Mötley Crüsades

Culture, Media, Plus ça change motherfuckers, Poetry

Sometime in the middle Middle Ages
Urban deuce, who wasn’t lacking for
other kings and popes at Peter’s door
disrupted Christendom with an outrageous
well-armed pilgrimage whose bloody stages
ultimately broke Byzantium
killed the Cathars and left Russia numb.
Later on, we blamed the bloody wages
of centuries of silly conflict on
the Pagan north and Muslim Middle East,
ever-lapping at J.C.’s dominion.
Even now, eight centuries having gone,
these devil-haunted slaughters are the Beast
whose dumb roar is Editorial Opinion.

4 thoughts on “Mötley Crüsades

  1. Excellent poem, my favorite of yours in a while.

    But in my totally unsolicited opinion, this is still your best:

    “But the truth about ravens
    is not that they are black, but that about
    when man un-animaled himself, he met

    something like himself in the birds, he met
    thought and mind; all fathers sat about
    the winter stove, making myths of ravens.”

    Cheers and thank you.

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