"agnostics" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
“What if God was a woman?” Asked Lois undeterred.
Well well well, if God was a woman — she continued —
Perhaps agnostics and atheists, wouldn’t say no with our heads
but we'd say yes with our guts.
Perhaps we would approach to her divine ******
to kiss her feet not of bronze, her pelvis not of stone,
her ******* not of marble, her lips not of gold.
If God was a woman, we would embrace her to steal her from her horizon
and you wouldn’t have to swear “till death do us part”
because it would be already inmortal by antonomasia,
and instead of give you AIDS or panic,
contagious her everlasting life would be.
If God was a woman, she wouldn’t lie far away in the kingdom of heavens,
but she’d live in the vestibule of hell waiting for us,
with her arms not closed, her rose not of plastic, her love not of saints.
My God, my God… — if for ever and from ever you were a woman —
how beautiful scandal it would be, what a fortunate, splendid, impossible,
prodigious blasphemy.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
I feel as though I have an obligation,
A duty, you could say, to address something
We ignore almost everyday.
Washington walks on, head high
Strutting around like it owns civil liberties,
Like hearing its name is something so profound.
So I think I’ll ask what gives you the right
To tell my best friend who fights with herself
In the dark, at night, who cries herself to sleep
Because of the hardest decision of her life,
That she can’t make this choice with her own mind?
That it’s wrong when you’re so right, about things
Like pro-life.
And what gives you the final say on my brother
And his boyfriend, and their wedding day?
Oh, the bible does? Really? Okay.
Because you know there is such a thing
As separation of church and state, I’m sure.
And if religion, if God is your problem,
Where is your scorn? Why aren’t atheists and agnostics being burned
At the stake because of your proverbial witch hunt?
Ah, right, because discrimination is against the law,
And law is something you can’t shun in light
Of running a political race, or else have your own medicine
Shoved in your face.
If God is the only thing you can think to use
To your political values that are so terribly flawed,
Did you ever stop to think that I don’t believe in Him,
Your God?
That maybe I like mine better, He accepts us all.
Honestly, tell me please, how in the hell you expect
To get my vote with all your arrogant decrees?
I sincerely hope before you run, you rethink your thesis’s,
Or before you go around telling me who I can and cannot be.
So what if I don’t believe your God,
Your religion or how you live it?
What if I believe in exhibits, or Dr. Seuss?
But that’s not really the point, is it?
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
Most never heard the killing shot,
From Bismarck, rend the air.
It landed in Hood’s magazine
and vaporized all there.
H.M.S. Hood rose in the air
The bow and stern were parted.
In ninety seconds she went down-
With her complement, she departed.
The Men aboard the Bismarck cheered,
Though their victory proved hollow:
They could not know, within three days,
The Bismarck was to follow.
The Prince of Wales made smoke and turned
to fight another day.
Torpedo planes from the Ark Royal
made Bismarck lose her way.
Three years of war had hardened hearts
But Hood’s loss caused dismay.
The tragedy in Denmark’s strait
Would make agnostics pray.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
The agnostics have gone
Cuckoo.
They have carefully lost their minds!
The profound and the loyal:
God among men.
The citizens and patriots
Are fighting the Devil in Dixie.
And in this world of
Sustained images of hope,
The shamrock and the
Sun-kissed face.
Oh the Sun, that purifies all that it touches
Damns all that it doesn't.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
The men wept and the women wept, children, dogs, cats and grandparents wept
The theist, the atheist and the agnostics all wept
The politicians in their boastful and pristine offices wept
The homeless man with his homeless bride wept
Homemakers in their homes,
Chefs in their kitchens,
Workmen on their lunch breaks all wept
I wept and you wept, we wept together
Tears that fell all around us like burst banks and levees
The dadaists in Russia wept
The existentialists in the Ukraine wept
The absurdists and nihilists of France even wept
What a sight
The post-modern Christians and neo-vaudevillians weeping still,
The grounds of the deserts in the south that begged for moisture on a regular basis, wept
The slick icy glaciers in the far north continue to weep
My home was full of tears, as I believe was yours,
The news, too much to bear,
Words that cascade from mouths, wept
The shadows and the sun that cast them wept also
It was a sight to behold,
the moment we all discovered the true essence
Of empathy.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
This is the Agnostics Anthem
The Church stole God and asked a ransom
Atheists are too ******* sure for me
So I guess when we’re dead then we’ll finally see
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
written while talking to a dear friend, Irene, who i met on my travels to Paris, and who i'm spotted with, in a photograph, by the Moulin Rouge, hunched in homage to Quasimodo, with Paul the wild haired australian.
i'm always depressed before composition
and the first whiskey to
stop me throwing up anything i might
ingest,
but then the seemingly graceless magpie
with its extended tail flies into eyesight,
then the blackbird, the crow, the seagull (huh?!
30 miles inland and a ****** seagull?)...
and then i open my eyes a second time,
take off the eyes that see lust gluttony colours
and shapes, and put on my x-ray spectacles
of looking at a white page and typing for a while...
and then a song crops up and it bothers me,
mortiis' parasite god from the album *the smell
of rain*, if there is such a thing as a parasite god,
we'll be constantly thinking about it,
it will be an ontological implant of ours to
then debate whether we're atheists, theists,
gnostics or agnostics... it would be a burden, indeed
an oversized tapeworm to put it mildly -
but then the other description floating about,
the entitlement of a title, akin to prince, knight,
sir, baron or baroness or even a marquis...
the lord of hosts... and with vain attempt at sounding
in blossom of a magnolia tree attentive of courtesy,
a host is someone who contains a parasite,
why would i want to contain a parasite of thought in
me, that would necessarily sway me from denoting
myself an atheist, theist, etc.?
atheists do indeed uphold the principle stated in this
song i mentioned mortiis' parasite god;
i among the jews a parasite of the host of
ancient egypt;
i mean, they always say they're atheists or whatever,
they want that little sticker at a speed dating gathering
*hello, my name is, queue (oh sorry,
Hugh)*, but when it comes to
defining what sort of thinking defines you as such and
such, it's vaguely satisfying to hear a presupposition label,
followed by a string of even more unsatisfying propositions,
and since i'm not a fisherman in that department,
i think i'll just stick to what i know, or at least what i think i know.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to **** and plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
“And I will **** her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.” (So much for grace according to Revelation 2:23, where Jesus, or someone speaking for him, vows to personally ****** children for their mother’s sins!)
Published by Lucid Rhythms, Poet’s Corner and translated into Czech by Vaclav ZJ Pinkava
Keywords/Tags: Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Jesus Christ, Bible, Revelation, mass ****** serial ****** homosexuals, harlots, hookers, prostitutes, heretics, atheists, agnostics, nonbelievers, non-Christians
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 5:27 AM UTC
Food just fills the stomach
It doesn't make loneliness go away
I overate
I hardly ever do that
Oh the new movie
About "immortality"
Self/Less is out
Oh hooray for another
Lousy Hollywood movie
I made it halfway through
The trailer
Trash, garbage
All it is
And who would want
To live forever?
Only a psychopath
People who can't
Accept the human condition
Most would be
People with no faith
No spirituality
Or belief in a higher power
I would think most
Atheists and agnostics
Would think the idea is absurd
As well
Hollywood makes garbage
Most all movies
Just plain **** these days
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
*The Sunday paper comes twirling out of a passenger window
Stealthy Deer are watching my Snow Peas with binoculars from a distant terrace
New Hampshire hens announce their morning eggs , Yorkshire piglets attempt to awaken , roll over instead
The Christians are off to early service , the agnostics are
working on their lawn tractors , the atheist are glued to
Good Morning America and the farmers and I have already been
up four hours*
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
Agnostic's prayer
By
Jude Kyrie
Let there be orchards
In summer ripe days
Let there be Christmas
And first of Mays
Let there be children singing
In heavenly choirs.
Let there be snowfall
With warm cozy fires
Let there be hopscotch
And childish games
Let there be holidays
With different names
Let there be family
With comforting beds
Let there be mother's
To kiss children's heads
Let there be peaceful
long summer nights
Let there be moonlight
So clear and so bright
Let there be dark skies
With a billion bright stars
Let there be love
As each new day starts.
To be read aloud
To any God you believe in
Jude
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 4:09 PM UTC
Hallowed hill birdlife from my bedroom window
My bold , fellow agnostics working hard -
on the ' Sabbath ' like any other day
Warblers and Finches with no time for play
Red headed Woodpeckers tapping away
Orpingtons , Dominiques and New Hampshires -
leading a busy parade
Bathing Geese , scratching Hens , Crows in the corn
An Egret rides the wind while a Robin feeds her young
Bluebirds on the hunt , Thrashers on the run
Jays nabbing Figs in the scorching midday Sun
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
Christmastime was lurking at
The corner of the street,
Just waiting for the 25th.,
It tried to be discreet.
It didn’t want to force itself
On Muslims or on Jews,
On atheists, agnostics, or
On skepticism views.
It checked on all the homes that hung
Their holly in the hall,
Dressed up their trees with mistletoe
Hung greetings on the wall.
It wants us to be jolly
It’s a giving time of year,
Of gifts of Roses Chocolates,
And cartons full of beer.
For Christmastime is such a gift
To every creed and race,
It doesn’t have the time to check
On every scowling face,
For all of those believers it’s
The birthday of their Lord,
The one and only saviour
With the favour of his word.
So think on Christmas morning
Of the Lord and of his grace,
Watch emerging little children with
A smile on every face,
And kiss all your beloved ones
Standing by the Christmas tree,
So that Christmas won’t be lurking
At the birth of Jesus C.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
a hound stretches on a stoop
frozen, lacking a cadenced pant
sun splaying its last beams against
skin, warm tin and damp rigor mortis
the letch inside stammers,
retches
his yellowed nails scratch scabs
on flaking elbows
dried snakeskin platelet scales
too much residue
of asbestos and mildew, of
burnt gilded pages for heat
'cause they were of little use
to illiterate plainclothe'd sleuths
and the crows outside caw
with anemic splendor as
their ***** broods grovel
the inebriate inside
draws open dingy curtains
for the sun was finally subdued
he opens the window
to a finicky drizzle
and was interrupted by horse & buggy
and the tangling of her rosettes
transfixing voracious, beady eyes
as objects of interest phased out of view
we heard all this through the grey horseshoes
trudging through forgotten alleyways
all too loud and dramatic
we watched from fog outside
the ****** tavern where they drank
blood straight from the stomachs of lampreys
downing life, agnostics proudly clapped, with
death and decay on a parsley'd dinner plate
lingering in the hospital waiting room
for an embellished platter of viscera
to fill vacancies, with burnt rot
with a sterile, surgical tang
and jagged accoutrements
all are gorging lovingly,
already anticipating dessert
each solitary phantasm of a person, slouching in booths, on stools
smirks knowingly at the song that's now playing on the a.m. radio
while positioning their utensils, scooping, filling cavernous maws
and they all smiled
as their eyes gasped
as those outside
chipped their teeth
on rusted forks, and sighed
the dead ounce of liveliness failed to
take hold of its slouching bags of bones
and the coyote howled at the sound of the siren curfew
so listen carefully to the inflection of static hissing
the joyful crackle of disembodied voices
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
**Revolution now absconded , buried in lies
Period heroes covered in bird **** , cold green copper effigies
D.C. wannabes , robots packin' protected heat , militarized police working the crime scenes , when agents of change patrol the pink
dogwood streets , martial law is thawing in their sink
A bottle of gin to cure the alcoholic
Sun setting pyre for the agnostics
Who's above little me
Who in the **** believes they're commanding
me**
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
*You don't need religion
To understand sin.
It lives you can feel it
Gnawing inside of you.
Eating all the goodness that
you want to last forever.
I sit on the porch of my
house in the city.
Stars glint like lights
from a mirror ball
I see them walking by
Lost abandoned mothers
children lost tired t and hungry.
They are the reasons I lock my doors.
And click my security codes.
But I wonder sometimes.
Those locks,
those codes.
Those bars
on the windows.
Are they keeping
my sin locked in?
or stopping my
goodness and grace
from leaving
and walking the
needy streets at night.**
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC