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None for All
Backbones wilt and waistlines grow;
Brightness dims as diodes glow.
It’s history’s course, a simple fact,
Declared with pride—or else with tact.
Vigor falters, wits regress;
The perspicacious acquiesce.
It’s civilized, it’s preordained,
This kingdom of the addlebrained.
Rhyme is dead—and reason too:
They’re obsolete, passé, taboo.
Let’s ring it in, let’s overdose:
An empire of the comatose.
Hollow heads are held on high,
Degrees and honors multiply
To crown this nation’s loudest shill:
The educated imbecile.
We’ve righted wrongs, we’ve collared hate,
We’ve mastered how to regulate;
To arbitrate, to medicate,
And failing that—incarcerate.
Our cures are many, ailments too—
For each we fix, three more accrue.
And if this tally’s got you down,
We’ve just the pill to flip that frown.
We wear our virtues on our sleeves
Like knights of old wore bracers, greaves,
Since all that’s left of battle whoops
Are shrieks of righteous nincompoops.
Our future’s bright, our creed brand new,
Unknown to mankind hitherto:
It’s “none for all and all for none,”
This expert-led and nitwit-run
Republic of the Simpleton.
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The Splendid Art
Freedom’s fine, as versecraft goes,
For days when gentle breezes blow;
For tepid seas with tranquil flows,
Where bathers risk no undertow.
But when time comes to brave a storm,
To don a mason’s uniform,
And build a keep that won’t deform—
Give me structure, give me form.
Give me words laid brick by brick,
With end rhymes heavy, mortar thick,
And lines marked out by metrestick
With architect’s arithmetic.
Within this fort I’ll be secured
By apt and well-positioned words.
To stormy thoughts, I’ll be inured—
Confined, constrained, and yet assured.
The splendid art of flow and rhyme
Is no mere child’s pantomime—
It tames the harshest mental clime,
And sprouts fresh buds in wintertime.
It frames dejection, recasts doubt
As puzzle piece to move about:
Despondence isn’t half as stout
When bound by feet and trotted out.
Form is thus a curious thing—
It ties one’s hands, makes slaves of kings;
It offers chains, and never wings.
Yet when seas churn and storm clouds sing,
These chains shall be my anchoring.
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Peter Lillios resides in Sound Beach, New York. He is an auditor by profession.
I only wish you’d write and submit more. Your talent is among the best in this organization. And you can do it in English and German! But stick to English for the benefit of your English-speaking fans like me.
Thanks, Michael! I tend to be a pretty passive writer, waiting for inspiration to strike rather than seizing the Muses by the wings. So one of my resolutions for 2025 is to do a bit more of the latter. (I’m also working on a novel, though, so can’t promise it will all be poetry.)
I’ll wager you write often, Peter, and have for many years given the impressive skills exhibited in these two top quality poems. R-&-M of this rare caliber are never honed to this degree quickly. Our perspectives concerning the art of ‘Verse’ are identical, and your recitations are excellent as well. Like Michael, and many others I’m sure – I’m anxious to see more of your work in the future. Well done –
Thanks so much, Mark. I was a bit late to writing as an adult, starting around six years ago — but I think I’ve had things kicking around in my head for many years before that. When inspiration strikes and I believe in an idea, I pursue it obsessively, refusing to relent until everything is honed to perfection (much to my wife’s chagrin!). But even so, I like to sit on pieces for weeks or even months after they’re “done,” since in my experience they’re rarely ever truly done so quickly, as you observed.
Yes, discipline does , indeed, need to be restored, including literary discipline.
Indeed, I’ve often thought that literature and other creative enterprise is a reflection of the “collective unconscious” of broader society. When the patients are running the asylum in the arts, it doesn’t bode well for society at large.
These two poems are powerful portrayals of the current state of affairs written with inspiration and I am sure honed with consummate skill over time. The last three lines of “None for All” are amazing: It’s “none for all and all for none,” This expert-led and nitwit-run Republic of the Simpleton. How great the words we all can sense and understand. You are speaking beautifully to me in your poem, “The Splendid Art.” “Give me structure, give me form” is my battle cry along with yours!
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Thanks, Roy! So glad it resonated with you.
These are absolutely top-notch compositions! The command of elegant grammar, syntax, vocabulary, and meter is solid and steady. I especially love “None for All,” which could be the national anthem of left-liberal stupidity.
I too would love to see more of Peter’s work here.
Thanks, Joseph. Always a treat to receive praise from someone of your learning and talent. I’ll do my very best to submit a few more times this year and not be such a stranger!
“The perspicacious acquiesce” — wow! What a beautiful mouthful of a phrase, full of both meaning and delightful acrobatic alliteration! These poems are both perfectly delightful! With humorous rhymes like preordained/addlebrained, and whoops/nincompoops, and your metaphor of writing as building, this is crazy-good stuff!
Thank you, Cynthia! I think we have similar taste, because that is probably my favorite line too. I almost never actively seek out alliteration, so when everything sort of falls into place like that it’s a very pleasant surprise. 🙂
Both poems are very enjoyable and interesting to read, although None For All is my favorite. Great job!
Many thanks, Yael!
Peter, you have a wicked way with words that excites and delights me!