Creation

                            Creation

Modern poetry  modern verse contemporary poetry  contemporary verse  modern poem  contemporary poem

The universe that wasn’t . . . just . . . got . . . bored.

It yawned and burped out big time.  From the yawn

And belch exploded out a countless horde

Of searing, smashing things like stars, and in this dawn

Of beings, peopled several parallel

Dimensions filled with useless things like gods

And paradises — each with its own hell.

This miscellaneous production’s squads

Included sin and pleasures and their shades

Called righteousness and grimness colored like

A Black Hole or a Holocaust with braids

For Rastafarians in Hitler’s Reich.

  The yawning and the burping spread so wide

    That every hope and smile began to slide.

Phillip Whidden