Call out for the dead, mark the London doors,
a plague on our house which the politic adore.
There is no cure, no treatment, but Gods,
their calls for death, Grails and Jihads.
Our children see men doing harm unto others,
our children are assured that God is among us.
This waking Sunday, more holy work,
tell me of a sermon using honest words.
“How dare you create a world
in which there is such misery..”
Fry cast out the kids’ cancer gifts –
sent forth by the tri-ghost ministry:
“Why should I respect a capricious,
mean-minded.. god?”
Thus he spake on R.T.E.,
tipping an Overman nod.
“The god who created this universe..
is.. clearly a maniac..”
No Stephen Fry tweet,
but a character attack.
“We have to spend our lives
on our knees thanking him.”
And the Gardai burnt time
on Stephen Fry’s meme.
[Original story here ]
I look to them, graveyard-aligned
in our sped view, forever left and right,
on the journey back from Otsuni;
anchored in the red earth, those groves,
set free from the interrupt of stones
by the cast of the rotivator’s throw.
I count, without enough numbers,
the great twisted variations of
olea europaea, those fixed olive trees:
Once shadows over Christ’s agony,
witnesses to his betrayal in three,
there as the shade in Gethsemane,
that which the Dutch artist sought
in his own lunatic star-field view,
in the daub and press of other oils.
I am told that the drupes are cultivated
between their green and purple state,
added to, altered, to make them black.
I know the shape well – bulbous
beads, like the sweated blood,
(Luke), from the pores of Christ.
We arrived at the house, set in a grove,
the venerable trees continue their telling,
blown by the wind, of that old song of God.
Evangelina Chamorro Díaz
climbed, primal, from the flood,
risen from muckled timbers,
smothered in Creation’s mud.
Heavy oxen struggled for land,
as Jesus Hidalgo filmed the girl,
some held out calloused hands
to return her to this world.
The deluge, instructed by God,
heaven-sent to test belief –
the sunken cattle didn’t know,
because God is a lying thief.
Evangelina Chamorro Díaz,
on slowed limbs from that slime,
an ascent of natural selection,
proving God isn’t on our side.
“And yet it moves”
was his response
to the given freedom
after arguing with God
about the spin
of the ‘great light’ sun –
his telescopic facts
which the church unspun.
Still their untruths shine,
ever since Day Four:
theology blocks
heliocentric thought.
