Seven Fukujin (complete crown)

1 - Ebisu

You’re hungry? I got what you really need.

Just stick with me, my son – I’ll see you right.

Why, you look undernourished, poor wee mite!

Ebisu’s got you covered – guaranteed!

I’ll sort you out a mammoth, cracking feed:

we’ll feast and fart into the blessed night!

And when this jolly blowout’s at its height,

you’ll say a prayer, and give me thanks, agreed?

And fish! Oh boy! just think about the fish!

The carp, the codfish, shark (tho just the fin –

I’ll fix a soup if that’s the way you roll).

I’m here to grant your every hungered wish,

and then I’ll leave you, with contented grin,

a bursting belly, and one sated soul.

2 - Daikokuten

A bursting belly and one sated soul

is well and good – but why not five? or twenty?

He brings a feast to fill your empty bowl,

but one good harvest gluts your life with plenty.

 

Me? I think longer term, devise and plan –

this planet offers bounty to the willing.

Renounce the stopgap slop of Fishy Man:

a prayer to me is future-proof fulfilling.

 

You teach a man to fish – y’know the rest,

this hackneyed saw is centred on “himself”.

My field is wider – there’s no use pretending:

 

You teach a man to grow, he builds a nest,

with future dinners lining every shelf –

a home, a hearth, and something worth defending.

 

 

3 - Hotei

A home, a hearth, and something worth defending?

Is someone getting broody over there?

Does instinct urge you to provide an heir?

Secure genetic legacy unending?

Or else, it’s more for family  – you’re intending

to lead a joyous band of offspring fair,

who’ll often make you laugh (and sometimes swear);

a life of love (and frequent moneylending)?

 

A small remembrance will secure my blessings,

since – though your love’s a fortress, all-embracing –

you can’t protect them each and every minute.

I’ll keep an eye, and see how they’re progressing

along life’s shining walkway, always facing

the dangers of this world and what is in it.

 

4 - Bishamonten

The dangers of this world and what is in it?

Precisely why you need a god like me!

This life’s a battle – I can help you win it,

(but bear in mind: I rarely work for free).

Now, many call for skulls, or thrones of gore –

some sacrifice before they offer favour:

your firstborn plus two hundred fattened boar,

(your daughters to be auctioned off to slavers).

 

Not me. I simply state: laws should be obeyed –

those formal codes of manners and convention.

If you behave, then count upon my blade,

to execute that lifelong intervention:

defending you in war and hostile strife;

assuring you a long and healthy life.

 

 

5 - Jurōjin

Assuring you a long and healthy life?

I rather think that’s my domain, old bean!

One constant thought to pierce you like a knife:

your years are finite; death comes unforeseen.

 

But I’ll be here, exchanging blows with brevity –

a duellist fencing fickle Father Time.

A prayer to me will guarantee longevity,

and Socrates’ old wisdom is no crime.

 

Sit back, relax, and have yourself a peach –

Enjoy the peaceful garden, filled with light.

A mortal’s grasp should e’er exceed his reach,

and reaching, grasp exceptionally tight.

 

And when the time-bell calls – your days are done –

just close your eyes and face towards the sun.

 

6 - Fukurokuju

Just close your eyes. And face towards the sun –

appreciate the blessing on your skin.

A lucky life’s the right of everyone:

the blithesome boon of seven fukujin.

 

We’ll grant you lengthy days, and feasts to fill them; 

a castle to protect your laughing children;

a love to make the Earth beneath you shift:

all human bounties lie within our gift.

 

the chief of these is luck – or kismet, karma –

the serendipity of cosmic dances;

the happy fluke of how the dice may fall.

 

So here’s the deal: you cultivate your dharma,

and us, we’ll strive to consecrate your chances –

We’re seven Gods of Fortune after all.

 

 

7 -Benzaiten

We’re seven Gods of Fortune. After all

the boys can offer you, I’ll take my turn.

The arts that fill your day are my concern:

the frosty morning Turner on your wall;

the noonday warmth in every verse you learn;

the evening wreathed in Chopin’s last nocturne.

my works contain the talent to enthral.

 

For what are lengthy days if they lie fallow?

A life bereft of art is hardly living –

refreshment meagre, meditations shallow.

I offer beauty – paramount, life-giving.

Art begets art. Compassion breeds.

You’re hungry. I got what you really need.

 

FEAST – HARVEST – FAMILY – BATTLE – LONGEVITY – FORTUNE – BEAUTY

AWB

#29 - Seven (by Lewis Buxton)

 
The other men fumble for a special number

something remarkable that’ll change the outcome

of the game and remind them of Sheringham,

Roy Keane, the little known Jeremy Alliadiere

 

or, most beautifully of all, the lucky seven,

which will lay on their back like the sun’s rays.

These days it’s Saka, Ronaldo, or Michael Olise

but before it was Cantona, Pires, David Beckham.

 

I’ve never gone in for that sort of thing

I’d pluck out eighteen, forty four, a bad

squad player somehow come up from the youth team.

 

Things only mean if you want them to mean,

and as I join the clutch of hands in the kit bag,

The number means nothing, only fingers brushing.

 

 

Lewis Buxton is a writer and theatre maker. His work has appeared in The Independent, Poetry Review, The Rialto, and Magma amongst others. His first collection Boy in Various Poses was published by Nine Arches Press in 2021. His new show ‘FRIEND’ is touring in Autumn 2024. He lives in Norfolk.

#28 - all we gotta do is get a preacher

Number four of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’

Drawing on ‘Dance of the Seven Veils’ from Exile in Guyville by Liz Phair. With (more) apologies...

A prophet rolls in on the wind and dust

that cakes the court and chokes all idle chatter ‒

a burning pilgrim laying bare the matter

of piety, society and trust.

So dance your dance and claim a gift that must

both lift the otherworldly veils and shatter ‒

a gift upon a heavy silver platter,

your gift of pain and joy, of dream and lust.

Then Johnny, you could rent me by the hour ‒

I’d open up just like some precious flower

whose scent may cause a man to lose his head,

but all that eyes and heart and tongue devour

will never get to grace our marriage bower ‒

‘cause Johnny, my love, you’re already dead.

RJT

#27 - Yellow, Red, White, Black

 Finally, we get to the core of the Classical Planets, watching Fay Roberts talk about the Sun.

We have a thousand names, we die each night
and then return to bring life to the land
our greatest gifts are knowledge – heat and light
united to help people understand

that hiding from our gaze will never work –
we dominate the sky from end to end
and our devoted fans would never shirk
from nominating those whom we must mend.

See, scientists and poets know the score:
that where we love too deep we surely hurt
the innocents who otherwise might soar
but plucked they plummet to their just desert.

They know that, given time, we’ll swell and burn
all those who stayed nearby done to a turn…

Narcissus sundiscs, because sometimes you have to obey the first thing out of the Google search algorithm. Image from the Thomas & Morgan gardening site.

#26 – Ophelia of the Bathtub

Highgate Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries. It is located in the London Borough of Camden, and was originally consecrated in 1839. One of its more famous residents is Elizabeth Siddal, artist, artist’s model and poet. In 1851, Siddal modelled for John Everett Millais’  famous painting, Ophelia, laying in a freezing bathtub to emulate the drowning of Shakespeare’s ill-fated heroine. 

Ophelia of the Bathtub

I want you to imagine how if felt

to hold that blighted posy in your hand.

You found the swollen river, and you knelt

Then – breathing deep – abandoned life on land. 

The creeping cold might chill unwitting flesh

and turn your pretty blush to icy white

but Art is worth the sacrifice and fresh

aesthetic flair’s emboldened by the sight

of veils afloat. The dainty wedding lace,

all soaking wet and rippled on the skin;

the deluged comprehension in the face.

The hope of final rescue, wearing thin. 

Now lay, palms raised, and lips a shade apart,

and think about the maiden’s broken heart. 

LM 

Listen to the poem 

Ophelia by John Everett Millais

#25 - Seven Fukujin: Benzaiten

 

We’re seven Gods of Fortune. After all

the boys can offer you, I’ll take my turn.

The arts that fill your day are my concern:

the frosty morning Turner on your wall;

the noonday warmth in every verse you learn;

the evening wreathed in Chopin’s last nocturne;

my works contain the talent to enthral.

 

For what are lengthy days if they lie fallow?

A life bereft of art is hardly living –

refreshment meagre, meditations shallow.

I offer beauty – paramount, life-giving.

Art begets art. Compassion breeds.

You’re hungry. I got what you really need.

 

AWB

(image credit: Celeste,
Random Colours)

#24 - Paridae

Number seven of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’...

Within the Aves there’s a family

where elocution varies on the fly ‒

the English often make it rhyme with ‘sky’,

Americans pronounce it ‘parody’.

However we conceive its prosody,

whatever way we try to classify,

there’s one thing that nobody can deny ‒

they are exemplars of things feathery.

Whenever noisy, social song is heard

their many species flit among the trees,

the Rusty, Dusky, Ashy and the Blue ‒

it’s safe to say that any hue will do.

So lift your head and turn to face the breeze,

and welcome home this paragon of birds.

RJT