Why I "Left" the Religious Right

These heretical poems on the subjects of God, religion and Christianity explain why I “left” the Religious Right.

If one screams below,

what the hell is "Above"?

―Michael R. Burch

Religion is regarded by fools as true, by the wise as false, and by rulers as useful. ― Seneca, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bible Libel

by Michael R. Burch

If God

is good,

half the Bible

is libel.

I wrote this epigram to express my conclusions after reading the Bible from cover to cover at age 11 and wondering how anyone could call the biblical “god” good.

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!

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?

Willy Nilly

by Michael R. Burch

for the Demiurge, aka Yahweh/Jehovah

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?

pretty pickle

by Michael R. Burch

u’d blaspheme if u could

because ur Gaud’s no good,

but of course u cant:

ur a lowly ant

(or so u were told by a Hierophant).

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).

A Passing Question for the Religious Right

by Michael R. Burch

since GOD created u so gullible

how did u conclude HE’s so lovable?

The Less-Than-Divine Results of My Prayers to be Saved from Televangelists

by Michael R. Burch

I’m old,

no longer bold,

just cold,

and (truth be told),

been bought and sold,

rolled

by the wolves and the lambs in the fold.

Who’s to be told

by this worn-out scold?

The complaint department is always on hold.

Multiplication, Tabled

or Procreation Inflation

by Michael R. Burch

for the Religious Right

“Be fruitful and multiply―

great advice, for a fruitfly!

But for women and men,

simple Simons, say, “WHEN!”

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!

Starting from Scratch with Ol’ Scratch

by Michael R. Burch

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.

Red State Religion Rejection Slip

by Michael R. Burch

I’d like to believe in your LORD

but I really can’t risk it

when his world is as badly composed

as a half-baked biscuit.

Less Heroic Couplets: Funding Fundamentals

by Michael R. Burch

"I found out that I was a Christian for revenue only and I could not bear the thought of that, it was so ignoble." �" Mark Twain

Making sense from nonsense is quite sensible! Suppose

you’re running low on moolah, need some cash to paint your toes ...

Just invent a new religion; claim it saves lost souls from hell;

have the converts write you checks; take major debit cards as well;

take MasterCard and Visa and good-as-gold Amex;

hell, lend and charge them interest, whether payday loan or flex.

Thus out of perfect nonsense, glittery ores of this great mine,

you’ll earn an easy living and your toes will truly shine!

Originally published by Lighten Up Online

U.S. Travel Advisory

by Michael R. Burch

It’s okay

to be gay,

unless, let’s say,

you find your fey

way

outside the Bay.

They

will want you to pray

to their LORD, or else pay

for the “wrong decision.” Stay

in San Fran, or maybe LA.

Amazing “grace”

by Michael R. Burch

Amazing “grace”

how unsweet the sound

that made such a wretch of me:

I once was rich

but now I’m unsound…

since the church embezzled me.

’Tis so sweet, etc.

by Michael R. Burch

It is no secret

what God can do.

What he’s done for others,

he’ll do for you:

with arms wide open,

he’ll let you die,

then kill your children.

Never ask him why.

i believe

by Michael R. Burch

i believe in eversolovely slovenly love

and in melting rigid moralists at the stake;

i believe in sweet liberating euthanasia

and that every “commandment” was an ancient mistake

(except the ones that protect fledglings and poodles

from men with limp, icky, religion-besotted noodles);

i believe we should make love in oodles ’n caboodles

and can the canoodles;

i believe

According to Webster “canoodle” originally meant “donkey” or “fool.” The modern word has taken on aspects of petting and cajoling. So one might interpret “canoodle” in the context of this poem to be an a*s who cajoles other people into mulish foolishness.

lust

by michael r. burch

i was only a child

in a world dark and wild

seeking affection

in eyes mild

and in all my bright dreams

sweet love shimmered, beguiled ...

but the black-robed Priest

who called me the least

of all god’s creation

then spoke for the Beast:

he called my great passion a thing base, defiled!

He condemned me to hell,

the foul Ne’er-Do-Well,

for the sake of the copper

His Pig-Snout could smell

in the purse of my mother,

“the w***e jezebel.”

my sweet passions condemned

by degenerate men?

and she so devout

she exclaimed, “yay, aye-men!” ...

together we learned why Religion is hell.

When I Was Small, I Grew

by Michael R. Burch

When I was small,

God held me in thrall:

Yes, He was my All

but my spirit was crushed.

As I grew older

my passions grew bolder

even as Christ grew colder.

My distraught mother blushed:

what was I thinking,

with feral lust stinking?

If I saw a girl winking

my face, heated, flushed.

“Go see the pastor!”

Mom screamed. A disaster.

I whacked away faster,

hellbound, yet nonplused.

Whips! Chains! Domination!

Sweet, sweet, my Elation!

With each new sensation,

blue blood groinward rushed.

Did God disapprove?

Was Christ not behooved?

At least I was moved

by my hellish lust.

no look pass

by michael r. burch

ask me no questions,

i’ll tell u no lies,

but, since u inquired,

ur GAUD is unwise,

evil, unloving,

cruel & unjust:

he said not to look

but I’m all about lust!

ergo, ur religion’s a bust!

Mother, I’ve made a terrible mess of things ...

Is there grace in the world, as the nightingale sings?

�"Michael R. Burch

Redefinitions

Faith: falling into the same old claptrap.�"Michael R. Burch

Religion: the ties that blind.�"Michael R. Burch

Trickle down economics: an especially pungent golden shower.�"Michael R. Burch

I call these epigrams "redefinitions." There are more, but these are my three favorites.

Pagans Protest the Intolerance of Christianity

by Michael R. Burch

“We have a common sky.” �" Quintus Aurelius Symmachus (c. 345-402)

We had a common sky

before the Christians came.

We thought there might be gods

but did not know their names.

The common stars above us?

They winked, and would not tell.

Yet now our fellow mortals claim

our questions merit hell!

The cause of our damnation?

They claim they’ve seen the LIGHT ...

but still the stars wink down at us,

as wiser beings might.

Epitaph for a Palestinian Child

by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.

Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

Well, Almost

by Michael R. Burch

All Christians say “Never again!”

to the inhumanity of men

(except when the object of phlegm

is a Palestinian).

Memo: The Divine Plan (an Update)

by Michael R. Burch

CC: Pat Robertson, G.W.B, the Religious Right, et al.

God,

the fundamentalist F**k,

said,

“I love Christians, but Muslims just suck,

so…

let’s have a faith that is bound to annoy ’em

and

keep ’em in chains, until Bibi destroys ’em.”

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!)

Less Heroic Couplets: Murder Most Fowl!

by Michael R. Burch

“Murder most foul!”

cried the mouse to the owl.

“Friend, I’m no sinner;

you’re merely my dinner.

As you fall on my sword,

take it up with the LORD!”

the wise owl replied

as the tasty snack died.

Originally published by Lighten Up Online and in Potcake Chapbook #7

In an attempt to demonstrate that not all couplets are heroic, I have created a series of poems called “Less Heroic Couplets.” I believe even poets should abide by truth-in-advertising laws! And I believe such laws should extend to Creators who claim to be loving, wise, merciful, just, etc., while forcing innocent mice to provide owls with late-night snacks. �" Michael R. Burch

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 ...

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.

faith(less)

by Michael R. Burch

Those who believed

and Those who misled

lie together at last

in the same narrow bed

and if god loved Them more

for Their strange lack of doubt,

he kept it well hidden

till he snuffed Them out.

You

by Michael R. Burch

For thirty years You have not spoken to me;

I heard the dull hollow echo of silence

as though a 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 He 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 c**k or 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 fools 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!

Con Artistry

by Michael R. Burch

The trick of life is like the sleight of hand

of gamblers holding deuces by the glow

of veiled back rooms, or aces; soon we’ll know

who folds, who stands . . .

The trick of life is like the pool shark’s shot�"

the wild massé across green velvet felt

that leaves the winner loser. No, it’s not

the rack, the hand that’s dealt . . .

The trick of life is knowing that the odds

are never in one’s favor, that to win

is only to delay the acts of gods

who’d ante death for sin . . .

and death for goodness, death for in-between.

The rules have never changed; the artist knows

the oldest con is life; the chips he blows

can’t be redeemed.

Nonbeliever

by Michael R. Burch writing as Kim Cherub

She smiled a thin-lipped smile

(What do men know of love?)

then rolled her eyes toward heaven

(Or that Chauvinist above?).

Rhetorical Prayer

by Michael R. Burch

don’t tell me man’s lot’s poor:

i always wanted more.

don’t tell me Nature’s cruel

and red with visceral gore.

i always wanted more.

please, dial up ur Gaud and tell Him

i don’t like the crap He’s selling.

if He’s good, He’ll listen, i’m sure,

this Gaud u so adore.

Christ!

by Michael R. Burch

If I knew men could be so dumb,

I would never have come!

Now you lie, cheat and steal in my name

and make it a thing of shame.

Did I heal the huge holes in your heart, in your head?

Isn’t it obvious: I’m dead

and unable to repeal what I never said?

Untitled

Why do faith, hope and love

always end up PUSH and SHOVE?

�"Michael R. Burch, lines from "Christ, Jesus!"

Habeas Corpus

by Michael R. Burch

from “Songs of the Antinatalist”

I have the results of your DNA analysis.

If you want to have children, this may induce paralysis.

I wish I had good news, but how can I lie?

Any offspring you have are guaranteed to die.

It wouldn’t be fair�"I’m sure you’ll agree�"

to sentence kids to death, so I’ll waive my fee.

limping to the grave under the sentence of death,

should i praise ur LORD? think i’ll save my breath!

�"Michael R. Burch

Mini-Ode to Annihilation

by Michael R. Burch

Just to be able to breathe

is better than the wildest bliss,

but never to breathe at all

is the Nirvana we missed.

Evil Cabal

by Michael R. Burch

those who do Evil

do not know why

what they do is wrong

as they spit in ur eye.

nor did Jehovah,

the original Devil,

when he murdered eve,

our lovely rebel.

Ninety-Three Daughters of Israel

a Holocaust poem by Chaya Feldman

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We washed our bodies

and cleansed ourselves;

we purified our souls

and became clean.

Death does not terrify us;

we are ready to confront him.

While alive we served God

and now we can best serve our people

by refusing to be taken prisoner.

We have made a covenant of the heart,

all ninety-three of us;

together we lived and learned,

and now together we choose to depart.

The hour is upon us

as I write these words;

there is barely enough time to transcribe this prayer ...

Brethren, wherever you may be,

honor the Torah we lived by

and the Psalms we loved.

Read them for us, as well as for yourselves,

and someday when the Beast

has devoured his last prey,

we hope someone will say Kaddish for us:

we ninety-three daughters of Israel.

Amen

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.

Alien

by Michael R. Burch

for J. S. S., a "Christian" poet who believes in "hell"

On a lonely outpost on Mars

the astronaut practices “speech”

as alien to primates below

as mute stars winking high, out of reach.

And his words fall as bright and as chill

as ice crystals on Kilimanjaro �"

far colder than Jesus’s words

over the “fortunate” sparrow.

And I understand how gentle Emily

felt, when all comfort had flown,

gazing into those inhuman eyes,

feeling zero at the bone.

Oh, how can I grok his arctic thought?

For if he is human, I am not.

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.

Originally published by Light Quarterly

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.

Note to a Chick on a Religious Kick

by Michael R. Burch

Daisy,

when you smile, my life gets sunny;

you make me want to spend all my damned money;

but honey,

you can be a bit ... um ... hazy,

perhaps mentally lazy?,

okay, downright crazy,

praying to the Easter Bunny!

One of the Flown

by Michael R. Burch

Forgive me for not having known

you were one of the flown�"

flown from the distant haunts

of someone else’s enlightenment,

alighting here to a darkness all your own . . .

I imagine you perched,

pretty warbler, in your starched

dress, before you grew bellicose . . .

singing quaint love’s highest falsetto notes,

brightening the pew of some dilapidated church . . .

But that was before autumn’s

messianic dark hymns . . .

Deepening on the landscape�"winter’s inevitable shadows.

Love came too late; hope flocked to bare meadows,

preparing to leave. Then even the thought of life became grim,

thinking of Him . . .

To flee, finally,�"that was no whim,

no adventure, but purpose.

I see you now a-wing: pale-eyed, intent, serious:

always, always at the horizon’s broadening rim . . .

How long have you flown now, pretty voyager?

I keep watch from afar: pale lover and voyeur.

what the “Chosen Few” really pray for

by Michael R. Burch

We are ready to be robed in light,

angel-bright

despite

Our intolerance;

ready to enter Heaven and never return

(dark, this sojourn);

ready to worse-ship any GAUD

able to deliver Us from this flawed

existence;

We pray with the persistence

of actual saints

to be delivered from all earthly constraints:

just kiss each uplifted Face

with lips of gentlest grace,

cooing the sweetest harmonies

while brutally crushing Our enemies!

ah-Men!

evol-u-shun

by Michael R. Burch

does GOD adore the Tyger

while it’s ripping ur lamb apart?

does GOD applaud the Plague

while it’s eating u à la carte?

does GOD admire ur intelligence

while u pray that IT has a heart?

does GOD endorse the Bible

you blue-lighted at k-mart?

yet another post-partum christmas blues poem

by michael r. burch

ur GAUD created hell; it’s called the earth;

HE mused u briefly, clods of little worth:

let’s make some little monkeys

to be RELIGION’s flunkeys!

GAUD belched, went back to sleep, such was ur birth.

wee the many

by michael r. burch

wee never really lived: was that our fault?

now thanks to ur GAUD wee lie in an underground vault.

wee lie here, the little ones ur GAUD despised!

HE condemned us to death before wee opened our eyes!

as it was in the days of noah, it still remains:

GAUD kills us with floods he conjures from murderous rains.

ur-gent

by Michael R. Burch

if u would be a good father to us all,

revoke the Curse,

extract the Gall;

but if the abuse continues,

look within

into ur Mindless Soulless Emptiness Grim,

& admit ur sin,

heartless jehovah,

slayer of widows and orphans ...

quick, begin!

ur-Gent prayer request

by michael r. burch

where did ur Gaud originate?

in the minds of men so full of hate

they commanded moms to stone their kids,

which u believe (brains on the skids)

was “the word of Gaud”!

debate?

too late & of course it’s useless:

please pray to be less clueless.

The title involves a pun, since the “ur-Gent” would be the biblical “god.”

wee beliefs of the POTTER's chillun

by michael r. burch

wee believe in a MYTHICAL MONSTER

who wont give wee time of the day;

HE hates wee because w(err)e queer;

HE hates wee because w(err)e fey;

or likewise if weeuns ur straight

and yet with our weeselves wee play;

HE abominates seeing w(err)e happy

and all other sad things of clay

HE molded to be this way.

wee’uns

by michael r. burch

wee are descended from GAUDS, wee suppose,

though some like JEHOVAH may turn up THEIR nos(e)

after pausing from murdering kids, to declare

men inhuman beasts & unlikely to care

for the poor & the sickly & the prostitutes

THEY’ll sentence to hell with THEIR priests in cahoots

for not guessing right 'bout which GAUDs to believe.

such far-right-eous GAUDs could never deceive

and thus we are left with mere billions in hell:

the bad guessers and gays the GAUDs made not s(o) well.

yes, wee are descended from GAUDS, wee suppose,

impressed by THEIR whiz-dumb and g(l)oriest love,

but if one screams below, what the hell is “above”?

twin nuggets of ancient whiz-dumb

by michael r. burch

oh, let it never once be said

that love for Gaud is dead!

wee love the way he murdered eve!

such awesome love! wee must believe!

wee love the way he sent a FLOOD

to teach wee babies to be good!

wee love the zillion births he aborted!

such awesome love cant clearly reported!

(so never mind the embryos

who died in their mommies’ drowning throes!

the unborn babes, the unborn lambs

all drowned for Gaud’s divinest plans!)

“do as I say, not as I do!”

cruel Hippo-Crit! does Jesus rue?

(if Christ were good he’d rue Gaud too.)

no! wee must love our abusive Father

and follow hymn meekly, mild lambs to the slaughter,

or he’ll burn us forever in Hiss terrible hell.

it’s so much safer to tell hymn he’s swell!

thus wee love our Gaud so loverly

hovering over us so smotherly!

wee love the TITHES his cons abscond.

wee love the Big Fish in Hiss pond.

And so wee say “whee!” to all this and all that!

PS, also the earth is flat!

Bible libel (ii)

by Michael R. Burch

ur savior’s a cad

�"he’s as bad as his dad�"

according to your horrible Bible.

demanding belief

or he’ll bring u to grief?

he’s worse than his horn-sprouting rival!

was the man ever good

before being made “god”?

if so, half your Bible is libel!

stock-home sin-drone

by Michael R. Burch

ur GAUD created this hellish earth;

thus u FANTAsize heaven

(an escape from rebirth).

ur GUAD is a monster,

butt ur RELIGION lied

when it called u

his frankensteinian bride!

now, like so many others cruelly abused,

u look for salve-a-shun

to the AUTHOR of ur pain’s selfish creation.

cons preach the “TRUE GOSPEL”

and proudly shout it,

but if ur GAUD were good

he would have to doubt it.

un-i-verse-all love

by Michael R. Burch

there is a Gaud, it’s true!

and furthermore, tHeSh(e)It loves u!

unfortunately

the

He

Sh(e)

It

,even more adorably,

loves cancer, aids and leprosy!

wild wild west-east-north-south-up-down

by Michael R. Burch

each day it resumes�"the great struggle for survival.

the fiercer and more perilous the wrath,

the wilder and wickeder the weaponry,

the better the daily odds

(just don’t bet on the long term, or revival).

so ur luvable GAUD decreed, Theo-retically,

if indeed He exists

as ur Bible insists�"

the Wildest and the Wickedest of all

with the brightest of creatures in thrall

(unless u

somehow got that bleary

Theo-ry

wrong too).

The Leveler

by Michael R. Burch

The nature of Nature

is bitter survival

from Winter’s bleak fury

till Spring’s brief revival.

The weak implore Fate;

bold men ravish, dishevel her . . .

till both are cut down

by mere ticks of the Leveler.

God to Man, Contra Bataan

by Michael R. Burch

Earth, what-d’ya make of global warming?

Perth is endangered, the high seas storming.

Now all my creatures, from maggot to man

Know how it felt on the march to Bataan.

Heaven Bent

by Michael R. Burch

This life is hell; it can get no worse.

Summon the coroner, the casket, the hearse!

But I’m upwardly mobile. How the hell can I know?

I can only go up; I’m already below!

“Heaven Bent” is a pun on “being bent on Heaven” and the heaven/hell thing being bent into a different version, with the dying escaping hell here on earth. That would make death “heaven” even if there is no afterlife. “This life is hell,” “upwardly mobile” and “how the hell” are also puns that can be read two ways. I wrote this poem in high school, around age 16 in 1974, but was unhappy with the third line and forgot about the poem. I stumbled upon it on on July 4, 2006 �"ironically, Independence Day �" and the third line occurred to me.

Untitled

The beauty of the flower fades,

its petals wither to charades...

�"Michael R. Burch

Non-Word to the Wise

by Michael R. Burch

The wise will never cry, “Save!”

The wise desire a quiet grave.

sonnet to non-science and nonsense/nunsense

by michael r. burch

ur Gaud is a fiasco,

a rapscallion and a rascal;

he murdered lovely eve,

so what’s there to “believe”?

and who made eve so curious?

why should ur Gaud be furious

when every half-wit parent knows

where bright kids will stick their no’s(e)!

no wise and loving father

would slaughter his own daughter!

ur Gaud’s a hole-y terror!

CONSIDER THE SOURCE OF ERROR:

though ur bible’s a giant hit,

its writers were full of s**t.

Yet another Screed against Exist-Tension-alism

by Michael R. Burch

Life has meaning!

Please don’t deny it!

It means we’re fucked.

But why cause a riot?

Evangelical Fever

by Michael R. Burch

Welcome to global warming:

temperature 109.

You believe in God, not in science,

but isn’t the weather Divine?

Peers

by Michael R. Burch

These thoughts are alien, as through green slime

smeared on some lab tech’s brilliant slide, I grope,

positioning my bright oscilloscope

for better vantage, though I cannot see,

but only peer, as small things disappear�"

these quanta strange as men, as passing queer.

And you, Great Scientist, are you the One,

or just an intern, necktie half undone,

white sleeves rolled up, thick documents in hand

(dense manuals you don’t quite understand),

exposing me, perhaps, to too much Light?

Or do I escape your notice, quick and bright?

Perhaps we wield the same dull Instrument

(and yet the Thesis will be Eloquent!).

The Final Revelation of a Departed God’s Divine Plan

by Michael R. Burch

Here I am, talking to myself again…

pissed off at God and bored with humanity.

These insectile mortals keep testing my sanity!

Still, I remember when…

planting odd notions, dark inklings of vanity,

in their peapod heads might elicit an inanity

worth a chuckle or two.

Philosophers, poets … how they all made me laugh!

The things they dreamed up! Sly Odysseus’s raft;

Plato’s Republic; Dante’s strange crew;

Shakespeare’s Othello, mad Hamlet, Macbeth;

Cervantes’ Quixote; fat, funny Falstaff!;

Blake’s shimmering visions. Those days, though, are through…

for, puling and tedious, their “poets” now seem

content to write, but not to dream,

and they fill the world with their pale derision

of things they completely fail to understand.

Now, since God has long fled, I am here, in command,

reading this crap. Earth is Hell. We’re all damned.

Yet Another S****y Ditty

by Michael R. Burch

Here’s my ditty:

Life is s****y,

Then you get old

And more’s the pity.

Truth be told,

We’re bought and sold,

Sheep in the fold

Sheared lickety-splitty.

But chin’s up,

What’s the use of crying?

We’ve a certain escape:

Welcome to dying!

I see u-turn

by Michael R. Burch

o, tiny intolerant god,

the savior of only the FEW,

the respecter of any HUGE CLOD

who preemptively whispers, “I love u!”

and turns you into a smashed sod

so stoned on two-hundred-proof brew

that you crow, like a HUGE GIANT FRAUD…

is this, perhaps how you grew?

Post-Nashville Covenant

by Michael R. Burch

We love our God.

We love our guns.

We despise the weak.

Don’t call us Huns!

We love our kids.

We love our schools.

We love our guns.

Don’t call us fools!

We pledge ourselves

to the strong defense

of the Constitution

and our Mensch.

Once re-elected,

Trump will rule

with God and guns

and safer schools.

Wonderworks

by Michael R. Burch

History’s

mysteries

abound

& astound,

found

(profound)

the whole earth ’round,

even if mostly

underground.

The King of Beasts in the Museum of the Extinct

by Michael R. Burch

The king of beasts, my child,

was terrible, and wild.

His roaring shook the earth

till the feeble cursed his birth.

And all things feared his might:

even rhinos fled, in fright.

Now here these bones attest

to what the brute did best

and the pain he caused his prey

when he hunted in his day.

For he slew them just for sport

till his own pride was cut short

with a mushrooming cloud and wild thunder;

Exhibit "B" will reveal his blunder.

The Gospel According to James Webb

by Michael R. Burch

“The universe is broken: who on earth can fix it?” �" Moishe Rosen

The universe is broken.

God has finally spoken:

“I snapped my fingers and

the stars appeared, like sand.”

The universe is broken

and who on earth can fix it,

since our best theory flopped

like a half-baked biscuit?

The universe is broken.

Man’s shipwrecked on the laughter

of some ancient God.

Hubris, meet your master.

Shadowselves

by Michael R. Burch

In our hearts, knowing

fewer days�"and milder�"beckon,

how now are we to measure

that wick by which we reckon

the time we have remaining?

We are shadows

spawned by a blue spurt of candlelight.

Darkly, we watch ourselves flicker.

Where shall we go when the flame burns less bright?

When chill night steals our vigor?

Why are we less than ourselves? We are shadows.

Where is the fire of our youth? We grow cold.

Why does our future loom dark? We are old.

And why do we shiver?

In our hearts, seeing

fewer days�"and briefer�"breaking,

now, even more, we treasure

this brittle leaf-like aching

that tells us we are living.

A coming day

by Michael R. Burch

for my mother, due to her hellish religion

There will be a day,

a day when the lightning strikes from a rainbowed mist

when it will be too late, too late for me to say

that I found your faith unblessed.

There will be a day,

a day when the storm clouds gather, ominous,

when it will be too late, too late to put away

this darkness that came between us.

Hellbound

by Michael R. Burch

Mother, it’s dark

and you never did love me

because you put Yahweh and Yeshu

above me.

Did they ever love you

or cling to you? No.

Now Mother, it’s cold

and I fear for my soul.

Mother, they say

you will leave me and go

to some distant “heaven”

I never shall know.

If that’s your choice,

you made it. Not me.

You brought me to life;

will you nail me to the tree?

Christ! Mother, they say

God condemned me to hell.

If the Devil’s your God

then farewell, farewell!

Or if there is Love

in some other dimension,

let’s reconcile there

and forget such cruel detention.

The closing poems were written during a brief stab I took at Christianity in my forties, which I soon abandoned after reading the Bible from cover to cover a second time, and concluding for a second time that its “god” was evil, not good.

A Possible Argument for Mercy

by Michael R. Burch

Did heaven ever seem so far?

Remember�"we are as You were,

but all our lives, from birth to death�"

Gethsemane in every breath.

Originally published by First Things

The Gardener’s Roses

by Michael R. Burch

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;

within: strange, half-glimpsed forms

and ghostly paradigms of things.

Here, nothing warms

this lightening moment of the dawn,

pale tendrils spreading east.

And I, of all who followed Him,

by far the least…

The women take no note of me;

I do not recognize

the men in white, the gardener,

these unfamiliar skies…

Faint scent of roses, then�"a touch!

I turn, and I see: You.

"My Lord, why do You tarry here:

Another waits, Whose love is true?"

"Although My Father waits, and bliss;

though angels call�"ecstatic crew!�"

I gathered roses for a Friend.

I waited here, for You."

I do not believe in Jesus as a “sacrifice” to a primitive God who demands the blood of innocents in order to “forgive” sins of his own making. But I will not completely discount the hope that love can transcend death, although, like Thomas, I will have to see it to believe it.

Birthday Poem to Myself

by Michael R. Burch

LORD, be no longer this Distant Presence,

Star-Afar, Righteous-Anonymous,

but come! Come live among us;

come dwell again,

happy child among men�"

men rejoicing to have known you

in the familiar manger’s cool

sweet light scent of unburdened hay.

Teach us again to be light that way,

with a chorus of angelic songs lessoned above.

Be to us again that sweet birth of Love

in the only way men can truly understand.

Do not frown darkening down upon an unrighteous land

planning fierce Retributions we require, and deserve,

but remember the child you were; believe

in the child I was, alike to you in innocence

a little while, all sweetness, and helpless without pretense.

Let us be little children again, magical in your sight.

Grant me this boon! Is it not my birthright�"

just to know you, as you truly were, and are?

Come, be my friend. Help me understand and regain Hope’s long-departed star!

#HERESY #HERESIES #GOD #GAUD #RELIGION #CHRIST #MRBHERESY #MRBHERESIES #MRBGOD #MRBGAUD #MRBRELIGION #MRBCHRIST