Trip Ups

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

A ratatouille made of shadows seen

Through God’s kaleidoscope is what the faiths

Present to us.  Religions, each a different scene

Of glitters, promise that our future wraiths

Will find a prettiness beyond.  This view

Is bits and piecey, colorful, and yet

More like a fairground Hall of Mirrors, true (?)

Or not so true, like God’s imagined sweat

In prophets’ broken crystal ball views, sites

They see in “Paradiso” or in dreams

On Patmos.  Seers give fragmented sights

And we are meant to love these ball-scene gleams.

  We know too much about hypnotic drugs

    And AI foolery to suck John’s dugs.

~ Phillip Whidden