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Quest for the Holy Fail

One of my favourite stories/ myths of the medieval era concerns the Order of Solomon’s Temple or, the Knights Templar. A veritable shrouded enigma, these figure rose suddenly to prominence from nothing and legend of their treasure and/or erstwhile source of power perplexes scholars, and I,  to this day. Holy grail, vast fortune, superlative blackmail material against the Catholic church, numerous theories abound. There is also a wizard Canadian connection concerning an incredibly deep and crazily structured pit in Nova Scotia. Check it out, material directly from a fantasy novel. Wicked cool.

Not that the poem has really anything to do specifically with the Knights Templar, or at least I wasn’t thinking of them during the creation, but it’s an indisputably engaging tidbit!

I wonder how warm it became in their armors? I mean you can’t leave a dog in a car on a hot day for more than a literal minute absent danger or at a minimum discomfort but these weirdos strolled around in close-fitting ovens through the Holy Land. I guess murdering infidels made you pretty cool back then. To think, all the time I wasted smoking for nothing.


“Quest for the Holy Fail”, July 4, 2018

Existed there did once upon

A time to which we are still drawn

The age of knights and epic quests

Ancient ruins and treasure chests

Of course small parts we don’t recall

Dying bloody or of pox small

Slaying heathens who don’t agree

With your choice of philosophy

The chance to rape and pillage towns

Claim new land for whatever crowns

Prevailing theme of misery

Does not so much appeal to me

No doubt my daily trite ordeals

Are no comparison for reals.


They didn’t call it the dark ages for nothing…

To be fair, chaos still rules our existence, we’re just a tad more civilized about it now… In this part of the World… Some days anyway… Elsewhere, many still die of now curable diseases and many more are cruelly dispatched for an endless myriad of unjustifiable reasons. It’s far to depressing for me to consider for any elongated period of time but let’s be honest here, it is still very much the dark ages for billions. Perhaps we could at least crack open a curtain for them?

Be light.

Hell, be heavy.

Just be kind.

And never leave your puppy in the car when climatically inappropriate!

-Alex Blaikie

Categories: poetry writing

Tagged as:

dreadpoetssobriety

A broken mind held together by cellophane and some tack.

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