I was, as is habitual for me, discussing poetry with a friend recently, particularly in regard to bad poetry, of which there is an abundance (some even worse than mine). Being Easter, the conversation took a little diversion towards Christianity, and I was reminded of the song ‘Jesus is just Alright’, made famous by, amongst others, The Doobie Brothers.

The songs was written in the mid-sixties when being described as ‘just alright’ was quite a positive accolade rather than a more modern interpretation which might suggest being ‘barely OK’.

I can summarise the lyrics fairly simply. Essentially it goes like this ….

Jesus is just alright with me, Jesus is just alright. Jesus is just alright with me. Jesus is just alright. Oh, yeah.

These words should be repeated over and over again with increasing enthusiasm, particularly when it gets to the ‘oh, yeah’ part.

Whilst I don’t doubt the pious honestly of the author (Arthur Ried Reynolds, for the record) I do question the imaginative effort that went into the writing of it. Most of all I have trouble finding it to be a convincing and well thought out argument in favour of devoting one’s life to the worship of a questionably credible ancient mythical icon. But I may have missed the subtleties.

In homage to this enduring masterpiece I offer my own, hastily cobbled together, religious piece. Should this be my last ever post (God forbid!) then you will know that I have been struck down by lightning for my blasphemies on Easter Monday.

Hades he was hot.

He was King of all the Dead

But he had no sense of humour

Is the rumour I have read

Athena she was smart

But quite a tart at night in bed 

Though not as bad as Venus

Who loved a penis, it’s been said

And Aphrodite, God almighty!

She was a goer, that’s for sure

Luring lusty sailors

From the safety of the shore

Apollo used to follow her

To watch how she’d behave

Whilst Poseidon, he was hidin’

In his underwater cave

Thor was such a bore

But God! That god could drink!

He’d fall asleep and then he’d snore

So loud you couldn’t think

Jehovah he was quite a dude

Don’t use his name in vain

To do so is just fucking rude

What that means I can’t explain

Jesus was his only son

They strung him up in underwear

Crucifixion. That was not much fun

But he’s alright. Oh, yeah!

Here’s one for no reason in particular.

I am seeing a few people post poems that they wrote ‘a year or two back’ so I thought, by way of contrast, I’d post something that I wrote ‘about two minutes ago’. The lack of editing probably shows.

It’s about unfulfilled love, which is a sort of favourite theme of mine – sometimes there is something more beautiful about a love that never happens than one that actually does.

I seem to recall that The Rolling Stones had a bit of success with something that started in a similar fashion, some years back. I will pass some of the royalties from mine on to them in acknowledgment.

***

Never mind my satisfaction

I can’t get me no romance

My love life’s seen no action

It’s a tragic circumstance

There was no lacking of attraction

From the very first dance

But I couldn’t get no traction

I won’t get no second chance

*

The girl was kind of pretty

Kind of heavy round the hips

With greenish sort of eyes

And pinkish sort of lips

Her voice was like a trumpet

And she smelt like fish and chips

I was blinded by her beauty

She was some sort of eclipse

*

I asked her if she liked me

She said I was OK

I asked her if she’d kiss me

And she said, “No. Not today.”

I loved her, and I told her

But it was not the thing to say

I yearned so much to hold her

But alas. She got away

*

She was attracted to another

And upon that fateful night

They were like sister and brother

It was love at their first sight

I thought that they might just be friends

But I was lacking in foresight

He said they were a perfect match

She said that he was right

*

She looked at him so sweetly

She gave a pretty pose

He looked back at her lustfully

His eyes took off her clothes

I asked him not to date her

Then he punched me in the nose

She was pregnant two days later

I guess that’s how it goes

***

I have spoken before about the creeping suspicion that I am in the early throws of dementia. I forget an awful lot of things (I have a lot to remember, mind you) and I suspect that I might be a bit repetitious from time to time – rendering my present self even more boring than the previous one.

I opened up my computer today and the word processor asked me if I wanted to save or delete something. The fact is that I can’t remember even writing it. The words sound like mine and they are familiar, but I do not recall actually arranging them. The possibilities are as follows..

1. I wrote them for someone and forgot to send it to them

2. I wrote them for someone and sent it to them but forgot that I had done so

3. I wrote them and published them here

4. Both (2) and (3)

5. I wrote them in my sleep

All 5 options suggest a certain level of mental deterioration but I apologise for now repeating them if any of the first 4 options apply.

***

Our arms, our legs, our minds entwine

We dare to bare our souls divine

We take our poison with our wine

Dying slowly. Feeling fine

Slowly. Slowly. Little death

This final touch. This final breath

This final moment. Final kiss

We dive into the great abyss

We shed our skin. We cannot hide

Our love. Our happy suicide

***

Esther recently made another call out for limericks. Yesterday (or was it the day before?) the prompt was ‘wrong’, and since so many people find most of what I write to be, in many ways, wrong, she seemed to be calling my name.

I sent her a couple and, for the sake of appearances, present one of them again here. Though slightly altered in order to fight off boredom.

A note of explanation. I know it wasn’t yesterday or today that I wrote this and offered it to Esther. I found this in my drafts folder. Today. I must have forgotten to post it. Or perhaps I had a reason not to.

***

Is it wrong? Is it right? Is it rude?

For one to spent time in the nude?

If one is hot

I think certainly not

So much cooler than being a prude.

***

The words ‘hot’ and ‘cool’ may be taken to suggest double meanings. I will leave it to others to decide if that is appropriate.