Creation Blues

well I’m sitting down here on this park bench
throwing some crumbs of worldly wisdom
to my waiting flock of feral pigeons

when a gang of youths run through my faithfuls
shouting fucking pigeons and fucking vermin
they scatter, regroup, whilst I watch on

I got them Creation Blues man
Oh yes, I got them Creation Blues
Them Creation Blues have come for me

well they goose step off, my peace restored
until a fat boy and girl begin to toss
their fast food packaging upon the grass

a hooded figure dashes out into the open
thrusts a shiny blade into their bulging guts
packets of white powder falling from his pockets

I got them Creation Blues man
Oh yes, I got them Creation Blues
Them Creation Blues have come for me

well I’m sorry to say, all Hell was then let loose
wild people appearing from many dark corners
brandishing knives and fighting for the powder

I turn to see the trees being chainsawed to the ground
great plumes of smoke drifting across the park
dog barks, police sirens, gun shots, explosions

I got them Creation Blues man
Oh yes, I got them Creation Blues
Them Creation Blues have come for me

well it felt like this was the end of my world
oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph I cried
deliver me from this evil that I created

but the words were silent, my voice had died
no-one was listening
they thought I’d lied

I got them Creation Blues man
Oh yes, I got them Creation Blues
Them Creation Blues have come for me

 

What if God has already died?

clinging to life
despite unquestioning faith
trying every treatment and trick
in the good book

taking medicine and praying for miracles
noting that neither appear to be working
money can only buy a little more time
a precious commodity

already borrowed more than half a fair share
and to be afraid of dying or admitting failings
unable to reason with creation’s end
sand through fingers run

I would be happy to go if I believed in something
I’ve always thought life is harder if you have no beliefs
Is God answerable to His own God?
What if God has already died?

nothing matters
we bounce along life’s potholed highway
avoiding oncoming traffic and unexpected
t-bone collisions

clinging to the wheel
we hope and love and cherish whatever we find
the best adventures are the ones in which we forget
the beginnings of poems about death