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 Category:  General Poetry
  Posted: June 25, 2017      Views: 287

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 TFAWCUS 
IN PRINT 




 ABOUT
TFAWCUS 

Tony Fawcus, ex-RAF Navigator and Junior School teacher, now living on South Australia's Fleurieu Peninsula where he runs a small farm and a B&B cottage.

He is an accomplished novelist and is currently at the #3 spot on the rankings.

He is an accomplished poet and is currently at the #91 spot on this years rankings.

The Seal of Quality committee has rewarded him with 1 seals. He is also an active reviewer and is holding the #49 spot on the top ranked reviewer list.

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Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
A Chant Royal - see note below
"Retribution" by tfawcus
Here chimes the bell, well amplified.
Its hollow tones reverberate
With echoed notes whose wraiths subside
In deathly chill. It summons late
Inquisitors, whose shadows grow
Grotesque on lamp-lit banks of snow
That flank the silent monuments
Of long departed souls, from whence
The eerie twilight shadows moan
With sighs that mock the impudence
Of one who thought The Path his own.
 
His silhouette and even stride
Suggest a nobleman’s estate;
A lord who would not be defied
By any man, or God, or Fate.
But hear the mighty trumpets blow,
Collapsing walls of Jericho.
This evil man spares no expense
For pride, a failing so immense
It permeates his every bone,
Sets him apart, the sole defence
Of one who thought The Path his own.
 
He wielded rank and few denied
His whole demeanour made him grate,
A homophone that pricked his side,
This self-inflated potentate,
Whose potency was hollow show
When judgement came to bring him low,
Despite his barricade, a fence
Surrounding years of falseness, hence
A gilded cage now turned to stone,
A heavy weight that dulls the sense
Of one who thought The Path his own.
 
Upon this night the Fates decide
His doom. Their cunning thrusts deflate
His puffed up armament of pride.
There’s nothing left to contemplate.
The verdict’s read with solemn woe
Like sombre organ notes that blow
By blow, condemn his dissidence.
He takes the stand, the air grows tense,
The judge decrees his life on loan
And strips away the last pretence
Of one who thought The Path his own.
 
They challenged him and found he lied
When spreading words of wilful hate.
They opened up a chasm wide
To swallow him upon this date
That’s etched with retribution’s glow,
Decreeing that he must forego
This life on earth, as they dispense
The punishment for his offence,
The stench of which, this tale has shown,
Still rises like the foul incense
Of one who thought The Path his own.
 
How judge you now this recompense?
The tyrant thought all others dense,
And took his place, with pride, alone,
And was condemned. Fair consequence
For one who thought The Path his own?

 

Poem of the Month contest entry

Recognized

Author Notes
According to Wikipedia, The Chant Royal is a poetic form that is a variation of the ballad form and consists of five eleven-line stanzas with a rhyme scheme a-b-a-b-c-c-d-d-e-d-E and a five-line envoi rhyming d-d-e-d-E or a seven-line envoi c-c-d-d-e-d-E. To add to the complexity, no rhyming word is used twice. It was introduced into French poetry in the 15th century by Christine de Pizan and Charles d'Orleans and was introduced into England towards the end of the 19th century as part of a general revival of interest in French poetic forms.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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