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