God's reading all the fucking poems, the cold bastard—that's where they wind up!
I think I'm writing something useful (for?) only to discover
he's decoyed me and legion other aspirants into churning out
odes, elegies, sestinas and sonnets simply to feed his sweet tooth:
he heaps them on his coffee table to read during pitching changes
and between innings of baseball as well as during all the time-outs
he's inserted into football games. If those beer-sotted sports fans knew,
there'd be eggs through stained-glass windows and public pissings on “The Barefoot Boy.”

I should be tickled someone takes an interest but his total absence
of discrimination sucks out the joy. Why can't his choirs of angels
furnish him verses? Does insignificance of theme or oddity
of device make us such addictive snack food? Does he go rummaging
epic tragedy when he surfs over to The History Channel?

But you know what upsets me most? I keep hoping I will succeed in
opening proud portals or windows in poems I know perfectly well
are only cheesy sandcastles. I mean, goodness gracious, I built them.

I like the idea and the images.  Feeding God's sweet tooth as addictive snack food.  Nice.  We are all just Cheetos.

And his absence of discrimination.  He'll eat Doritos just as happily, won't he?

The image of the sodden sandcastles makes me think: yeah, you built the sandcastles, but then he sent the waves, did he not?  He is a cold bastard.

Favorite line: "Why can't his choirs of angels furnish him verses?"  He threw out the one who tried.

Why "goodness gracious" instead of something like, "For God's sake" or "Heavens to Betsy" (my mom says that) (I don't even know what it means).

Jesus Murphy, I love this

So that's where they all go. He's like an immortal superannuated student of humanities, forever snacking on bad sci-fi and exploitation films. He knows they're bad for him, but he just can't resist them.

Like this a lot, Tom.

Cheers

David

Nice one, Tom, and he so quietly shows his sadistic side.

Cheers

milner

ok, this one got me good!
the voice is so spot on
all the way through, and i
am struck with the image of
God in a too small T-shirt
sitting in front of a coffee
table filled with beer cans
cheese doodles and scattered
poems!

enjoyed!!!!!

tiko

was going to wait until later,
but i'll move this now.

really enjoyed this, Tom!

tiko

I think your reply's more entertaining than the poem, Carol! Thank you. I'm going to enjoy your sense of humor.
Your "for God's sake" is of course super tempting. I just can't bring myself (yet?). Tom

Stella, David and Milner, thank you. As Carol suggested, only Milton's Satan seems to have understood the subtety and reach of the Sadism.
Tiko, your too-small Tshirt a hoot. Thanks for the move too! Tom

Tiko and Carol, I exchanged "cheesy" for "sodden" in last L. You replies lit a bulb that snack food probably isn't sodden, at least not in chez God. Thanks, Tom

Hmm. I think you're imagining Milton's Satan to be more of a moralist than he really is. I don't believe it's the sadism per se he objects to; it's that somebody else - Not Him, in other words - who gets to exercise it. Furnishing God with verses was certainly not on his to-do list.

But that's another topic altogether.

Agreed, David. I don't think he objected to it, just had a clear sense of just how good God was at what He did, when it came to His subjects.
As to the verses, I do find it a good metaphor. M's Satan wanted to be more than he was allowed to be, just like poets! Tom

Way to vent!

Pretty futile, venting about the futility of your venting!!

"We're here to entertain God," said a 16-year-old to me once.  His name was Justin but he preferred George.  He collected toy guitars, and his ambition was to become "a bum in Durango."

I hope he made it, Rick. Give him a poem, would you? He could be the most successful person of his generation. Tom

Love this and the comment "We are all just Cheetos."

Let me elaborate.  We are all just Cheetos in a bowl on God's coffee table. The angels are hiding in the m&m's.

Good pick Tiko.

...with the tiny little pretzel-cules...

The title is shocking, and God, of course, isn't literally a bastard, but it's an eye-catcher nonetheless.  And yes, for God's sake, you did write them, and not literally for His sake, but by God, you show us the spunk behind that pen.

Other than that this is good reading and a good poem, although I haven't the slightest what you're REALLY saying.

Like the opening portals line.  Deep inside I think we all want to do that in one way or another.

cheryl

as usual, cheryl, you have a better idea than you think! thank you for sharing it. tom

I've started a response to this called "Heaven's to Betsy."  I meant it to be serious, but I can't get Cheetos to stay out of it.

dear Tom

wonder what you might feel about

a zillion other poets

sandcastle smiles
silent lotus

More playful, Silent -- maybe even more accurate. As I think about it, I'm not sure a number,  "million" or "zillion," is the best choice there. Will think about it. Thank you very much for the prod. -Tom

Tom, I've been out of the circle all summer and come back, read this and realize I have missed out on a lot of great munchies. Thanks for the smile and inspiration.
J.C.

LOL, welcome back, J.C. --Tom