The Laughing God Poem by stephen roe

Knows no fear or trepedation
Despite his creations.
Knows intimacy but not love
Despite being, a being above.

Knows no famine or destruction
Despite his construction.
Knows no emotion nor our devotion
He’s pragmatic about the hole in the ozone.

Devotes himself to the Universe
Which unfurls like a flag,
From his fingers black holes,
Whirl away and collect souls.

Is fascinated by states of ecstasy
And despair, he watches
Rocking back and forth
In his chair, smoking a pipe.

He’s Buddha and Shiva incarnate
Whatever we choose.
A shape, a spirit, a figment
Of something invisibly incandescent.

Knows me and you
Muslim, Christian and Jew.
Occasionally plays chess with Satan
Mocking him about –

The low numbers of Pagans.
Only now we’re starting
To synthesise life
He’s sweating shooting stars -

Wondering how he’s left
The door ajar.
His nerves are frayed
Like the Milky Way.

On his easel
He re-plots the plough,
And moves the great bear
Forming a stop sign triangle.

Tragically ironic as
We’re still stooped in prayer.