Paul Lake: Two Poems

Martyr of Modernity

Christ had his cross. Antoine Lavoisier,

Discoverer of matter’s conservation,

When sentenced by the frenzied Paris mob

For crimes against the state, used the occasion

To make a last experiment. To see

How long a brain could live deprived of blood,

He asked a friend to mount the guillotine

And lift his severed head and count his blinks

Before all thought devolved to chemistry,

Then bravely gazed until the last: thirteen.

Epilogue to “The Emperor’s New Clothes”

Returning from his proud procession,

The king was pleased by the parade:

His ministers left the impression

That emperors must be obeyed.

Despite some murmurings, the crowd

Ignored the witness of their senses.

Whatever small boys cry aloud,

The truth is woven from consensus.

Those weavers were a subtle pair

Who put folk in a double-bind

By claiming if their looms looked bare,

The viewer had a simple mind

Or was unfit for public trust,

And pantomimed cloth into being

So well their dupes learned to adjust

Perception to correct mere seeing.

Based on the way the first could trim

The facts to craft a fabrication,

The emperor appointed him

His Minister of Information.

Now on the nightly news he spins

Transparent fictions into lines

And patterns to clothe royal sins

And cloak imperial designs.

The second weaver scissored air

And mimicked weaving on his frames

So well, he earned a tenured chair

And now employs his language games

To show what lies beneath all texts

Is nothingness or an illusion.

Revolt’s the last thing one expects

Of children tutored in confusion.

Now universally disdained

For spoiling their festivity

The loud-mouthed boy is being trained

To show more sensitivity.

He’s learned the first law: Don’t offend.

Though privately he still might glower,

He’s found it’s better if you bend

Whenever truth confronts raw power.

Paul Lake