The Mask
Sin wears a cherubic mask
And beams forth paradise.
“Come in, recline, and bask.”
The discerning eye looks twice:
The gate shuts into a vice.
Old Nick’s Joke*
To the world, Satan is a joke—
A creature of mythology,
Rising from liturgical smoke,
Credible as astrology.
Satan—and Zeus and Jupiter,
Earth Mother and hammer-held Thor—
A projection of bared fangs and fur.
(The “beast” schoolboys’ killed with gore.)
The Rover views landscapes of Mars.
A man beheads for all to see.
No answer comes from silent stars.
Old Nick loves anonymity.
*Note: Old Nick is a centuries old reference to Satan.
Epic-gram
What we live by, we might die by.
Let dying, dethrone unbelief:
The soul must turn, or ossify—
And close in anguish or relief.
Peter Venable has been writing poetry for 50 years. He has been published in Windhover, Third Wednesday, Time of Singing, The Merton Seasonal, American Vendantist, The Anglican Theological Review, and others. He is a member of the Winston Salem Writers. On the whimsical side, he has been published in Bluepepper, Parody, Laughing Dog, The Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online (e. g. # 48) and The Society Of Classical Poets.
Your poetry has the feel of the “next step” for me, i.e., it’s time to walk away from the pointless fray and begin thinking about where we’re heading.
Mrs. T and I are trying to do exactly that.