The Oven Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

From the ashes of Poland grandma arose,
Like an apple orchard in bloom,
For the ulcers of survival,
Led her astray towards the ashrams of India this may.

From the underside of the world,
Izanami-no-kami feasted in hell,
for the bread of its furnace,
Challenged her to live eucharistically,
In the land of the dead.

On these islands of plethora,
encircled by turgescent seas,
Eight pantheons soar above candescent clouds,
Hailing those ubiquitous souls,
that linger on a bridge between heaven and earth.

A godly sword for a reward,
To maim a thousand men a day,
For Ame-no-nuboku's precious jewels,
seed Kojiki's great islands ashore.

An empress regnant for a scribe,
In a fungible state of illusion,
A direct descendant of Amaterasu,
Reigning from a Chrysanthemum throne.

O-No-Yasumaro served his queen,
As a mirror of eternal light,
Yet Genmei unveiled her delight,
Embracing tsukuyomi's night.

For at the foothill of darkness the railroad was plagued,
Semblance of moonlight varnishing its tracks,
A journeys end staunchly disdained,
beheads the diety of harvest.

Bejeweled to earth I live on,
Testament to all four seasons,
For human morality has foregone conclusion,
To rest itself in anchoritic reclusion.