No god I know is still alive –
All five thousand and seven
Appear to have died.
The great god Huitzilopochtli
Led the Aztecs’ divine pack –
But He departed awhile back.
Zeus was fun, and had His run,
But while disguised as a swan,
They say, His neck got wrung.
Pluto – God of the Underworld,
offended the ladies of Hades,
and got buried in his own Hell.
Thor, I’m told, was big and bold,
but going out without a cloak,
they say, He died of the cold.
And ghosts of dead Indian gods
can’t even haunt a decent tepee,
and many die on late night T.V.
No prisoners tremble on the altar
when their beating hearts are torn to join Tezcatlipoca in the sky.
And no children scream
as they are loaded onto the simple machine
that feeds them to Moloch’s fire.
And for ancient Greece’s Dionysus,
no drums sound, no flute plays –
but, oh, weren’t those the days!
The goddesses, too,
we must include, for all were dear to some,
and lived in our hearts until the time had come.
There was Athena , Gaia, and Kore, Xochiquetzal,
Minerva, and Astarte, Ixtab, Kuan
Yin, and Kali of course.
Five thousand gods and goddesses –
maybe ten or a hundred fifty thousand or more,
there might have been.
But the goddesses and gods have all gone,
one by one,
until there are none but those that are still willed alive. –
Gods and goddesses kept alive by people still believing –
still trusting – in their own creations.
Pinocchio becomes god of the wood,
while Pygmalion falls on his knees before his goddess of stone,
We remember the Loving Mother and the Father
the All-Mighty looming large in an infant’s eyes.
For each girl-woman makes the God she craves and needs –
then kneels before Him and says,
And each boy-man makes himself
a Goddess that he wishes,
giving a Mother’s hugs and kisses.
And older men and women tend to
make our gods with wrinkled brow and constant pout.
Still we always make our gods to look a lot like me and you – one head, one mouth, two eyes.
But the god of songbirds flies,
and the gods of all the fishes must swim through ocean skies.
The god of cattle may be a bull, or just maybe it’s a cow –
I can’t hope to settle that now.
But I am well informed by one who ought to know:
the god of dogs is a bitch!
Not on your life!
The joke’s on us –
but I’m told She’s heard this joke before!
My God has no form
I try not to give him a shape
Not an image from the photos
Because mine is above that
He is not hanging on tree
Neither is he still on the cross
He sits on the throne
Not watching the world rot
Wondering what he is doing …