The serpent whispered unto Eve:
"Think and feel; don't just believe."
This made the earth's foundations shake.
We are the kindred of that snake.
The snake is mean; the snake is low;
The snake goes where it wants to go,
But takes a devious path. We take
The same. We're kindred of the snake.
A poet should not hope to gain
Approval from the good or sane.
As bad as Byron, mad as Blake
Are the kindred of the snake.
Don't worry; we shan't fill each page
With mumblings mystic or New Age.
The flakey must be free to flake,
But we are kindred of the snake.
Nor shall we sit to lunch with those
Who moralise in semi-prose.
A poem should be rich as cake,
Say the kindred of the snake.
We trust no level tones; we ride
The roller-coaster of our pride.
The gonads' rage, and yearning's ache
Speak through the kindred of the snake.
That's Carvosso's Credo, the
manifesto that appeared in the first issue of SNAKESKIN. It
sums up our ideas of what poetry should be about.
We're always looking for new poets, so if you've got original
verse that has not appeared elsewhere on the Internet, please
send it to firstname.lastname@example.org