Stań Czyk Poem by John a'Beckett

Noon winks a shadow in an over-sight of sun
at- sudden in a Krakow cranny- Stanczyk,
jester of our Conscience, courteous, cast off
from King Casimir’s royal ceremonies. There!
The Double Jagelonian brooding and alone.

Jan Matejko's canvass speaks: 'He's Poland! '
No one listening to his prophecy; goes holding
his bauble to his own ear- our Rep Man struck
to speak our mind’s eye, out of his own era’s
septicento version of the telepathophone.

Eddies of Polish history amid the ocean foam
of her invasions, bubble doubt if he existed;
into his favorite future tense he goes unlisted
message left, unheeded, abandoned vagabond
disappears into his dynasty, the distant Jagelone.