“Talkin’ jivey, poison ivy…”

Someone recently asked me if I thought gargoyles get bored. Spend a morning with the three-headed dog on the south transept, and then you tell me.

THREEPIPHANY

A martyr
sees saints circumambulate smarter
while legates who pult at the wall
fall.

A yeoman
scabs each sanguinarial omen
while canons for ungilded stone
moan.

A maiden
with sopp’d weialálas is laden
while posers who fish for the ring
sing.

A traitor
spins Fortune against her creator
while cold consolation reveals
wheels.

A seeker
finds calxiform beacons burn bleaker
while knaves see the weary-all thorn
born.

A fogey
dares cymricize non-mabinogi
while teardrops round wasting Mac Cool
pool.

A quester
lets pentacled purities fester
while gomish virídescent axe
whacks.

A hero
rounds duodenáry to zero
while Argonauts freighted to fail
sail.

A phony
maraunders in blind Laestrygóny
while fesseries dredge to exhume
Bloom.

A ptotic
turns thlebrous Caváfy demotic
while Sclepius hectors his snake
wake.

A portal
makes polycephálics immortal
while rhymers who rage in the dark
bark.

(For all the entries in this series, hit the “looking up” tab, or read the gargoyle FAQ.)