THAT WE DO NOT HEAR
we do not hear
the laughter off the gods any more
at our lovable quirks or
(too often) outright
stupidity
or as they jostle for supremacy
in their own hierarchies
at their own foibles and excesses
as we know
from Ovid and
Homer
these almost exclusively
of an amorous nature
as when
Aphrodite and Ares became
trapped and entangled
in a net woven by
Hephaestus, sinned against,
aggrieved cuckolded party,
so engrossed in each other
(and who dare blame them?)
that when the rest of
Olympus rushed
to take in this spectacle
they flatly continued,
as the gods
roared with
rough mirth and yet
were riveted with wonder
at such
a free, fabulous show
where the parties could not have
more consummately represented
their
respective sexualities and
gender polarities
if on this question of
beauty as we riff you
grab my gist and run with it wickedly
in your own imagination
of humans
laughing at gods there is
of this species
no practice, no
hope of
continuation
the mocking spirit of great Aristophanes
squashed at its first sign
dead
in its tracks
killed by those who
believe the gods, all gods
are beyond
any comedy, reflecting
their faith (ludicrous
beyond measure) that
they are
as gods themselves, our history
blighted by the rise of such
self-proclaimed deities, wondrously
inept
holy imperators
whose narcissism no
catalogue
of statues commissioned so that
the love of
the people can be felt
beyond death
continue as legacy through
all of posterity
Oh think, my friends, what the genius
of an Aristophanes, embodiment
of true
human comedy
could play before the stars, which
share our liberation, our
moment of ecstasy
and like all our
false structures are left
helpless to the humour
who knows! teetering
on the edge
veering this
way and that on the brink of collapse
poems 2 die for 