Writing Prompt 29

Welcome to the twenty-ninth day of our 30/30!

I can hardly believe it’s almost over. I don’t want to say goodbye.

Your prompt today is:

 

Maybe god tastes of
Alternatively: maybe [deity of your choice] [sense] [prep]…

 

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Guidelines, if you want them:

  • Posting your response is not required
  • Feel free to post your response   🙂
  • This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
  • While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
  • Tips & encouragement are here
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4 comments

  1. On the tip of my tongue,
    running along the edges inside my mouth,
    taste buds for the sweet, the salty, the spicy,
    hot, cold, lukewarm offerings
    sending messages to the body,
    chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches
    nothing at all like dark chocolate or lemon meringue pie.
    So where does the Divine fall in the mix of it?
    I have to believe that every papillae is ignited –
    sweet, sour, salty, bland,
    the gritty and the smooth.
    It must be liver and onions with a side of strawberries and whip,
    pork and beans and pudding on the same plate,
    Then again the taste of god may be so refined and simple
    that we recognize her in the water slipping down our throat,
    Life itself absent of additives.

    Like

  2. Pingback: #NationalPoetryMonth’16 Round-up (Day 29) | Bonespark~

  3. After Psalm 34:8
    We are invited to taste and see
    that the Lord is good… but not
    told whether to sample manna
    from another desert or the heavy
    drupes of grapes alongside the
    temple. Bread or berries, basics
    or dessert? But to the believer
    the Deity is all; like the old
    Jesuit said outside the university
    on that blustery summer day:
    wherever you can see, He is…
    new grass, new leaves, heady
    flowers, each one of us, and so
    I’ve believed ever since because
    that day in full youth, it made
    sense and I needed something
    to believe in in the middle of
    a segregated city with rioting
    all around and no guarantees
    for tomorrow. We say it (what
    ever it is) tastes heavenly, and
    give sly testimony to some kind
    of belief, wipe are betraying lips
    but feel the tingle of palate and
    skip of stomach. We smell and
    touch and above taste to know
    our world, bite into the lemon
    mint, the purple blooming chives,
    first onions and new lettuces.
    All of them holding promise.

    Like


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