The sensistive topic of religion
Occasionally causes some division
Amongst those who don't agree
Which is plain for all to see.

So let us broach that well known religion
That loves to claim logic when causing division.
The faith that I speak of is, of course, atheism,
(My view that it's a faith can cause much derision)

Now from a purely agnostic point of view,
It seems such beliefs must rely on faith too,
How else could you justify all that you knew,
Is infallible, and therefore must be true?

I know many people will want to attest
That religion doesn't apply to the atheist,
Which is why it's surely the silliest
To declare itself better than all the rest.

Tear off pink leaves
Lining silver spears of fruit
That hang to be
Pressed, beaten, ******
Turned Yummy into
Zorb’s first taste of
Magnetic hazy swirls, pulp
Floats to the surface and
Reflecting in the juice,
Contained in the grainy, clear
Plastic cup, is the fluorescent apron
Of his purple hued waitress
DO NOT spill that platter of
Warm Grabtov Cakes
Chef Remi hollers
Sporf Sprinkles, Cremb Crumbs, Pinch of Flour
Sector 02 harvest labor wages inflating
Simultaneously as these stomach do
French pressed black dust
With Tulken cream fresh from the
Open void of Farmer Joe’s glowing lime cloud fields
Stop in
Galactic highway quasar X68G
A diner stop on route to EGS-zs8-1
Spiriling towards vacation,
the silken lava beaches
of blackhole and distant quasar ULAS
Filling the infinite time
With Coffee and Cake

Sometimes it happens like
Butter on toast,
Smooth, creamy, and delicious.

Most of the time, it's stilted
And halting.
Like hobbling through a parking lot
On crutches with a full leg cast.

Sometimes it comes from
The haunted recesses
Of the traumatized human mind.

Other times a frog
Or butterfly
Or other passing fanciful inspiration
Invokes the need for

Rhyme,
Meter,
Syllables,
Phonemes,
Morphemes,
Words,
Language,
Prose,
And poetry.

We write to describe the world around us
But much more, the universe within us.

Our words give life and tangibility
To the impalpable things,
And they take away some of the fear
And pain and grief and unconscionability
Of the corporeal things.

And in the weaving
And shaping
And forming
And rhyming
And jotting
And sketching
And rapping
And moulding
And writing
We find emancipation and satisfaction.
And thus...scrumpdillyumptiousness!

Infinity is so tedious
it just goes on and on
and on and on and on
and on and on and on

and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on

Forever has no limits
it just goes on and on
and on and on and on
and on and on and on

and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on

This poem's got no end
it might go on and on
and on and on and on
and on and on and on

and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on

Repeat ad nauseam

Cynthia Pauline Jones 11/11/13

Today, I accidentally spoke to a stranger.
Seated at the round table with my laptop,
I stared at a couple speaking my language.
He caught me looking, and seemed confused.
I was embarrassed for staring
so I explained, "I understood them-
there aren't many other speakers that I know,"
and quickly looked back down.
And the feeling of regret welled up inside me.
It was far too late.
I can see him staring at me, now.
Burning holes into the back of my screen.
For a second I thought he might have been mute.
Why stare at me so hard without uttering a word?
I'm not wearing anything particularly interesting.
He must know that I see him in my peripherals.
What if he really is mute?
Maybe he needs some help?
Should I look up? I can't.
Why not? Because that would mean
I'd have to speak more.
You shouldn't have spoken at all.
I was embarrassed for staring.
He should be embarrassed for staring, too.
I hope I didn't "speak his language."
He probably isn't even looking at you.
We're the only ones at this table.
He keeps looking up from his book.
Maybe if I look at him quickly I'll know if he's looking
at the empty billboard behind me instead.
I just looked up.
He's looking at me.
And not a word was exchanged.
Now this is that much more awkward,
I'll never look up again.
I'll just pack my things.
And never speak to strangers again.
But wait...
what if he knows me?
What if he's waiting for me to recognize him?
I don't know him, I'm sure.
He won't stop staring.
I close my laptop
and see my motley stickers.
Some with writing, some with pictures.
Sigh of relief.
Just my stickers.
I'd look, too.
Packed it away
and went to class.
How silly was I, just then?
But I still won't speak to strangers, again.