that’s mine, you can’t said with a shove
all manifest a sprouting Will.
Bend it early into Love –
or one day it may seek to kill!
This surge of self that shapes a soul
is like those compounds found in flowers
[ten drops destroys, but one makes whole]
or salt, that makes taste bright or sours.
Seek Pride of actions, not blind Pride
for Love must serve to aid, increase
not to possess, keep by one’s side –
let Love and Will unite in Peace.
Passion governing hearts, but never the head
By tempered Will alone is Love properly led.
your most noble sentiments –
most generous and lofty ambitions –
were not at all rooted
in what was rammed into you
the very finest of you
is what miraculously managed
to escape all that formatting?
This question is so fundamental to our understanding of who we are that I even tweeted it!
what if your finest
generous, noble sentiments
were NOT rooted
in what was rammed into you…
but what miraculously
And that is good – Good News [if it be true]
for history is blood-besotted and littered with lies –
guilt-mongering tyrannies quick to label ignorance sin
to sap man’s natural strength and innocent pride
divert his attention to the needs of the present
with sops of celestial rectifications – promises
of unverifiable futures bought with current submissiveness.
There is no hope of return?
O Warrior God who lies in state in heaven –
would that the gates of your gilded mirage
remain locked forever.
for Robert J.Foss
If needs must
bridge the finite chasms
baptize evanescent bliss
then let your future fetish
be no less than this –
A Being to embrace the sum of being
so that we may invoke a blinded entity –
O Holy Bat – beside some great All-Seeing
If even lowly men can know regret
then model me
a truly penitent god – and don’t forget
the one who spied himself
in some celestial glass
as he strolled by
and in his fleeting likeness
fashioned us –
that mutton-headed cuss
then quite forgot
and left us here beyond the gate to die – alas
Why not now some likelier template seek
and while you’re at it, brother,
quit pretending to be meek !
Invent at last a god resembling –
a thing with teeth and claws –
an eminently laughable
lawless giver of the laws
so we may worship THAT – all aspects in one prayer
a god who wouldn’t give a fig for our dispair
a dervish turncoat given to disguises
a god prone to reward
the very things he most despises
capable of the loftiest creation
given to mean and base destruction
propounding truths without foundation
and lies – derived by sound deduction –
a multi-facetted unfathomable One
some ultimate in oxymoron
or is that the god we’ve got?
if gods you must have
then grant them this above all else –
since even the lowliest of the low
possess it – the living right to improve
to get better, to grow, to understand and evolve
invent, for pete’s sake, a genuine genius –
something that may be said
at least to have lived a rounded loving life
before, exhausted, it dropped dead
or allow the heavenly landlord
to deal with us, for a change
grow richer and more benevolent in the exchange
… or maybe just let him be
fucking fallible !
a truly living god
a genuinely on-going
madness blankets the earth
sanity sleeps lightly
in the margins
on its border
like a silk binding –
poetry a grace note
in some thundering overture
to a hoped-for Humanity
the coda to hypocrites’ prayers
can never be
a more allegedly
[however sweet the tune]
but the demolition of those fictions
that are the resurgent pharoahs’ tools
for my grandchildren
the hoped for –
and otherwise devoutly prayed for –
so they engrave
for their local
but if there were
even postagestamp-size ex-votos
for each unanswered daily prayer
every wall of every edifice
ever built by man
could not contain them all
and when the baby
will that also be
at the whim of their god?
no racism intended
but that would make
the almighty imagined diety
I recognize no divinities
and the Earth that bore me –
They are father and mother
if your peabrain runs
and should I meet in some great by and by
a jealous bastard who lives in the sky
I’ll give him what for – then spit in his eye!
[This I do so solemnly promise]
and while we’re at it, I want the word
struck from the language
turning away wrath
[…of other creatures’ bodies
burning like as not…]
if that’s your soteriology
well, it’s not so hot
and how the fuck
would that put a creator
in a good mood anyway?
What kind of Father’s heart
is softened by the sight
of his son being tortured
and cruelly murdered ?
If the afterlife
is run by the mafia
I’ll give it a pass.
People who buy into this shit
are scared shitless of death
or have less common sense
than witless sheep.
Some vengeful, wrathful
creep won’t get my vote
of the universe
and beyond proping up
short legs on sofas
some fat old tomes
are of little use
in the real world…
no matter what language
they are scribbled in.
Save me from all