Silvertongue

 

He came down from the mountainside,

His beard was white, his hair was grey,

He brought his retinue of priests

All buckled in a warlike way.

They strode into the village square

And said: 'Now listen, everyone,

Just gather round, pay heed to him,

He's come to warn you - Silvertongue!'

 

His brow was cold, his face was grim

And we were silent in his stare,

We didn't make a single sound,

Stood hushed within the village square.

His priests were stood with weapons drawn,

Their swords and helmets bore a spire,

And on their breasts, the holy sign.

The symbol of St. Elmo's Fire.

 

'I am the Word you must obey,'

He said, in tones that chilled the soul,

'I come with tales of history,

Of those who chose the Devil's mould.

They brought the wrath of God to bear

On humankind, he gave his seal,

The one commandment you must share;

Man never must invent the wheel!'

 

At that, the clouds of purple gold

With lightning lit the mountainside,

As if the Lord above had heard,

Approved the Word, and then had smiled.

The rain that glowed began to fall

And lit the corn out in the field,

It glowed there in the darkening light,

It sparked blue flashes in his beard.

 

'In days of old,' he said, 'they made

A pact with him who mocked the rod,

He showed them how to make the wheel,

They used it then, in spite of God,

Their lives revolved on wheels in wheels

That ground their flour, that rolled down hills,

That made their own fake lightning power,

That drove their water driven mills.'

 

'As they grew mighty, God despaired,

They built great towers in the sky,

Machines that flew them in the air

The Devil's transport, by and by,

And then the tribes had gone to war

Their wheels bogged down in fields of mud,

They used the wheel to drive their trains

Of slaughter through vast fields of blood.'

 

'The end came suddenly, they say,

When men designed a thousand suns,

They lit the earth as bright as day,

Each sun roared like a million guns.

The seas reared up and swamped the shore,

The cities burned, the people died,

Their wheels lay rotting to the core

With what was left of human pride!'

 

'So you must be just as the Ox

And bear your burden on your back,

No wheel shall light your daily task,

What you can't lift, then you must lack.

The man who first designs a wheel

Shall surely seek his own reward,

To hang upon the willow tree,

His wife and child put to the sword!'

 

He left us then, with all his priests,

I heard they wandered near and far,

They fought with all the mutant beasts

Out on the fringe, where land was scarred.

But neighbors whispered each to each

The words that they had heard that day:

'What is this wheel he spoke about?

Could life be made less harsh that way?'

 

For months we sweated with the ox

That dragged the plough that we would guide,

Our furrows slowly curved their way

Like ripples through the countryside.

My neighbor baulked at all the strain

Of ploughing slow, and bleeding hands,

'God rot the man!' I heard him say,

'I shall not do what he commands!'

 

He took his sons and went to ride

Out where the land was burned and black,

They took their arrows, and their pride

And sought the priest, no turning back!

The clouds rolled in all purple gold

Down from the heights, I stayed inside,

The rain that burned the flesh came down,

I heard that Silvertongue had died.

 

My neighbor came back home once more

I saw him proudly plough his fields

His plough rolled free, not like before,

It raced past mine, through clods and weeds.

I looked more closely as it passed,

And saw some strange thing that he'd done,

The plough rolled freely underneath,

Upon the skull of Silvertongue!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Mark]

Your wry, tongue in cheek way of looking at progress and those who would hinder it, as well as the ironic twist that the hinderer provided the spark of inspiration, albeit unwillingly, is masterful, David. Thanks for your grim reminder that Mankind's desire to acquire more, with less effort, is the single unquenchable in the Universe.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

A definite liking to the epic poems of the ages. This is written with depth and clarity and a starkly bright witt. I like the witt in your writing, it gives it unique character. The flow was smooth and the texture was good as well. Nicely written.

[Rick Puetter]

Ah, knowledge, the forbidden fruit. Why is knowledge always the forbidden fruit? Because it challenges those that choose to hide the truth and gain their power through ignorance of those that they oppress.

I like this, David. You have a way of turning words and focusing on important causes. This is a most important one.

My very best regards,

Rick

[James Hanna-Magill]

Dear David

Contrary to my habit of doing a detailed reveiw, this time I let your words wash over me and just bathed in their music glancing at the edge of perception at points of relevance to my own life, the notions of religion and creation.

I think the only intelligent think I have to say is what Leonard Cohen said poking fun at himself: 'I was born with the gift of a golden voice,' in his song 'Tower of Song.'

However deep we get, smiling must in the end conquer especially at our own cost.

Here is the youtube link to his 'Tower of Song.'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmON_0bzUZc

If we ever lose the ability to smile at ourselves, we are frankly dead.

I wish you many smiles.

With all sincerity, a mutual curl at the lips and my kindest regards

James Hanna-Magill

[David Scott]

It takes courage to go forward. It always has and it always will. This poem is a fine warning to those who cry for the days of old and will not embrace the creativity of the new day. Wonderful thought and write.

[Michael Kevin Spencer]

Is it bad of me that I think of Gandalf the grey, when I read this?

The narrative intricacy of your poetry pretty well baffles me. It's literally above my head.

[redflutterby]

I'm glad that i'm not the only reader to hear the dark humor in this. You are an amazing poet!

[R J Askew]

I don't know what to make of this is it so atavistic. i don't know if I want to be in the square squaring up to silvertongue and telling him to naff off, or if I want to be one of the templars, sword drawn. There seems to be continual conflict and drama in the whole of our experience. And at the back of it all there are always words, some good, some bad. Men go crazy over words, the truth, enforching the truth, belief. And I note there is always ONE TRUE belief. We are very strange creatures. I am reading a biog of Led Zep. Jimmy Page was a sort of Silvertongue with his guitar. He was also a great one for mysticism, the occult and pre-Christian beliefs. I find it all too baffling to really know what I think or believe, save that we are contrary creatures who are seldom happy unless we are engaged in some grand mission. I suspect that the most sensible way forward is the avoidance of all such grand missions, belief systems, beliefs and 'truths', especially those of a religious nature. Though what does that leave one with? Excuse me while I retire to my cave to ponder the point. Hopefully I won't chew on some raw wry and come stumbling out into the market square proclaiming the Cult Of Manchester United.

[emmajoy]

Laughed at the ending .. was NOT expecting that .. typical you.

What a noble piece of work, technically near perfect .. a historical touch or twenty, phrases fit to theme, thoughts expressed, words acted out.

' They lit the earth as bright as day, Each sun roared like a million guns. The seas reared up and swamped the shore, The cities burned, the people died, Their wheels lay rotting to the core With what was left of human pride! ' A visual in words.. great work.

[Jola]

Poem full of metaphor and reflection of the mother earth ...earth gives us life .... and we are at the end of it rests for ever!!! Good writed!!!