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mark soltero Dec 2020
never look down
it’s weak
never miss what’s lost
it’ll never be found
move forward
be your own god
give thanks to the lord
because his reflection is yours
you’re your own creator
this is your world now
Kelsey Banerjee Jun 2020
father,
it has been over a decade
since my last confession;
in fact,
that crisp lenten day,
you in your purple,
I refused to come in,
giggling,
because I had committed nothing
worth an intermediary.

under lock and key,
anxious not to make trouble,
a natural people pleaser,
what could I child do but
laugh at sin?

today my prayers are mingled -
mangled,
a clutter of languages and deities:
my god is one but also many.
I’m not even Catholic anymore,
But for old time’s sake,
will you listen?
ari Mar 2020
hellbent on slaughtering
the devils at my door
held an exorcism
so they can't hurt me anymore
mouthful of sin
the father has me on my knees
because i won’t pray for him
i owe him no apologies
i’m not your disciple
i fear no god
i won’t follow blindly
the pious lies that i’ve been told
i will sin to spite you
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Lean Harvests
by Michael R. Burch

for T.M.

the trees are shedding their leaves again:
another summer is over.
the Christians are praising their Maker again,
but not the disconsolate plover:
     i hear him berate
     the fate
     of his mate;
he claims God is no body’s lover.

Published by The Rotary Dial and Angle. Keywords/Tags: plover, skeptic, atheist, agnostic, Christians, god, creator, maker, fate, mate, berate, lover
Dylan McFadden Feb 2020
Weightless, he was
Bound to none –
A wispy, wandering
Wind

He danced upon his days
Like waves,
Without a ripple
In the end…

‘Cause times when he
Would come too close,
Feet nearly touching
Ground

He’d hide away
Into his dream
And scream
Without a sound

---

Weightless, he was
Bound to none –
A wispy, wandering
Wind

He felt no wonder
‘bout his life;
Nothing felt
Magnificent…

‘Cause nothing could
Command his heart
Or pull him down
To stand

So ‘ever he just
Drifted there
In fog and
Foreign land

---

Weightless, he was
Bound to none –
A wispy, wandering
Wind

He settled for a
Fairytale, but
Woke up feeling
Grim…

‘Cause deep within
The darkest depth –
An abyss of Truth
Suppressed

He knew that there was
More than this:
The “Ever-Expanding
Nothingness”

---

But…weightless, he was
Bound to none –
A wispy, wandering
Wind

.
CK Baker Nov 2019
the red wine stops fermenting
a young man turns to gray
the voice of truth and promise
leads one and all astray

we follow with a notion
of what may be ahead
that voice of truth and promise
has risen from the dead
Aditi Jan 2019
I bleed in silence, in
Abandoned cathedrals,
Monasteries, and holy Shrines.
I have looked for you,
Begged the grand idols,
Visited crumbling walls
Of burnt out cities,
And antiquities -
All the places they told me
You had been.


My eyes see red
But I'm blue,
And there's a bruise
On my knee-
A blend of both.
My lips no longer move in prayers
My eyes have no tales to tell-
But my poems scream
And I live - on a middle ground
Between the two
-a whimper on nights,
A sad smile during days.

You're not coming for the rescue, are you?


I ache and long, now
More than I can love
But for what? Is it you?
I never could commit suicide,
But I killed myself, every moment,
nonetheless,
Till I heard the rhythm of that heavenly call
In your footsteps
And how you filled even the silences between us
With grace
And I was seen, and I could see
And I was loved with a love
That I could accept.

If our love had two colors,
It'd be red and blue
Like any God,
You came with your own set of rules.
Passionate red, that you brought
And the blues that I always carry
Red and blue icy veins -
With the same emotions flowing through.
But you were taken away too.
And now I'm neither red, nor blue
But despondent brown
The color of the dirt, the only thing
Separating me and you.

You're not coming back, are you?


I walk on,
I don't rest and I don't sleep.
How can there be a God if there's no justice?
And the moon is not blue with sadness;
Nor does it cry with me.
And the stars are just as oblivious and distant.
And the sun, well, it never bothered
to shine on any of us.
I see a world now, as it is,
Stripped of meaning
and all its metaphorical use.


If I could be colored,
I'd choose red and blue-
Burning bright
with a frigid determination.
To save the soul,
Sometimes you must
destroy its vessel
And when a world dies, its gods must die along.


None of you came, so I had to come to you.
The Good Book says that we are to be in the Earth, but not of the Earth.

But when I feel the hot desert sand beneath my feet
And the blood of my indigenous ancestors pumping through my veins
And the dry wind rushing down from the mountains

And when I join in the collective energy of a crowd
Jumping to the pulsing vibrations of music,
Catching each other’s eyes and laughing big and full and whole

And when I feel the might of the ocean lifting me, cradling me
Holding me in its mercy.
And when my tongue experiences the rich burn of chiles
and my throat feels the sting of liquor cultivated from the Earth,

I know that she is my mother and that I am of her.  
That my body is made of the same stuff as her oceans  
And mountains and creatures.  
My spirit is hers, and I am in awe of her.

The Good Book says anyone who loves their father or mother  
Or son or daughter more than me,
Is not worthy of me.

But I feel the profundity of the love of my mother and grandmother
With more intensity than I have ever felt sitting inside church walls.
And I find the knowledge that they have both held my DNA within their bodies
Divine.

And when I feel the warm weight of my baby cousins on my lap  
Their small fingers tracing along my forearm
I understand the nature of love in its simplest form,
A love that is a mixture of flesh and spirit
And I am in awe of such love.

The Good book says to wives, submit to your husband, as to the Lord.

But when I look at my students
All girls, all sass, all laughs, and all of fourteen
The word I see written across their lips  
And draped over their shoulders
is not ‘submit’
But ‘conquer’.  

And I understand that, as all natural things do,
Wives have adapted to compensate for weaker bodies
With stronger minds
With a perception and an instinct  
And a fortitude that boggles the mind.
And I am in awe of them.

The Good Book says if a man lies with a man as with a woman,  
both have committed an abomination.

But when I see the tenderness with which two people can love,
The way two minds and two bodies can find one another
Separate lives, separate brains, separate universes
Unreconcilable and rigid  
Like atoms slamming against one another
To create something new  
Against all odds, against all reason, against all logic

I know that partnership is a miracle  
Many will never be fortunate enough to experience
And I am in awe of it.

The Good Book says that the wicked will go down to the realm of the dead,  
all the nations that forget God.

But what nation has forgotten God?
Surely no nation that can create art that transcends the human experience
Or which can lift their feet in dance and play  
Surely no nation that looks up to the stars
And retains the ability to feel small  

And when I think of the realm of the dead
It is not hellfire that I see
But the place where my grandcestors live
The place just out of view where their songs still resonate.

And when I think of the wicked  
I think of the lost who will one day be found.
The long suffering ones infected by the injustices of life
Who in death will not find a lake of fire
But final, restful, long awaited peace.

The Good Book says that it is a good book.

But when I hold it in my hands
And let the onion skin flutter against my fingers
I see words written by men who were afraid.
Afraid of death
Afraid of women
Afraid of their bodies
Afraid of chaos
Afraid of the other
Afraid of the Earth

And what grains of beautiful truth  
Remain lying the book
Have become obscured by the centuries
Until I am forced to wonder if
Taken within the context of its ****** history
The good book is really a good book at all.
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