Posts Tagged ‘god’

Sand Face

Posted: August 24, 2019 in Poetry
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By David Allen

The hand of God
pushed his head
into the sands of time.
He grimaced and groaned,
“Don’t think this will silence me!”
He glanced up at his Maker
With the one eye left open.
“I’m onto you, Old Man.
You’ll let go in another moment.
You must, for you only exist
if I still breathe.”


WHATIF (Updated)
By David Allen

Last night, while I lay thinking here
Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
And pranced and partied all night long
And sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I don’t wake tomorrow?
Whatif my joy’s less than my sorrow?
Whatif my novel remains unwrote?
Whatif Trump gets all the votes?
Whatif the IRS audits my return?
Whatif I forget what I’ve learned?
Whatif climate change is real?
Whatif I ate my last meal?
Whatif there really is no God?
Whatif there is and he’s a clod?
Whatif thinking was a crime?
Whatif my poems failed to rhyme?
Whatif I should arrive too late?
Whatif a psychic knows my fate?
Whatif my car should fail to start?
Whatif mowing strains my heart?
Whatif my inner voice goes mum?
Whatif I take up chewing gum?
Whatif my identity gets stolen?
Whatif my senior years aren’t golden?
Whatif a twister takes my house?
Whatif I die before my spouse?
What if my chocolate milk goes sour?
Whatif my computer loses power?
Whatif my basement floods again?
Whatif the ink dries up inside this pen?
And then I smiled and cleared my mind
And the whatifs fled, calling me unkind.


This was a challenge from the Last Stanza Poetry Association, which meets twice a month in  Elwood, Indiana.  We were to write a poem based on one of our favorites. I chose to update Shel Silverstein’s “Whatif,” which I used to read to my kids and grandkids.


(god) DAMMIT

Sitting here
Drinking coffee,
Scarfing down
A cheese Danish,
Waiting for the atheists
To arrive.
A movie night
With the Okinawa
Freethought Society,
Gonna watch a flick
About how religion’s
“The Root of All Evil,”
By Richard Dawkins.
But it’s already 8 p.m.
And no one’s
Showed up yet.
Where the hell
Are they?

                                  By David Allen


Posted: February 11, 2014 in Uncategorized
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Listen to that Godman
Laying it all down like
He knew me, when
The truth is that from
The first squirt of the Old Man’s
Jissom up the Old Lady’s Glory Hole
To the last squirt of blood
Beat by my battered heart
I always strayed far from
His Hallelujah Halls.
Hell, I started out as a squirt
And stayed a squirt all through
My bent-boned bowlegged days,
Jeering at the ectomorphs,
Cause the air was always
Purer down here.
Just listen to that jive
Being spewed by that
Reverse-collared fraud,
Telling the fools I was
Now a Scribe for God
(whoever she is).
Sheeit, everyone knows
The words I scribbled,
Those poems squirted from pens,
Clanked onto paper by steel rods,
And lit up on computer screens,
Were always mine alone.
They’re what lifted me
Above the crowd,
Chanting out loud,
“I’m alive, man, alive
And will be even after I die!”

By David Allen
Chesterfield, Indiana
(A poem written for the Last Stanza folks)