John utters forth some unknown phrase
Something meant to signify
His mom—or just lysergic praise;
Cosmic feedback splits the sky.
Behold: the universe awaits
and genesis regenerates . . .

The organ pipes a clarion call
My soul completely captured;
False gods are born, the angels fall
Celestially enraptured
While faith chimes in: God’s will be done—
The universe is now begun.

Then rhythm enters, rolling drums
Presage the lyric presents
George with a holy message comes,
Announcing omnipresence.
And life must now take shape and flow
In post-creation afterglow.

PROMPT #17:

write a poem inspired by a piece of music,
and that shares its title with that piece of music.

Garbage by the wayside…

What is wrong with this town
this city, this nation?
Who are the ones
that fling/drop/scatter it there?
Are they self-aware?
Do they have worth?

Ugly artifacts stare up at me
from the gutter.

I read ripped labels,
avoiding shattered glass.
Bags blow past.

Spring doesn’t care,
flowering in and through the trash.

Dead animal carcass, pierced
By brilliant green weeds . . .

The Lord is He is to whom we are accountable
and He reigns in sovereign omnipotence.

 PROMPT #15:

write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a more abstract line
that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does.

Retarded children can be helped, you say
Your words, not mine; and so I must respond.
Such ideas are phrased differently today;
Retarded children can be helped, you say—
To use such terms for cognitive delay, 
Of this, when young, we schoolyard kids were fond.
Retarded children can be helped, you say . . . 
Your words, not mine. To such I must respond.

PROMPT #15:

take a look at @StampsBot, and become inspired
by the wide, wonderful, and sometimes wacky world of postage stamps.