[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Poem (including geary)
- From: "Lawrence Helm" <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 14 Jan 2007 14:31:59 -0800
It has been whispered that David Ritchie didn't locate the Islamic Allah in
his bar for fear of a fatwa issued by the mullah of the Portland Mosque.
Surely not, I whispered back. Everyone knows Allah doesn't drink.
Lawrence
_____
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx]
On Behalf Of John McCreery
Sent: Sunday, January 14, 2007 3:15 AM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Poem (including geary)
Very nice. Except that is for the assertion that Shinto deities don't drink.
Sake (rice wine) is a usual offering, and Shinto festivals usually involve
imbibing a lot of it.
John
On 1/14/07, David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
god, having heard so much poetry recently,
i popped down a pub last tuesday
and in the snug
there was the usual clot of greek geeks muttering
about hubris and something
the romans were scheduled for an away match
darts i think
but the public bar was
stuffed to the rafters with gods
the old testament fellow had his usual seat
a pint of mild and a chaser full of wrath
planning plagues no doubt
working on his handicap
it's hard to tell with him
he's so quiet
till he wants to set the shrubs on fire
buddha was swallowing water
keeping his incarnations reasonably in check
geary's personal god was busy working out some kind of deal
with a cartel of nuns
and that very severe-looking chap from chapel
was obnoxious as ever until
someone put the rugby on the tele
diana was looking very fetching
in her new hunting scrubs
which is more than i can say of dinonysis,
with fifteen pints lined up
and a carry-out in every crisis
the shinto fellow was well into a bar game
raking sand in a little dish i think
he, of course, doesn't drink
the god of all fishes
was sitting beside him
compensating
i can't think where the druidic spirits went
maybe away playing hurley and late in
which meant the wiccans hogged all the prime seats
beside the fire and the newt-eye appetiser
of aboriginal dreams there was but little trace
ochre on the floor and lizards by the door
the easter island guys
morose about their loss
sang slow songs
between bowls
of cava
a few vikings
were in tremendous mood,
which can be fun
but suddenly when one said he needed my seat
and a bloody mary or
if they were still serving sacrificial blood
a half a glass of that
i was done in
slipping out the door
exiting near the loo
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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