At first God said: 'Let there be light,'
And so there was light for a while.
'On second thoughts, let there be night,'
Said God with the hint of a smile.
When Adam threw an apple core
He knew before it left his hand
Exactly where the fruit would land.
He ran to reach that place before
God had a chance to seize the seed.
And, sure enough, there grew a tree,
Just as he wanted there to be.
His satisfaction with his deed
Led him to find the garden gate
And set off through the wider world.
He left behind the snake that curled
Around the tree. He would create
A place—Jerusalem, some say—
Imprinted with his mind, his heart,
His soul, where nature would be part
(No more) of doing things his way.
He knew for sure with every burst
Of energy things would work out.
Yet ever since men share a doubt
That maybe God had got there first.
Joseph was a forgiving man,
faithful to his bride-to-be,
knowing that the child
within her could not be his.
Did he feel shame that he could not
provide accommodation
for his wife's confinement?
He had not booked ahead.
Joseph was a humble man,
standing aside to allow strangers
to salute the boy's birth. No visitors
shook his hand, slapped his back.
In his quiet way he passed on
the skills of his craft in wood,
aware that the precocious boy
would not continue in his trade.
Joseph was an accepting man,
knowing that when his boy,
his son, called to his father,
it was not to him.
He did more than settle for what he had,
as some men do, aware and afraid
of losing all, becoming adrift.
But then, he had little choice.
So. You want me to praise your God?
I'd rather pour myself another drink.
Let myself go? Receive the word
And I'll be saved? That's what you think.
Oh yes, I know: it's what you feel—
Accept the spirit, let it flow
Into my heart and see the light.
Well, I too feel the spirits' glow.
Guitars and tambourines and hugs
Will set me free? And do you sing,
A finger in your ear, so God
Can hear your sinus whine? Poor thing,
If he exists at all, your God
Gave all of us the power of thought.
So don't tell me to feel, not think.
You're selling your Creator short.
Tomorrow I'll be sober. You
Can not come down, you must be high—
Else, where's your faith when letting go
Is not enough? I'd rather die
Without the benefit of priests
Than take your superficial way.
At least my soul, however flawed,
Keeps both my heart and mind in play.
All things dark and horrible
All creatures that appal,
All things wild and terrible,
The Lord God made them all.
Each predatory mammal,
Each beast with sharpened fangs
Each deadly mutant virus,
Starvation's hunger pangs,
Each poison-loaded berry,
Each fungus that can kill,
He made the deadly nightshade,
The hedgehog's spiny quill.
Each little slimy creature,
Each vile unpleasant mite,
He made the black tarantula,
Put venom in its bite.
Each maggot-ridden carcass
Each parasitic worm,
He made the putrefaction,
He made what makes us squirm.
Malarial mosquitoes
And plague-infested rats
Are part of His creation,
Just like cute pussy cats.
All things dark and horrible
All creatures that appal,
All things wild and terrible,
The Lord God made them all.
I later discovered that a parallel parody was once included in an episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus. A clear example of anticipatory plagiarism.
Bastards!
© David Fisher 1962-2019