Grave New Globe
I. Lair
—a pantoum
You said that owning nothing was a blessing.
You whipped our worldly wealth and worth away.
You told us that regressing meant progressing
To greener grass where sunbeams saved the day.
You whipped our worldly wealth and worth away.
You locked us in a dark and airless box
On scarlet grass where sunbeams braved the day—
A hen-house guarded by a smirking fox.
You locked us in a dark and airless box
Where shelves were bare and prayers were not allowed—
A hellhole guarded by a snarling fox.
We heard you crunch a carcass as we cowed.
The shelves were bare and prayers were not allowed
In shady realms where sly messiahs ruled.
We spied you counting corpses as we cowed.
You scattered flocks. You spooked. You forced. You fooled.
In shady realms where sly messiahs ruled,
You told us that regressing meant progressing.
You flattered us. You faked. You fleeced. You fooled.
You own it all—our nothing is your blessing.
II. Warped
—a triolet
The tale they told us wasn’t so.
The care they sold us was a curse.
When asked, they swore they didn’t know
The tale they told us wasn’t so,
Yet still their ploys plunge gutter low
For profits topping the perverse.
The tale they tell us isn’t so.
The care they sell us is a curse.
III. As a Bird
—a villanelle
I will not let a thief steal all I own.
I know the grit it took to set me free.
Eternal gifts shine on—they’re not on loan.
I’m so much more than mammon, flesh, and bone.
I’m Dover cliffs, the Blitz—I’m war-whipped sea.
I will not let a thief steal all I own.
I’m of the thudding blood of kin who’ve known
The battle of a barbarous history.
Eternal gifts shine on. They’re not on loan—
Eclipsing sparkle from each showy stone,
They blaze within the quiet core of me.
I will not let a thief steal all I own.
My thoughts trace blazing trails Apollo’s flown.
My dreams are on a phoenix-soaring spree.
Eternal gifts shine on. They’re not on loan
From sharks who swim the predatory zone—
They’re paid for with ferocious loyalty.
I‘ll never let a thief steal all I own.
Eternal gifts shine on—they’re not on loan.
Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
A rather dim view of the world and those who would be its masters, but a fairly accurate view, I would say, with appropriate strokes of defiance. in an engaging tryptych of fixed forms.
Susan, this is a great trio of poems for the tail end of 2025. Definitely worthy to go into the historical record. These rigid poem structures are very appropriate for the subject matter of the rigid top-down manipulation and control which you describe. I enjoyed reading, thank you!
You sound skeptical that top-down forced redistribution of global wealth by a small group of elites will turn out well (other than for the elites). Outstanding job, as always, on all 3 efforts!
These are three expertly crafted pieces that are animated by very deep levels of anger, frustration, and grievance. I felt my own rage growing exponentially as I read each one, for I could immediately picture the unspoken references for the pronouns “you’ and “they.” Bureaucrats, NGOs, left-liberal and socialist politicians, environmentalist freaks, a corrupted leftist judiciary, an ideologized academia, a complicit clergy, a lying establishment media, murderous terrorists and their mainstream apologists… there’s no end to the scum who surround us.
The final villanelle is the cry of resistance, of refusal, of the hard-bitten will to never succumb or surrender to those who in their all-knowing arrogance are trying to debase and degrade us. Brava ragazza!
Susan, I have one minor suggestion about a word. In the second quatrain of “Lair,” why not say “hen-house” instead of “hen-hole”? It makes the image much clearer, and it avoids overdoing the word “hole” (which appears in the next quatrain as “hellhole”).
I felt the same way about “hen-hole.” Joseph, but, unlike you, all I could do was try to picture what a hen-hole would look like — nothing like a rathole or a rabbit-hole, I suppose, but, having raised chickens in years past, I know it would be some kind of shithole.
I share in your outcries of logic a leftist denies. How greatly you skewer their view from the sewer. I was also particularly taken with your continuing rhymes from verse to verse in the third one.
It seems almost pointless (to me), to tell someone who’s really great at something, which they clearly realizes they’re ‘great’ at, that they’re great at it, and to do it time and time and time again. Nevertheless, with Susan’s astounding knack for penning verse of THIS caliber – and THIS pithy – I feel inclined to Christmas-gift her with a well deserved tribute to her prowess as a – ‘Poetess Supreme’ –
On Hoping to Co-Pen with ‘Feisty-Sue’, the Queen of Snark!
Bound to write – (to blow off steam) – an ‘epigramic’ poem
but knowing that I sometimes lack the ‘stones’ to speak my mind –
I wisely searched – “Ballistic Bards”, and… just as I was hoping,
found the gal that ‘holds-the-gold’ in what I meant to find.
The one who tries to ‘burn-the-barn’ (despite it’s occupied!),
when those inside – politically – oppose her points of view,
And crazy ’bout the way she writes – plus sharing her perspectives –
I’ve dreamed for years to – (over the net) – co-pen a piece with Sue.
Steeped in words with which a ‘Bard’ can formulate their message
penned in metered, perfect-rhyme is not what many are,
So… if an’ when you come across a ‘Poet’ that can do so…
you’re listening to or reading what ~ in ‘Poetry’s’ ~ a STAR!
Every poem I’ve read thus far she’s authored on the subject
of how the world is rife with ‘Wrong’ is miles from euphemistic!
She pulls no punches – fights like hell and – never backing down –
well deserves the Crown she’s earned as clearly – “Most Ballistic”.
Teaming up with ‘Feisty-Sue’ (the nickname I’ve awarded her),
would guarantee the piece we built would torch my target’s fanny,
Knowing – for her orneriness and badger-like tenacity –
the scathing ‘Verse’ we’d muster would be savagely uncanny!
Fueled by patriotic ‘Causes’ — versed in what’s prevailed
as proven ‘Right’ to guide her quill, and armored with ‘Defiant’,
God – I’ll wager 20 bucks is saving ‘Heaven’s Penthouse’
for the Queen of ‘epigramic’ verse — Susan Jarvis Bryant.
Susan, in response to this current state of the world, my Midwest, mid-century, middle class upbringing seems like a fairy tale.
A verbal stabbing, in your angry mood;
they’d better be on guard, that viperous brood!
As usual, Susan, you’re right on the money,
and clever as ever with assonance and rhyme.
But funny? No; nor for a split second sunny.
I miss how you make me smile much of the time.
I was in the room while this poem was being made.
What I heard wasn’t fury so much as the pleasure Susan gets when language does exactly what she wants it to do. The chuckles when a rhyme just clicks, little laughs of recognition when a device works perfectly and a line suddenly means a little more.
This poem has teeth. It’s meant to. But it’s energy from exhilaration… the joy of mastering these forms and letting them do their work.
It is not about theft being answered by despair. It is an inventory of that which cannot be taken. It is not about the darkness but the light. It is not written from bitterness but courage. It’s written from abundance—from someone who knows what endures… from someone who can laugh at all the users.
Susan takes real pleasure in truth… she is thrilled when her poetry proves strong enough to carry that truth.
Great job, sweet Susan!
Susan, all the complimentary comments are well-deserved. You’re a creative master at poetry!
She’s our Poet Formalaureate!
This triptych is an interesting pastiche of forms we’re used to seeing as standalone pieces — something you acknowledge by identifying the form in the subtitle for each section. I thought the sequence of the forms was well-chosen, with the softness of the triolet giving us a pause from the severity of the pantoum. I particularly like the two refrains you juxtapose in the villanelle.
Such verbal virtuosity! I like how each poem stands on its own in its chosen form, but maps an emotional arc at the same time. Echoing Winick, were the world a just place it would be SJB, and not SZE (Arthur) who serves as our current poet laureate. If a guy from Chinese immigrant parents could achieve the position, why not a British expat?
Totally agree with ABB. And these poems are all so wonderfully tight – tight, tight, tight!!! Brilliantly executed.
I’m so sorry I’m late in responding. I haven’t been too well. A big THANK YOU VERY MUCH! for all of these appreciative, inspirational, beautiful, educational, and encouraging comments. I wouldn’t be the poet I am today without the many benefits of the comments section. I couldn’t wish for better feedback from those of talent with words of weight. Joe and C.B., I believe you are right on the “hen-house” front. I’ll make that change.