This is just a short poem, made more to start to investigate a compositional problem than to propose a final answer, though the ending might seem final. I’ve found that I often end a poem with a reference to God, and though in each case the reference was sincere and thought out, I don’t want it to get to be too easy and automatic, because that’s not what faith is about. So, I’m sort of thinking now about what it means to turn at least to the Infinite for explanations of things, even if you don’t believe in a specific god or gods or goddesses. This brief ditty–and really, it can’t be called more than that–was the result. Not one of my best poems, but useful, at any rate.
What Is It? What is that something out there That other folk deny Is it the being I call "God" Or is it just "I'm I"? For Popeye with his spinach And God, out of iams, The both of them are known to say Just "I am what I am." And though the foot and rhyme are true I fear I have to say That other people doubt me more Because I "God" display In many poems; in many rhymes "God" seems the answer true For what I simply can't explain, With mystery endued. And I find often it helps me To think someone's in charge Though even I dispute results Which in my life loom large. So leave me my illusions, Let me think amorphously That I perceive a bit of truth And that it perceives me. ©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/3/17
Though I’ve had this problem particularly this time round this year in writing poetry, I always wrote around it before when I was younger, because people seemed to disapprove so very much of the idea of God, and they were and are people I respect for their other qualities and abilities, certainly many of them intellectual. But now, I’ve come to a time in my life which is sufficiently trying and difficult (though it was so before as well) that it makes me feel better to let the truth of my feelings out, be damned and full speed ahead! I hope, though, that whatever your own beliefs, you feel welcome to express them with people who care about you, or just with people you know–it’s hard to feel that you can’t express freely what you truly feel, whatever that may be. Shadowoperator