“Sit ludos incipiunt” a poem by the Bard of Murdock

It’s Sunday and today’s poem by The Bard of Murdock shames those that would slander the new Pope Francis. He published this poem on Saturday, March 16, 2013.


Sit ludos incipiunt

The man in the miter
Is known as a fighter
For Christ and the sheep of his flock.
But liberals will loath him
And clamor to clothe him
In filth from his miter to frock.
A sort will him slander
For nothing is grander
Than covering churchmen in grime.
Yet more will malign him
And try to define him
A partner or culprit in crime.
Abusing and bellows
May frighten some fellows
But Francis will smile and nod.
And as they defame him
He’ll pray to inflame them
With love for his Savior and God.


My Photo

My goal is to produce poetical cartoons. I try to use metaphors and caricatures (or a politician’s own words) to address complex political and social situations. In this way, I sum up current events in humorous verse.

3 thoughts on ““Sit ludos incipiunt” a poem by the Bard of Murdock

  1. Well said! I’ve been thinking the same thing today. Not only is he catching flak from leftists, but also from Christian evangelicals. I’m of the opinion that all Christians should stick together. We have bigger enemies to fight than each other.

  2. glad i found this site….and the poem of the Bard of Murdock…..let me pass on another tome that I had to memorize as a wee young lad enduring grade school literature class. I think it fits the Blog’s moniker (sit a spin the fire, indeed) :

    Topsy-Turvy World

    If the butterfly courted the bee,
    And the owl the porcupine;
    If churches were built in the sea,
    And three times one was nine;
    If the pony rode his master,
    If the buttercups ate the cows,
    If the cats had the dire disaster
    To be worried, sir, by the mouse;
    If mamma, sir, sold the baby
    To a gypsy for half a crown;
    If a gentleman, sir, was a lady,—
    The world would be Upside-down!
    If any or all of these wonders
    Should ever come about,
    I should not consider them blunders,
    For I should be Inside-out!


    Ba-ba, black wool,
    Have you any sheep?
    Yes, sir, a packfull,
    Creep, mouse, creep!
    Four-and-twenty little maids
    Hanging out the pie,
    Out jump’d the honey-pot,
    Guy Fawkes, Guy!
    Cross latch, cross latch,
    Sit and spin the fire;
    When the pie was open’d,
    The bird was on the brier!

    William Brighty Rands

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