A Terribly Prosaic Poem

    A Terribly Prosaic Poem

I wrote a poem

Some days ago.

The homeliest of theme

Come from a dream

That’s grounded in a most pragmatic aim

Based on the designation Chemistry,

My own and yours.


I’ve thought about it since.

Identified and focussed on

The body parts that make me wince –

And in a manner

Most familiar,

I addressed the thought to You (big Y).

A brand new thought of mind and wart

And how an achey body ought

To feel to feel well,

Not as it feels now – half hellish.


Once again I said, “You are

My chemistry.”

What a ginormous theory!

The thing that runs the universes

Is the abstract immanence 

That runs old me;

Based in love,

In justice ultimate.  Above

It all, yet in it all.

And so I said, 

“You are my wealth,

Take aches you made

Exchange them please, for endless health.”


Do not think this poem inane

And selfish, also vain.

it’s just that chemistry is me,

And ‘me’ is one with chemistry.

A wonder full of mystery,

A secrecy of wonder for this little soul to ponder.

So I hand this body over

To the only thing I know can solve it.

So, dear God it’s yours to save, so dear God, save it!


A Terribly Prosaic Poem 9.7.2018 God Book II; I Is Always You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin

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