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The Poet Communicates With God
A Child's Mind is a febrile and unprogrammed computer.
Poetry has often been the vehicle with which man and God "communicate."
Those who seek truth in verse have had a love/hate relationship with deities since man first began using the written word on stone tablets and cave walls.
Poets have lauded their gods, cajoled them and even threatened them. Some have done this quite cynically; others have shuddered, wondering if their communication will bring fire and brimstone down on their unworthy heads.
In my small anthology, "Charged Particles," (not available in print at the moment), my verse has been mainly critical of a God in some Heaven in whom I don't really believe (at all, in fact). So please take any apparent evidence of a religious Diogenes with a pinch of sulphur, er, salt in the following three poems. Please note I have capitalized any reference to God, etc., in respect to the religious among my readers.
In my first poem, "Godbye," the author is speaking to God and questioning Him as to why he ignores our woes and why he sent his Son, Jesus, to die in such a sad and violent manner...
Godbye (Tell us why)
"Sitting in your ivory tower,
Sculptor of the perfect flower;
You who sees each sparrow fall,
Why can't you hear us when we call?
You who built in seven days,
The universe with all its ways;
You who sent your only Son:
Did you forget what needs be done?
We're fucking up, we've lost control,
Our foolishness is on a roll.
East and West are picking teams,
We face the final bell it seems.
Is this the end you always planned,
Give us hope then leave us damned?
Is this why you sent the snake -
Or was that just your first mistake?
And did you really send your Son,
To make amends for what you've done?
The sweetest man we've ever seen,
Hanging, bloodless, from a beam.
We're fucking up; we've lost control,
Our foolishness is on a roll;
East and West are picking teams -
It's time to say 'Godbye it seems...”
There follows a small missive in verse from God to the poet, apologising for being to busy to address all the needs of the more insignificant among his ‘sheep.
A Man of Leisure Has No time.
“There was something touching about his prayer,
Although I was busy and couldn’t be there.
You have to remember there’s things to be made,
(After all, building’s really my trade!).
I suppose you might say I’ve peculiar ways,
But I did make the world in just seven days!
I’ve requests to be honored from kings and tycoons:
Why, I even helped one tribe get to the moon!
I’m liaising with generals; analyzing the flaws,
Of military tactics, (how to win wars!).
I’m busy with leaders - the executive section -
On how to raise taxes; win an election...
You see? ‘Course, I’m sorry - poor little things,
No time to feed urchins; mend butterflies’ wings.”
Finally, in this tiny offering, the author wonders about the effect of the bible in stultifying the unformed mind and beliefs of a child.
“More free than any bird,
The child’s mind
Sifts images; stores pleasures;
Invites the universe.
Until some fool -
Gives her a Bible.”