pilkey |
J. A. D. Ingres. Monsieur Bertin (1832) What do these stout infidels suppose and who shall believe them in years to come? I have seen their father Noah walking in the mountains of Armenia dressed in full armor and in arms laughing at the chart of perfervid monkeys and gnashing the follies of his foolish sons with iron teeth. He shall have them in derision. He treads upon Tiflis with feet of iron unmixed with clay or the water of tears. As the phoenix lives so lives he. His brow unswept and heavy with droplets of fire furrows in contempt and gives quick birth to syllables of lightning and white wrath. His closed fist falls heavy on blatant teeth; he terminates the jabberings of implacable animals. In his hard right hand is a nervous bow, bolt hungry with the hunger of centuries. Neither can the bow be denied nor its owner a fair feast upon the brain-blood of blatancy, upon the incubus of atheist ink. He treads upon Tiflis with feet of iron unmixed with clay or the water of tears. His wrath is the white wrath of sea water and the red wrath of pathways archaic. His face is the white hot face of the sun. John Davis Pilkey |
Father Noah |
