I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.

If this poem is like our love
(and the sky as
clear)

then it will rise like a rocket
and stop short,
here.

You said you'd come to tea
so I made a cake
chocolate sweet; maraschino filled;
girdled with a satin blue ribbon;
set out the prettiest plates;
hand painted with forget-me-nots.
And from the darkest corner of a drawer
found a single candle to celebrate the day.
I'd understand if you had 'phoned,
but now the chocolate lends a bitter taste
and even the despairing posies have given up all hope
as the candle's flame flickers my ever waiting shadow.

autumn had been only imagined
lurking in small cracks between days,
paving heaved from fat roots underneath;
its arrival seemed improbable
in summer's heat

vernal green leaves grew only deeper
in generous sun,
promising some future harvest of fruit
far off distant, but sweet,
certainly, when it would come

cool, now, faded mornings break;
the pursuing season
sheds desires wizened,
of pages yellow-brown and finger-worn,
already memorized
as if being is cast aside in a child’s game
of loves me or loves me not,
youth’s clothing otherwise unneeded

they were, maybe, sins of greed
befallen all new living things
seeking moments owed but soon forgotten;
the scent of pink spring blossoms,
or how the peaches blushed in bunches
before we ate lustily from supple branches

how soon this winter comes
a tree’s hard woody bark will bare to needs,
extend dark arms, spindly, old
to splay against a field of gray
declaring stark existence to a callous sky
that stings with wind and cold

This is a lonely poem,
a half an hour before dawn poem,
a poem like an empty kitchen –
a godforsaken (god, I'm shaking)
feeling like I just want to go home
poem. (and I am home)

If an easy rain
would make the rocks slippery,
he would hold my hand.

I didn’t pray to God in the hospital.
I didn’t pray to God in the jail.
No one’s praying to God when their duty to truth hasn’t failed.

No one’s praying to God if you’re the doctor threatened with ****** for abortions you perform.
No one’s praying to God when you’re accused as a witch and the holy-fire at your feet’s getting warm.

No one’s praying to God when medicine stops the disease that uncontrollably spread.
I wasn’t praying to God, when it was time for my heart to break and the pieces are still aching.
I wasn’t praying to God when I saw from mountaintops the natural wonder of this land.
I wasn’t praying to God when the times were bad, better, or good.

But God isn’t funny
When government leaders say they hear the words that he spoke,
Or when the faithful say he hates us, internet decapitate us,
Bar atheist from running nations though we’re just normal folk.

God isn’t funny,
When Religion’s given money just so others can pray,
But instead try humanism,
Give the people penicillin,
Clean water, food, or a place to live in but,

Hunger isn’t hilarious.
Ha Ha
Ha Ha

I didn’t pray to God in the hospital.
I didn’t pray to God in the jail.
I won’t be praying to God when my mortal heart finally fails.

No one would pray to God if they realized heaven’s not there when they finally close their eyes
I don’t pray to God, I won’t take false comfort in lies.

But God isn’t funny,
When people use his views to deft scientific proof.
Pronouncing old conclusions, renouncing evolution,
If it’s faith or truth it should be easy to choose.


But God isn’t funny,
When he gives false hope to the hurting and bereaved,
And it’s goes without saying,
If you’re a different faith or gay then,
We’re all peace and love but you’re not in the club.


Doesn’t sound so hilarious


I didn’t pray to God in the hospital.
I didn’t pray to God in the jail.

I didn’t pray to God in the hospital.
I didn’t pray to God in the jail.

I didn’t pray to God in the hospital.
I didn’t pray to God in the jail.

Mister God look at your people they’re starving, freezing, diseased, or so very poor.

No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
Laughing at the sky is odd.