The Song Of The Minstrel At The World's End

Sometimes, I am invited to make Irrelevant Noises. Occasionally, I make such noises in poetry.

One famous critic in the national press remarked, "I don't think the world is ready for your poetry." I take this positively; I don't think my poetry is that bad. But I must admit that occasionally I do get carried away, especially when writing from the mythopoeic perspective.

Sometimes, it is more fitting, more substantial, to allow the numinous to ameliorate the banality of our times. I have deliberately chosen these words. In my mythos, blue-and-gold is always more beautiful than black-and-green, a wyvern will always beat a gryphon hands down and claws on the table, and a city on a hill cannot be hidden (sometimes, a tale of two cities, this).

It is especially fitting for those who seek signs of better times to admit that the best is yet to be, and that perhaps those who would write a motto in Latin should remember that it is a perilous language with rather earthy roots. He who has eyes, let him see.