Ballade of the Literates
Gail White

The Inquisition’s on the loose

(the dying Francois Villon said),

and poets’ lives are little use,

so watch your step to save your head.

Remember, when your comrade’s dead,

he left a short but useful creed:

Until you lie upon this bed,

tell no one you can write and read.

 

Said Jeremiah (that old recluse):

The Jews have reached a watershed.

The King of Babylon’s tied the noose

and Judah’s hanging by a thread.

The wise will leave their wit unsaid;

a clever slave is never freed,

but pity spares the dunderhead.

Tell no one you can write and read.

 

When politicians wax abstruse,

you know the budget’s in the red!

Be sparing of your sage abuse

and keep the IRS misled.

Hold all authorities in dread

and memorize in case of need:

“What books?  We watch TV instead.”

Tell no one you can write and read.

 

Princes, the printed word is sped;

fluorescent screens have got the lead.

Now Apple reigns in Milton’s stead.

Tell no one you can write and read.

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Gail’s notes: “This one is so old that I’ve forgotten where it first appeared (but it was collected in my first book, The Price of Everything, in 2001). It remains a favorite of mine and is, I fear, still relevant.“

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Gail White is a formalist poet whose totem animal is the cat, as evidenced by her chapbook of cat poetry, Catechism. She lives in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, where she currently owns two cats and feeds three others.

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Hop to…

Andrew l David l Janice l Janet l John l Martin l Mark l Mike l Melissa l Paul l Satyananda l Shamik l Steven l Susan l Word-Bird

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