From God to verse

I write a little poetry when there’s any bandwidth left, and I thought I’d share this old poem. Truth be told, it’s more doggerel than serious verse – not a form I usually work in, but I was in a mood.

This preamble comes with two warnings. First, for simplicity’s sake, the poem presumes a male God, which is a stilted and limited way of thinking about the divine, but here it is. Second, if the single offensive word in line 34 is going to ruin your day, better not read on.

The poem is called …

 

God’s Long Weekend

 

The time God took a weekend off
he stretched, let out a little cough
and said “To hell with it” for once,
fed up with stupid human stunts.

“I’ll leave ’em on their own and see
how far they slide toward entropy.”

He poured himself a beer, sat down
and watched one Godforsaken town
wake up beneath a pallid dawn,
each mower parse its dying lawn.
Bread wouldn’t rise. Dogs wouldn’t sleep.

Machines lay broken in a heap
and nothing particular got done.

He thought he’d have a little fun
that night, send some tornadoes in
to give humanity a spin
but opted not to. God’s no fool:
best let serendipity rule.

Sunday’s tougher: all those voices
raised in song and other noises
sounding very much like praise.

The Big Guy felt his spirits raised,
considered a miracle or two
so the faithful would stay true.

But then he noticed something odd:

In his creation – his, by God! –
both good and evil knew their place.

Their struggle had a human face.

Despite its Maker’s little respite
the world had seen not one real despot
made, or one saint come to glory.

Humanity’s its own sad story.

Good people suffer, assholes win,
or maybe the reverse happens. In
his attempts to micromanage
things, God thought, there’s only damage.

As any father comes to know,
the hardest part is letting go.

The King of Heaven sighed, got up,
washed and dried his empty cup
and got back on the fancy throne.

Time to hold court on his own
and entertain a spate of sinning:
One more week, and just beginning.

 

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