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Lords of the Realm
For Mark Andrew Hislop I’m ninety, European nobleman, Patron of art, made Knight of the Sublime, High bred, Queen suckled, bred to understand From tragedies of Kings, in Marlowe’s mighty line. The King, my father, would tell me of the smell Of a world lit by lamps; he recited Odes By poets writ on sheets, perusing his urns On loan, and given with a kissing of his hand. But now High Art’s been Twitterized. We write for Peers unborn: do not succumb to Time. Reclaim the Heights, the High and Ancient Art, The worthy subject! The battle’s more than Rime. They call it Ars Povera, but it should not be Concern of peasants, back scratching on a tree.
Read by me: https://soundcloud.com/msscheffer/lords-of-the-realm
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2016-04-07 10:24:30
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
sounds like an epitaph for the state of poetry that use to be. Beautifully written
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