I know! I've got prayers up my butt!
Please, for your own sake if not
for mine, just let them cumulate!
This has been going on for--what?--

6000 years? Speaking of which--
what happened  to my Day of Rest?
Now it's Prayer Inundation Day. That's rich!
Peter, do you ever think:

Just because I am omnipotent,
does that mean that I have to
literally do everything? Why can't
I pick and choose like people do?

I don't want to hear another prayer
for as long as I live. I don't want
to hold the firmament in place
like Atlas, don't want to feed the ant

or clothe the sparrow, why doesn't
anybody take care of themselves?
And why should I have to help
all those who do? Maybe I want

to fuck off, lollygag, or even gallivant--
where do I  ever get to go?
The last time I hopped on a boat,
as I recall, was farther back than

Ahab, farther back than Noah--
it was my honeymoon, when Jo
and I sailed to that Rock Resort
and I had to swim ashore for ice;

she and the crew were in stitches
when I got back with that baggie
full of water in my teeth--but that's
what I'm talking about! living!

But "Oh, there's no one else to do
what you do!" Save that crock of shit!
What do I do? I'm like a hamster
running in a cage up here

as if my frenzy pumps their blood
or something. I'm just trying desperately
to not get fat, hurling my lightning
at a tree, parting the clouds,

knocking some poor Jew off his horse.
I want to retire, and I want a party!
Surprised? Take a memo. I want hats,
a Rolex Air-King, and a cake of course--

carrot, spicy, cream cheese icing
with a big Thanks For Everything
extruded from a pastry cone,
the decorating gel vermillion,

and no I do not have to tell you why,
Monsieur Le Rock, Monsieur St. Pete.
I am so sick of your ass! Put that
goddam ledger down and look at me!

In all these years, we haven't even talked.
You ever been to Honolulu? Kitty Hawk?
Aren't you the least bit curious, my man?
Fuck me, does this place even have a can

of beer?

Wonderful Tom. Enjoyed the subtle rhyming. Another print-out for me.


James

This is too, too funny. A pick, just for the fun of it, later.

larry

I enjoyed this God who is tired of the Holy Rat Race. He sounds a little like the Republican side of my family, but I guess that's natural as Heaven looks like ancient Rome with all those columns and drapes, right?

Agree with JTH. The half rhymes and the stanza breaks help this holy rant flow like Jordan.

God's wife is named Jo?  I like how you drop that in off-handedly. 

Dear Tom

It would have been a bad day ....if this was not a pick !

I hope you record this one for Buddah's site.

miles of smiles
silent lotus

and this one.

Thanks everyone, I had a lot of fun here too. Record it? I don't have the set-up technologically or mentally, at this time. But...feel free! I can tell that you, silent, and probably just about everyone else too, would give a much better reading than I would anyway. Thanks. Tom

Sorry to be the party pooper here Tom . . . I seem to be out of sync wit the majority this past few days, but . . . just not getting much from this. It doesn't kick in for me at all until stanza 4 and by then I was bored. To be honest, if this was a first post by a newbie, I'd have closed without comment and waited for it to be workshopped. . . . By the end, I was thinking, not even sure this is a poem at all . . .

Sorry dude, reading through the roll-call of gushes here i am so obviously in the minority, Guess i'm in a weird place right now  . . .

B.

Thank you, Larry. Honored. Tom

Just came across this and liked it alot -- for the fun of it, yes, but also for how it oddly made me think about other stuff.  Love that the ice he swam to shore for melted, that miracles or miracle-makers are only what they are, or appear to be, sometimes. 

kudos!

a gusher,
lynn

I'm somewhere between gushing and Brian on this one. It made me chuckle and had some wonderfully unexpected twists (yes, the wife name dropping was great as Rick pointed out). Yet it also feels like some of it is a bit too loose.

For example, having an entire stanza...

..without a single concrete image makes me wander a bit while reading it. There are specifics in the very next stanza so perhaps combining the two would help keep the poem moving?

As it stands, it IS an enjoyable read. I just wonder if it could also be a stronger read as well.

- Yvonne

Thank you Brian, Lynn & Yvonne for looking in and for all of your thoughts. Yvonne,I had anticipated that the shorter, enjambed stanzas would pop the poem along, but let me extend your idea, reform stanzas, and see how it plays.

I know! I've got prayers up my butt!
Please, for your own sake if not
for mine, just let them cumulate!
This has been going on for--what?--
6000 years? Speaking of which--
what happened  to my Day of Rest?
Now it's Prayer Inundation Day. That's rich!

Peter, do you ever think:
Just because I am omnipotent,
does that mean that I have to
literally do everything? Why can't
I pick and choose like people do?
I don't want to hear another prayer
for as long as I live. I don't want
to hold the firmament in place
like Atlas, don't want to feed the ant
or clothe the sparrow, why doesn't
anybody take care of themselves?
And why should I have to help
all those who do?

Maybe I want
to fuck off, lollygag, or even gallivant--
where do I  ever get to go?
The last time I hopped on a boat,
as I recall, was farther back than
Ahab, farther back than Noah--
it was my honeymoon, when Jo
and I sailed to that Rock Resort
and I had to swim ashore for ice;
she and the crew were in stitches
when I got back with that baggie
full of water in my teeth--but that's
what I'm talking about! living!

But "Oh, there's no one else to do
what you do!" Save that crock of shit!
What do I do? I'm like a hamster
running in a cage up here
as if my frenzy pumps their blood
or something. I'm just trying desperately
to not get fat, hurling my lightning
at a tree, parting the clouds,
knocking some poor Jew off his horse.

I want to retire, and I want a party!
Surprised? Take a memo. I want hats,
a Rolex Air-King, and a cake of course--
carrot, spicy, cream cheese icing
with a big Thanks For Everything
extruded from a pastry cone,
the decorating gel vermillion,
and no I do not have to tell you why,
Monsieur Le Rock, Monsieur St. Pete.

And I'm so sick of your ass! Put that
goddam ledger down and look at me!
In all these years, we haven't even talked.
You ever been to Honolulu? Kitty Hawk?
Aren't you the least bit curious, my man?

Fuck me, does this place even have a can
of beer?


What do you think, Y.? A better general structure, do you think?
On first look, to me, it makes the poem look more serious, for better or worse I don't know. Hmm.
As for this being a poem or not, I dunno. What's food? If you eat it, like it, and don't get sick, I'd say yes. Brian, it failed on the first two counts for you. I hope not on the third as well! ~Tom

First version is fresher. Form follows content. Time to move up.

Again, thanks for your pick, Larry. Tom