Here are a number of selections from Anthony Leclair’s poetry collection: To a Fellow Poet.
Each page will be organized by genre, and each poem is listed as a quick link at the top of the page. Feel free to jump to a specific poem, or scroll down the page to read each.
GENRE HEADING HERE
Line over line; linear spread of the spoken word cut short by the false interjection of inexperience. Nerves fray the continuance of a speech, fourteen lines away from the love of a Juliet crowd wishing they might have their Romeo in bed tonight.
The Friar concludes with a mortal sigh that not one, or two, but six should die
And Escalus states with his power of fear that Verona’s walls be free from tears.
A glooming peace in the world we see in a dawning of Democracy mixed Capitalist misery. A steady decline the city it brings, through cutthroats, carnage, and bandying in and out of mortal care; Mercutio, Tybalt apparitioned there.
A peace manifested by Benvolio schemes of truth overthrown by Romeo dreams cut short by the plague of a friar interred and the fail of another’s messenger.
Revenge, looked to be taken by a feigning death, cost Paris; revolution his final breath and through crypts and carcasses a cousin there lie waiting for not one, but two to die; haunting conscience of both and their ill-fated stars, both crossed lover’s minds death hath left scarred.
A friend to a quarrel; a cousin to revenge,
A city’s noble to the worms hath been fed.
Two lovers for one to the other’s mistake have passed;
A mother’s life-taken grief; a lonely friend, faith, and prince do last.
Indigenous mountain ranges scroll down scriptures of biblical proportions
to the plebes of an invasive nation.
Prophecy of the beginning’s end turns carelessness into naivety.
The seven thorns of the sinning tree hold truth in naivety
And lies in all honesty; full Moon to Adam’s eve.
The revelation of monstrosity in benefice and papacy
Seeking methods of antiquity through modern highs of ecstasy,
Have worn thin upon the sleeve.
Never to be understood, but feared in power of damnéd divinity
Full of one’s own passion, wrestled to the seven sins of the myopic elite.
A slothful envy through lustful wrath; pride in avarice; a gluttonous path.
A merry-go-round of fairytale rhyme; the measure of faith, a chill down the spine.
Skin standing tall for fear of the lord, and fear of the Christian shield,
For no other host than the Heavenly ghost
will soldiers of the Christ-child yield.
We go on, living and partly living
For what reality does truth bear in proof of hypocrisy?
What light in darkness blessed?
We live unreality to unreality in what truth God’s men can devise.
Parson to parson the hypocrite’s eye,
For yet another benefice to make a martyr die.
Truth in forms of holier things can ne’er
Devise ‘gainst the tempter’s dreams,
For temptation breeds in piety,
A tickle for authority’s chin.
The right for wrong reasons,
Breeds unoriginal sin.
Here’s to bloody roses dyed black to lose the scent of love.
In the visage of love find funeral lilies and deeper find
_ the box to bury it in; deeper still, the resting place,
_ where to burn a fire raises new life; new love
_ to the prospect of a beautiful face molded for you alone
_ Not so, for eyes may look the world over and beauty sleeps within.
One for all to see, all for not to be
In love; love is not free.
Faith, reason, it all is absurd
The truth forever unheard.
Equal, what we’ve come to not
Faithfulness found only in individual thought.
The past to present, the present to future
For what do we strive, what can we live for.
Death is a path we all must take
But for what if not for Heaven’s sake.
Do we live life in fear of death?
Do we scoff those past, are we so bereft?
We live our lives, a dream within a dream
But to wake to truth, can we break the seem.
I only know this, pray this one thought be true
We must justify why, before we justify who.
The individual’s world, what a site to see
The only real world, the only truth, me.
In everything I do, in all that I say
Nothing short of perfection, all will go my way.
Altruism, the ultimate crime.
Egotism, the world is mine.
For all true being, alone I’ll be
For all true questions, the answer, I’m free
Breaking the bonds of order and hate
I know that on my own, I choose my own fate.
For all that is seen, a light can there be
Individualism, freedom to say that light is me.
But for all of this reason, know one thing is true
There could not be a me, if never there was you.
For memories of traitors to falling graces in the winds of a new life turned cold by the mounting powers of insignificance.
Authority has no credence in a world now ruled by the intellectually inept. Days pass without the sworn by your side to protect you from your sins.
For god and man have failed each other. The existence of man owed to a loving god of vengeance past hope of praying men. The existence of god owed to desperate men seeking out the wherefores of lives and their losses.
Over-reaching; under-dressed, contradictions seeming blessed…