Monday, September 10, 2018

When did I write this?

I was going through the full file box I have looking at stuff I wrote long ago when I happened across a poem called, either "Kasmir on Christianity" or "Kasmir's theology". I have both titles at the top of a hand written piece of yellow, lined 8 1/2 by 11 paper, much worn,

I think I probably wrote it in college, after becoming an Episcopalian and worrying about the Nicene Creed (which I still ponder and worry about, all these years later!)

At any rate, here it is in iambic octameter rhymed verses. (I was an English major after all!)


"Now let me get this right," he said,
while sitting upright on his bed.
"Now what you tell me may be true,
I have this question to ask you."

Wise Kasmir smiled when 'ere I winced,
and with his argument commenced.

"This Jesus man you preach to me,
a god or man--which will he be?
For now you say he's son of Jove,
who once the devil's foot did clove.
Who did the earth create quite eased,
inventing creatures as he pleased.
To twice destroy them with his ire,
with water once, one day with fire.

And saved a remnant of the few
to give to them the name of Jew.
And this great god did trod the earth,
surcease of sorrow, not of mirth.
(Though Zeus, I hear, did oft dare fate
with fairest nymphs to copulate.) 

But I forget, he's not your ONE.
Your god is whole devoid of fun.

At any rate, he walked around
and legend holds passed farm and town.
And yet no footprints I can find
prove him to be of gait divine.

But at that point you change your thought
and say he's 'human' with no fault.
Such contradiction I once saw
and that was in your 'Golden Law'.

Born in a stable, old and rude,
carpenter's son and doubtless crude.
And still you praise his works of love
and hold him in your mind above
the sons of tailors and of priests
(sons of divines are not the least
in number of the sons of man...
deny that Christian, if you can.)

And don't you claim your Jesus boy
thought of his god and not his toy?
And shunned all play in search of truth?
Is this your common human youth?"

Kasmir was warming to his task
and said, "come on, remove the mask,
make up your mind, don't trouble me,
of which one type can Jesus be?
Is he a mortal--call him such.
Could I be roasted by his touch?
Then he's a god and name him so.
And don't hang down your head so low--
 look in my eye, I want the facts!"

Reclining on his bed of tacks,
he boldly told me with a frown,
"your whole religion's upside down.
Now wait until I charm this snake,
I have another point to make."

Alas, his point he'll 'ner impart.
One of his nails slipped though his heart.
The cobra bit him on the toe
and I decided I should go.

Instead of watching Kasmir bleed,
I left his to his perfect creed.


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About Me

some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.