Everybody knows that this poet, having spent much of her life poring over the gospels of and subsequent commentaries upon our world’s ancient and modern religions, finds something of value to the whole in each one of them.

In other words ~ to her, everything is sacred.

There’s also something else everybody knows about this poet ~ and that is that she is an incorrigible little clown who has been known to do wildly improbable things just for a giggle.

In other words ~ nothing’s sacred.

*****

Recorded Reading (2:39): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/cqsiu95o8cs10hm6bze1q/De-Nominations.mp3?rlkey=h2jnxswjfw532k8pd2fnvokv6&dl=0

*****

De Nominations

The Hindu faith has long held sway
Near seven thousand years it sees
It must be something in the way
They gently butter up the clay
Of giant lingams and yonis
Each time that they commence to pray

Mundane acceptability
Is not most mystics’ strongest suit
Thankfully, Confucians be
Around to do things properly
Respectfully, to boot
Politely, we appreciative be

I must admit, a little pissed
I have allowed myself to grow
I cannot find a Taoist
To add to this poetic list
For they all flow so very low
When not around they’re hardly even missed

We’d miss the Jewish people, though
Who really don’t mind taking on
A whole lot of the misery
The rest of us don’t care to see
Just blame it someone else upon
And beat them for it brutally

Thank heaven for the Shinto, who
Can be relied upon to keep
Pilgrimages your graveside to
Appointments to your flow’rs renew
Though you’ll be truly dead asleep
They’ll still look after you

If you’ve been hanging on the street
The people that you’ll need to know
Are Christians: won’t accept defeat
Unless they’ve washed your hands and feet Until those wrists and ankles glow
And smell like bluebells sweet

I think the pagans might be fun
They party naked in the night
That’s what I hear from everyone
Who hasn’t been to party one
But talks as though they’re always there When every one’s begun

I notice that the Muslims pray
No matter what they interrupt
About eleven times a day,
Between each other word they say
They manage God to put
I’ll bet they get real bless’d that way

I might should hang around them more
Still, I’m not sure; no, I don’t know
I wish I’d thought of this before
I wish I were securely sure
Which way to lean, which way to go
Will make me creditably pure

And bring my spirit second birth
My soul to lift, my mind to blow
My heart to fill with jolly mirth
And make my body shed some girth
I’ve got to do this right, you know —
I want to get my money’s worth!

*****

This poet presently lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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