Green was his growing
Life centered on fable;
Goodness circled him
Like reverent children and a fruitful wife.
His Good Book mirrors his life;
The dog-eared pages—his days—
Plump with beneficent deeds,
Turn around a saving strength.
His ministry charmed, mellifluous
And merciful, but with brimstone hints.
His celestial eye burned at sin,
Seared devils from his brothers’ craft—
All for thunderbolts
And mystics
And puffs of hereafter.
Pagans, sex, and Marx he fought,
And skeptical laughter.
His mammoth hands were braces
For weaker believers
And could rein a cloven-hoofed beast
Or sledge a stake for revival.
His talents tapped relief
From mammon’s grief.
Around him, belief was a trust fund,
Durable and enduring,
Though balanced on fable,
Green was his going.
February 3, 1981
"Living a Legend" was first published in Monsters in a Half-way House, 1981. I was thinking of my father when I wrote this poem. He was a true believer who took his religion very seriously. He was also strong and had a green thumb, for he often had a garden from which his family harvested many vegetables: corn, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumber, squash, onions, garlic, beans, peas, sweet potatoes, peppers, cabbage, collards, turnips, lettuce, okra, and melons. Living with him, the family prayed and read a passage from the Bible every night and we attended church Wednesdays (night prayer meetings) and Sundays (morning and evenings services).
What stuck with me was that a spiritual life was as necessary as the physical, mental, social, and financial lives that one leads.
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