Various HeresiesA Poem by Michael R. BurchVarious Heresies Bible Libel by Michael R. Burch If God is good, half the Bible is libel. NOTE: I came up with this epigram to express my conclusions after reading the Bible from cover to cover, ten chapters per day, at age eleven. Saving Graces for the Religious Right by Michael R. Burch Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter (wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter). Multiplication, Tabled for the Religious Right by Michael R. Burch “Be fruitful and multiply”― great advice, for a fruitfly! But for women and men, simple Simons, say, “WHEN!” Willy Nilly for the Demiurge, aka Yahweh/Jehovah by Michael R. Burch Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? You made the stallion, you made the filly, and now they sleep in the dark earth, stilly. Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? You forced them to run all their days uphilly. They ran till they dropped― life’s a pickle, dilly. Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? They say I should worship you! Oh, really! They say I should pray so you’ll not act illy. Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? What Would Santa Claus Say by Michael R. Burch What would Santa Claus say, I wonder, about Jesus returning to Kill 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? A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint by Michael R. Burch Santa Claus, for Christmas, please, don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy . . . just . . . Santa, please . . . I’m on my knees! . . . please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi! gimME that ol’ time religion! by michael r. burch fiddle-dee-dum, fiddle-dee-dee, jesus loves and understands ME! safe in his grace, I’LL damn them to hell― the strumpet, the harlot, the wild jezebel, the alky, the druggie, all queers short and tall! let them drink ashes and wormwood and gall, ’cause fiddle-dee-DUMB, fiddle-dee-WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEee . . . jesus loves and understands ME! Practice Makes Perfect by Michael R. Burch I have a talent for sleep; it’s one of my favorite things. Thus when I sleep, I sleep deep ... at least till the stupid clock rings. I frown as I squelch its damn beep, then fling it aside to resume my practice for when I’ll sleep deep in a silent and undisturbed tomb. Enough! by Michael R. Burch It’s not that I don’t want to die; I shall be glad to go. Enough of diabetes pie, and eating sickly crow! Enough of win and place and show. Enough of endless woe! Enough of suffering and vice! I’ve said it once; I’ll say it twice: I shall be glad to go. But why the hell should I be nice when no one asked for my advice? So grumpily I’ll go ... although (most probably) below. Redefinitions by Michael R. Burch Faith: falling into the same old claptrap. Religion: the ties that blind. pretty pickle by michael r. burch u’d blaspheme if u could because ur God’s no good, but of course u cant: ur just a lowly ant (or so u were told by a Hierophant). Untitled ur poems since GOD created u so gullible limping to the grave under the sentence of death, Defenses by Michael R. Burch Beyond the silhouettes of trees stark, naked and defenseless there stand long rows of sentinels: these pert white picket fences. Now whom they guard and how they guard, the good Lord only knows; but savages would have to laugh observing the tidy rows. Listen by Michael R. Burch Listen to me now and heed my voice; I am a madman, alone, screaming in the wilderness, but listen now. Listen to me now, and if I say that black is black, and white is white, and in between lies gray, I have no choice. Does a madman choose his words? They come to him, the moon’s illuminations, intimations of the wind, and he must speak. But listen to me now, and if you hear the tolling of the judgment bell, and if its tone is clear, then do not tarry, but listen, or cut off your ears, for I Am weary. fog by michael r. burch ur just a bit of fluff drifting out over the ocean, unleashing an atom of rain, causing a minor commotion, for which u expect awesome GODS to pay u SUPREME DEVOTION! ... but ur just a smidgen of mist unlikely to be missed ... where did u get the notion? thanksgiving prayer of the parasites by michael r. burch GODD is great; GODD is good; let us thank HIM for our food. by HIS hand we all are fed; give us now our daily dead: ah-men! (p.s., most gracious & salacious HEAVENLY LORD, we thank YOU in advance for meals galore of loverly gore: of precious delicious sumptuous scrumptious human flesh!) no foothold by michael r. burch there is no hope; therefore i became invulnerable to love. now even god cannot move me: nothing to push or shove, no foothold. so let me live out my remaining days in clarity, mine being the only nativity, my death the final crucifixion and apocalypse, as far as the i can see ... u-turn: another way to look at religion by michael r. burch ... u were borne orphaned from Ecstasy into this lower realm: just one of the inching worms dreaming of Beatification; u'd love to make a u-turn back to Divinity, but having misplaced ur chrysalis, can only chant magical phrases, like Circe luring ulysses back into the pigsty ... You by Michael R. Burch For thirty years You have not spoken to me; I heard the dull hollow echo of silence as though strange communion between us. For thirty years You would not open to me; You remained closed, hard and tense, like a clenched fist. For thirty years You have not broken me with Your alien ways and Your distance. Like a child dismissed, I have watched You prey upon the hope in me, knowing “mercy” is chance and “heaven”―a list. I’ve got Jesus’s face on a wallet insert by Michael R. Burch for the Religious Right I’ve got Jesus’s face on a wallet insert and "Hell is for Queers" on the back of my shirt. And I uphold the Law, for Grace has a Flaw: the Church must have someone to drag through the dirt. I’ve got ten thousand reasons why Hell must exist, and you’re at the top of my fast-swelling list! You’re nothing like me, so God must agree and slam down the Hammer with His Loving Fist! For what are the chances that God has a plan to save everyone: even Boy George and Wham!? Eternal fell torture in Hell’s pressure scorcher will separate homo from Man. I’m glad I’m redeemed, ecstatic you’re not. Did Christ die for sinners? Perish the thought! The "good news" is this: soon My vengeance is his!, for you’re not the lost sheep We sought. jesus hates me, this i know by michael r. burch jesus hates me, this I know, for Church libel tells me so: "little ones to him belong" but if they use their dongs, so long! yes, jesus hates me! yes, jesus baits me! yes, he berates me! Church libel tells me so! jesus fleeces us, i know, for Religion scams us so: little ones are brainwashed to believe god saves the Chosen Few! yes, jesus fleeces! yes, he deceases the bunny and the rhesus because he's mad at you! jesus hates me―christ who died so i might be crucified: for if i use my active brain, that will drive the "lord" insane! yes, jesus hates me! yes, jesus baits me! yes, he berates me! Church libel tells me so! jesus hates me, this I know, for Church libel tells me so: first priests tell me "look above," that christ's the lamb and god's the dove, but then they sentence me to Hell for using my big brain too well! yes, jesus hates me! yes, jesus baits me! yes, he berates me! Church libel tells me so! and then i was made whole by michael r. burch ... and then i was made whole, but not a thing entire, glued to a perch in a gilded church, strung through with a silver wire ... singing a little of this and of that, warbling higher and higher: a thing wholly dead till I lifted my head and spat at the Lord and his choir. Starting from Scratch with Ol’ Scratch by Michael R. Burch for the Religious Right Love, with a small, fatalistic sigh went to the ovens. Please don’t bother to cry. You could have saved her, but you were all tied up complaining about the Jews to Reichmeister Grupp. Scratch that. You were born after World War II. You had something more important to do: while the children of the Nakba were perishing in Gaza with the complicity of your government, you had a noble cause (a religious tract against homosexual marriage and various things gods and evangelists disparage.) Jesus will grok you? Ah, yes, I’m quite sure that your intentions were good and ineluctably pure. After all, what the hell does he care about Palestinians? Certainly, Christians were right about serfs, slaves and Indians. Scratch that. You’re one of the Devil’s minions. In His Kingdom of Corpses by Michael R. Burch In His kingdom of corpses, God has been heard to speak in many enraged discourses, high, high from some mountain peak where He’s lectured man on compassion while the sparrows around Him fell, and babes, for His meager ration of rain, died and went to hell, unbaptized, for that’s His fashion. In His kingdom of corpses, God has been heard to vent in many obscure discourses on the need for man to repent, to admit that he’s a sinner; give up sex, and riches, and fame; be disciplined at his dinner though always he dies the same, whether fatter or thinner. In his kingdom of corpses, God has been heard to speak in many absurd discourses of man’s Ego, precipitous Peak!, while demanding praise and worship, and the bending of every knee. And though He sounds like the Devil, all religious men now agree He loves them indubitably.
lust i was only a child and in all my bright dreams but the black-robed Priest he called my great passion a thing base, defiled! He condemned me to hell, my sweet passions condemned together we learned why Religion is hell. Beast 666 by Michael R. Burch “... what rough beast ... slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?”―W. B. Yeats Brutality is a cross wooden, blood-stained, gas hissing, sibilant, lungs gilled, deveined, red flecks on a streaked glass pane, jeers jubilant, mocking. Brutality is shocking tiny orifices torn by cruel adult lust, the fetus unborn tossed in a dust- bin. The scarred skull shorn, nails bloodied, tortured, an old wound sutured over, never healed. Brutality, all its faces revealed, is legion: Death March, Trail of Tears, Inquisition . . . always the same. The Beast of the godless and of man’s “religion” slouching toward Jerusalem: horned, crowned, gibbering, drooling, insane. I AM I am not one of ten billion―I― sunblackened Icarus, chary fly, I am not one of ten billion, I. I am not one life has left unsquashed― I am not one life has left unsquashed. I am not one without spots of disease, I am not one without spots of disease. I am not one of ten billion―I― scion of Daedalus, blackwinged fly I am not one of ten billion, I This heretical poem reverses my childhood poem "Am I." Snap Shots Our daughters must be celibate, We like to hook a little tail. The soul is all that matters; why Unwhole What is it that we strive to remember, to regain, How can something so essential be forgotten, How can a soul Nonbeliever She smiled a thin-lipped smile evol-u-shun does GOD love the Tyger does GOD applaud the Bubonic Plague does GOD admire ur intelligence does GOD endorse the Bible Breakings I did it out of pity. But gods without compassion I did it not to push. But gods, all mad as hatters, Alien for J. S. S., a "Christian" poet On a lonely outpost on Mars And his words fall as bright and as chill And I understand how gentle Emily Oh, how can I grok his arctic thought? Crescendo Against Heaven As curiously formal as the rose, These industrious trees, Together now, rude coffins, crosses, God always silent, ever afar, Advice for Evangelicals "... so let your light shine before men..." Consider the example of the woodland anemone: and rivals the angels in bright innocence and purity, And no one has heard her engage in hypocrisy so profound in her silence and exemplary poise So consider the example of the saintly anemone Heaven Bent This life is hell; it can get no worse. Shock and Awe With megatons of "wonder, " The world's heart ripped asunder, Strange Trinity! We ponder The vulture and the condor Soon He will plow us under; We love to hear Him thunder! For God can never blunder; Lay Down Your Arms Lay down your arms; come, sleep in the sand. Lay down your pamphlets; let's bicker no more. Lay down your hymnals; abandon all song. What Immense Silence What immense silence What luminescence stained What brings them here― Or could they be right? Perhaps why is it God that they fear? Published in The Bible of Hell
Let mercy surround us Let love propound to us Published by Katrina Anthology Altared Spots by Michael R. Burch Good mother leopard, pensive thought Man's tried them both, has added tears, where dead men's frozen genes convene... So bury your son, and save your breath. Or emulate earth's "highest species"― Flight Poetry captures being the language whose heavenward flight Published by Katrina Anthology Winter Night Who will be damned, The night weighs heavy on me― like the weightless windblown snow. Published by Nisqually Delta Review Tonight, Let's Remember July 7,2007 (7-7-7) Tonight, let's remember the fond ways Tonight, let's remember, as mortals do, Tonight, let's remember how daring, how free Earth, heaven or hell―we knew we were blessed. Tonight, let's remember the dwindling days spending their power beyond somber hills. Tonight, let's remember: we've paid all our dues, I do not want God; I want to see you I, Lazarus I, Lazarus, without a heart, But then I thought I heard―a Voice, a Voice that called me from afar. I ran ungainly-legged to see I never died again! Believe! by Michael R. Burch To know You as Mary, O, then I would laugh I might not think this earth my most unexpected, unwarranted name! Peers These thoughts are alien, as through green slime And you, Great Scientist, are you the One, Perhaps we wield the same dull Instrument Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea Gethsemane in Every Breath LORD, we have lost our way, and now We forgot hope's song―the way it goes. Help us reclaim their gifts, somehow. LORD, we have wondered long and far of misspent breath... before we drown. Remember that You, too, once held Did heaven ever seem so far? Remember―we are as You were,
NOTE: I no longer believe in Jesus as "god" or "savior" but on the chance that he still exists in some other dimension, I will side with A. E. Housman in reminding him to use whatever powers he has for good, and not for the dark purposes of the religion that bears his name. A Possible Argument for Mercy Did heaven ever seem so far? Birthday Poem to Myself LORD, be no longer this Distant Presence, Star-Afar, Righteous-Anonymous, come dwell again, men rejoicing to have known you sweet light scent of unburdened hay. with a chorus of angelic songs lessoned above. in the only way men can truly understand. planning fierce Retributions we require, and deserve, in the child I was, alike to you in innocence Let us be little children again, magical in your sight. just to know you, as you truly were, and are? Learning to Fly We are learning to fly learning to fly― O, love is not in the ephemeral flight, graced land of eternal sunrise, radiant beyond night! The Gardener's Roses Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, "Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away." I too have come to the cave; this lightening moment of the dawn, The women take no note of me; Faint scent of roses, then―a touch! I turn, and I see: You. "Although My Father waits, and bliss; I gathered roses for a Friend. Kingdom Freedom LORD, grant me a rare sweet spirit of forgiveness. LORD, let me not be over-worried not with law's restrictive cage, and not to fly to You, my only sin. Cædmon's Face At the monastery of Whitby, while the wind and Time blew all around, of Carroll, Stoker and good Bede to write, and with each line, remember *
But when at last a child is grown. * suspended under heaven's roof. his face was Poetry's, from youth. Prayer for a Merciful, Compassionate, etc., God to Murder His Creations Quickly & Painlessly, Rather than Slowly & Painfully Lord, kill me fast and please do it quickly! Lord, we all know you’re an expert killer! Lord, we all know you’re an expert at murder Lord, we all know you’re a terrible sinner! Dear Lord, did the lion and tiger compete Lord, why not be a merciful Prelate? Is there any Light left? Is there any light left? Is there any light left? NOTE: While “hoofed” is the more common spelling, I preferred “hooved” for this poem. Perhaps because of the contrast created by “love” and “hooved.” Modern Dreams after David B. Gosselin I dreamed that God was good, but then I woke I dreamed his Word was good, but then I heard I dreamed of Heaven where cruel Angels flew I dreamed of Hell below, where prostitutes I dreamed of Earth then woke to hear a Gong’s Star Crossed Remember�" Listen 1. Listen to me now, and if I say Does a madman choose his words? But listen to me now, I desire mercy, not sacrifice. 2. 3. 4. and fall on those below, as if to kill them. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. I saw the Skull and Crossbones! Heed my Song! 11. 12. 13. 14. Lines for My Ascension I. If I should die, But if my body II. If I should die, or a timid sparrow and know that my Spirit, And if my body III. If I should die, Think of Me as One And if my body IV. And if I should “die,” If you look above, So divine, if you can, And if my body © 2022 Michael R. Burch |
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