On the first day,
God made spoons.
And he sent them down
With red balloons.
So we wouldn’t drown
In our dining rooms.
On the second day,
God made shoes.
He tied our laces
Along with our noose.
We sang his praises,
What’d we have to lose?
On the third day,
God made grilled cheese.
He grilled them with butter,
So our hunger he pleased.
Not a drop went to the gutter,
For we swallowed the sizzling grease.
On the fourth day,
God made wheels.
He put them on our feet,
So we could chase his heels
Though he’d never let us meet
His shining ship’s keel.
On the fifth day,
God made combs.
He brushed back our locks,
So we saw where we roamed
But he did not let us walk
To where the horizon domes.
On the sixth day,
God made brooms.
We could sweep and fray
The days of our doom
While brushing away
The dust on our tombs.
On the seventh day,
God took repose,
He left us some time
To do what we chose.
Then we invented crime,
Found in our families foes.
Spoons went unused in bright countries,
I guess ‘cause there was no food.
And shoes took us to strange bounties,
Places we did nothing but loot.
People kept eating grilled cheese
And it all went to their thighs.
wheels turned and never ceased,
Even after the mills went dry.
Despite all the combs,
Our hair was still unkempt.
Brooms brushed away poems
As women to cleaning went.
But wait- our poems and words-
Were not fashioned by God-
He made man, beast and bird,
But not the phrases we jawed.
That day began in silence
But somewhere around noon,
Lunch halted the violence
And one of the meeker loons-
A gentle soul with a brain-
Saw her reflection
And gave it a name.
Then she made words
And practically named
All the adjectives and verbs,
And nouns that ever became.
She wrote about spoons,
Of famine and drought.
She wrote about shoes
And dangerous routes.
Grilled cheese she abhorred
This thought she tallied.
Then wheels she turned toward,
Wondering why they tarried.
Combs she had never used,
For she spent it all on ink
By brooms she'd been abused
So on them she did not think.
Then there thundered brighter thoughts,
The divine danced in her dreams.
She described him, defined him, untangled his knots
She tried to unravel his scheme.
But one day she concluded,
After a lifetime of words,
That her pursuits were deluded,
For her thoughts were but birds
In an esoteric sky
With clouds of definitions
Of which she could only contrive
To make a rendition.
But if she knew, she’d be surprised
Of her true correctness.
For in her thoughts, she'd realized
Her God’s greatest purpose.
Her life, given to his pursuit
Measured more meaning than mourning
And because she had not been mute,
Man had spent time learning.
Until his thoughts in paper shod
Made God a word, and man a God.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC
On the first day,
God made spoons.
And he sent them down
With red balloons.
So we wouldn’t drown
In our dining rooms.
On the second day,
God made shoes.
He tied our laces
Along with our noose.
We sang his praises,
What’d we have to lose?
On the third day,
God made grilled cheese.
He grilled them with butter,
So our hunger he pleased.
Not a drop went to the gutter,
For we swallowed the sizzling grease.
On the fourth day,
God made wheels.
He put them on our feet,
So we could chase his heels
Though he’d never let us meet
His shining ship’s keel.
On the fifth day,
God made combs.
He brushed back our locks,
So we saw where we roamed
But he did not let us walk
To where the horizon domes.
On the sixth day,
God made brooms.
We could sweep and fray
The days of our doom
While brushing away
The dust on our tombs.
On the seventh day,
God took repose,
He left us some time
To do what we chose.
Then we invented crime,
Found in our families foes.
Spoons went unused in bright countries,
I guess ‘cause there was no food.
And shoes took us to strange bounties,
Places we did nothing but loot.
People kept eating grilled cheese
And it all went to their thighs.
wheels turned and never ceased,
Even after the mills went dry.
Despite all the combs,
Our hair was still unkempt.
Brooms brushed away poems
As women to cleaning went.
But wait- our poems and words-
Were not fashioned by God-
He made man, beast and bird,
But not the phrases we jawed.
That day began in silence
But somewhere around noon,
Lunch halted the violence
And one of the meeker loons-
A gentle soul with a brain-
Saw her reflection
And gave it a name.
Then she made words
And practically named
All the adjectives and verbs,
And nouns that ever became.
She wrote about spoons,
Of famine and drought.
She wrote about shoes
And dangerous routes.
Grilled cheese she abhorred
This thought she tallied.
Then wheels she turned toward,
Wondering why they tarried.
Combs she had never used,
For she spent it all on ink
By brooms she'd been abused
So on them she did not think.
Then there thundered brighter thoughts,
The divine danced in her dreams.
She described him, defined him, untangled his knots
She tried to unravel his scheme.
But one day she concluded,
After a lifetime of words,
That her pursuits were deluded,
For her thoughts were but birds
In an esoteric sky
With clouds of definitions
Of which she could only contrive
To make a rendition.
But if she knew, she’d be surprised
Of her true correctness.
For in her thoughts, she'd realized
Her God’s greatest purpose.
Her life, given to his pursuit
Measured more meaning than mourning
And because she had not been mute,
Man had spent time learning.
Until his thoughts in paper shod
Made God a word, and man a God.
