Quent Cordair's Blog

The March

How meekly march the millions
To the statist’s steady drum;
How passively they plod along,
All singing the same song:
Left, right, left, right,
To glory days ahead;
Left, right, left, right,
We’ll go where we are led.

How malleable are the masses
Melted in the master mold,
All tribal tied, wings kept clipped,
From cradle to the crypt:
Left, right, left, right,
We won’t stray out of line;
Left, right, left, right,
Together we’ll be fine.

How blind they go with blinders,
Seeing only what they’re shown;
How ...

The Black-Holed Soul

The fawning of a million stars
Won’t sate the black-holed soul;
The unfilled need for self-esteem
Devours its diamonds whole.

The brightest suns are fed feet first,
Into the maw they go,
While vacuum’s vice slow-squeezes life
From those prostrating low.

The fearful ones come proffering praise,
So desperate for reprieve,
Some dragging offerings to the mouth,
While swearing they believe.

But in they go by ones or tens,
Sucked in without a kiss,
Around the tongue and swallowed down,
Into the void’...

Out of the Blue

Out of the blue and into the red;
Bureaus are razed for czardoms instead;
Infidels flung on the flag-draped pyre;
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Yesterday’s profiteers lined on the wall;
Blindfold executives jeered as they fall;
Cronies and troubadours flock to the court;
Poets and publishers shift to comport.

Tariffs for all who won’t dance for the clown;
Papers are checked by the new tribe in town;
A republic unkept, one best kiss the ring;
The president’s dead, long live the king.

~ Qu...

Silenced

From the river to the sea, they cried,
This land it must be free.
From the river to the sea, they screamed,
What we demand must be.

The Jordan’s banks will overflow
With crimson current high,
Awash with dead unto the Dead,
Till Galilee runs dry.

From the river to the sea, they cried,
We righteously require
That those within who dare to stand
Against us must expire.

For others bound to other books
Can tolerate no choice;
They must be free to kick and kill,
To throttle every voice.

And so it was, ...

The Village Dogs

Let the dead bury the dead,
Let the wounded heal behind,
Let the cowards run from courage,
Let the deaf lead on the blind.

Leave the schemers to their scheming,
Leave the plotters to their plots,
Leave the sheep to follow shepherds,
Leave the spiders spinning knots.

Leave the gullible to liars,
Let the liars fear the truth,
Leave the power-hungry preying
On each other, claw and tooth.

Leave the tribal drummers drumming,
Cannibals to eat themselves,
Leave conspiracists conspiring
With the cans on empty shel...

The Federal Death Agency

This one is for Andrew and Olivia. Having lost two dear ones to cancer over the past two days—a good friend on Sunday, a treasured performing artist yesterday—I promised that today, in their honor, I would “rail against the ideas and premises that have kept cancer alive, and against those who support, defend, and further such ideas.” Here comes the railing:

The Federal Drug Agency is truly and accurately, without exaggeration, the “Federal Death Agency.”* It’s the Federal Death Agen...

In light of Roe v. Wade

In light of SCOTUS overturning Roe v. Wade, I offer the following from A New Eden, Part II of Idolatry:

*****

Sophia’s white-gloved hands were lying in her lap, holding the Easter lilies she had taken from the arrangement next to where the casket had been.

“Keep driving please, Sam.”

Sam kept driving, passing the turnoff to the garage, continuing at a measured pace down the narrow lane, over the rolling grassy hills and through the shaded woody vales, all the way to the back of the e...

Afghanistan

Again comes the cry, again comes the mourn,
Clutched fingers in hair over flowers forlorn;
Candles all lit till the night wetly glows,
Coffins wrapped neatly in black satin bows.

Shadows beg mercy where mercy’s unknown,
Prayers and peace offerings all fruitlessly sown,
The desperate prostrations all fail to suffice
For those taking no less than blood sacrifice.

There’s left but one answer to those who love death,
Whose sword demands kneeling until the last breath,
Those blinded to reason, faith sh...

Steam

The increasingly desperate fervency, the unshakable commitment and loyalty, the blind doubling down of souls answering the call of their chosen savior – there it is again, the pre-rational, primordial stew out of which so many religions were born. Where there is faith, there are those ready to follow; out of the churning, simmering pools of hopeful followers, leaders will rise. Muhammad, Jesus, Moses, Joseph Smith — how much was forgiven of them, how many sins and improprieties excused, overlook...

Out of the Old

This poem was penned seven years ago, with someone wheelchair-bound in mind, as she faces the approach of another year, a new year. With so many having been housebound and restricted this past year, with so many still being so, may “Out of the Old” lift and inspire. From the My Kingdom collection, 2019. ~

Out of the Old

Yet another year, she thought,

Sitting in her chair, she thought.

Still she might, she thought,

Still she would, she thought,

Till she did, she thought —

Her soul, willed and wil...