What the Seer Does See

What the Seer Does See
What the Seer Does See

What the Seer Does See


In a land far from mind and dream,
lived a fat and indolent grub
of many legs and just as many attitudes he,
and all day long he smoked a pipe of herb so nullifying,
his views were unique indeed;
and all would come and ask, as he was seen as seer,
problems that a mind as his could solve,
and he with ego so pristine and massive,
would mediate and acknowledge each request,
his words taken and for the most part accepted.

Butterflies, bees and insects galore,
would visit each and every day,
as possums and rats and snakes a many,
put questions to this grub upon his throne of woven silk,
and he ‘ummed’ and ‘ahhed’ and delivered verdicts,
with the confidence of a monarch, or of similar ilk,
yet in his mind, far from reality,
his brain somewhere else,
his thoughts like jelly,
yet they all hung on his every word.

Through his eyes, the land was a wonder,
flashing colors and sounds like choirs sung,
echoed in his mind,
and voices spoke to him of plums and pies
and fancy feasts he alone would dream,
so when those voices posed questions
he just said whatever to placate,
for care not he, to relate,
just another puff and dream away he did.

In lucid moments, usually in night’s sweet hold,
the grub would wonder what had happened that day,
for he was remiss to remember what he had said or caused,
in his numbing mind projections, his self-deceptive ways,
and more than not he felt sorrow for his plight,
reality out of grasp and dreams an uncertain right,
but each day he rose and lit up that pipe,
happy to find respite within the clouds.

Then one sunny day in June,
a broken-legged grasshopper appeared,
and asked the grub for council,
he puffed twice upon his pipe,
and with arrogant countenance,
peered down upon the creature’s light,
You told my family to stand up for their rights,
and so they did: now, all but I wiped out,
birds a score swooped down
and removed us from our life, our crop.

This broken creature looked sorrowful indeed,
and for one pure sentient moment,
the grub’s mind cleared,
and for the first time guilt surged through his veins,
the numbness of the smoke refrained
and he broke down,
knowing this game he played was done,
his answers not a seers but a grub,
a malcontent too lazy to care,
too thoughtless to dare to see the truth.


The grub in pained relent,
receded into his nearby burrow,
and suddenly the smoke that once released him,
delivered nightmares so alarming,
he shook the night long, unable to rise above the storm
that had finally taken his thoughtless soul,
and posed realities unwanted,
smoke, having parted himself from life,
to play among the clouds of denial,
and escape nothing but himself.

For several days, the grub remained in his burrow,
no smoke, no food or water passed his trembling lips,
and when he had finally gained enough strength
of heart, he alighted to pay penance for his transgressions,
hoping no more disasters had befallen his poor followers,
for long had he counselled
and he knew not what he’d said;
but as he found the midday sun,
flickering through the canopy above,
not one passer by appeared.

There alone sat his throne of silk,
a broken web and sticks old and disheveled,
so he sat upon them, waiting for a crowd to gather,
but instead, a bee passed by and laughed heartily at his sight,
and then a snake chuckled as it slithered away,
and creatures in their daily quests, when faced with he,
just pointed and laughed as if he the fool,
and the grub was confused
as wouldn’t they be angered at his deceptions?
He understood not this fate.

Until, as dusk painted the forest gold
and shadows long consumed the floor,
a child grub approached and stood before the throne,
Go on speak that funny talk,
slurred words of gobbledygook: you are so funny,
go on we all need to brighten up our day.
The grub was devastated, realizing
his counsel was a dream away,
and all was smoke and mirrors,
denial his only ghost.

From that day the grub took no more herb,
for it has transgressed his life with dreams of fancy,
and he had lost everything,
meanings like a mist of morning dew,
evaporated in perfect view,
and fears realized, ego modified,
he was humbled by the truth,
long lost to a lazy mind
that kept him from himself,
and now in recompense would draw
from light once more.


Tony DeLorger
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Tony DeLorger

Full time author, freelance writer, poet and blogger since 1999. Twenty one published works, past winner of 'Poet of the Year' on HubPages, 'Poem of the Year' on The Creative Exiles, writer for Allpoetry.com, Google+, tonydwtf.blogspot.com.au videos on YouTube and book sales on website thoughtsforabeautifulmind.com, Amazon and digitalprintaustralia.com.au/bookstore

3 thoughts on “What the Seer Does See

  • March 14, 2017 at 6:28 AM

    I love this story, Tony. It took a long time for the grub t awaken and face the light. I hope he finds his highest truths and a way to benefit ‘bugdom’. Very well-written with nicely phrased verse. Marvelous!

  • March 14, 2017 at 7:22 AM

    Thanks Phyllis, I’m writing and collating these classic type tales for a book… ‘Tales from the Inner Self’, each one a philosophy on life. I’m enjoying the genre. Cheers!

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