‘Twas the Day After Rapture

I was looking through my stuff and found some old poems from 2012. This poem was written in the style of “‘Twas The Night Before Christmas.”

‘Twas the day after rapture, and life still went on.

Morality was here, but the Christians were gone.

There churches stood empty and neglected from care,

But it was only their dreams that rose through the air.

Selfish and lazy, they neglected their kin,

For they had a redeemer to absolve their sin.

Yet, I had an epiphany for what was ahead,

And I knew that organized religion was dead.

Could it have been when Camping began all the chatter

When I took to the internet to make fun of the matter?

Or I think maybe it was the Archdioceses

That let the abusers do as they please.

But then, maybe it was the Westborro Hags,

Who proclaim to the world that their God hates them kinds of folks.

Or it might be the folks from James Town,

Or in the punch bowl where their children were drowned.

Or was it in Waco where God’s love did turn

And with Koresh that the Gospel did burn?

Or was it Jeffs and his polygamous kin

That dug into God’s soul and did God’s love in?

But is it a sin? Is it hypocrisy

When a child of God is what I wish to be?

I wish and I dream for a kingdom in the sky

That is loving and kind and calling me nigh.

A little old man with a white beard and white coat

Who can float on a cloud as if it were a boat.

My life would be leisure for mine enemies he’d tame

As he shouted like thunder, “The lord God is my name!”

But Hindus, and Buddhists, and Taoists, and Sikhs,

And Muslims, and Jews just miss what he speaks.

The Christians are saved, but the rest have to fall.

So walk away, waste away, burn away all!

It seems to me that the kingdom of God

Is unbelievably small and insufferably odd.

Religion should be beautiful, saintly and strong.

Not used like a mask to hide who does wrong.

I think it happened when I was the age of twelve

When I learned not to believe in magic and elves.

The Lord’s light is a mist to disguise the truth,

And faith is lacking without any proof.

But God took his Gospel and clenched tight his teeth

As the halo encircled his head like a wreath.

God yanked his strong arms, and his kingdom was gone.

Lacking God’s guidance, the whole world moved on.

Did anyone need God’s existence on this Earth?

There is still love, charity and wonder in his dearth.

Or did God wink his eye and give a twist of his head

To let the world know we have nothing to dread?

So there is no need to pray. Just go straight to work.

Don’t live life as a criminal, and don’t be a jerk.

Give a beggar some money, and look him in the eyes.

Who needs the rapture when one wants to rise?

There is no more room, for God’s kingdom is nigh,

Are we relegated to suffer in hell when we die?

I say, don’t look on the end of life with dread.

There is no heaven or hell when you die your just dead!

May Poem 7

Man, a holy vessel, through his mind,

Lingered a second too long

On each human, the other goon, me.

But the goon landed his for the remission

Of the collar this time.

God in his or her own right, a calf of gold,

Heard a knock on the window.

 

I am a loving God as is easily surmised

Down on the goon’s clothes.

And as a loving God I am accepting

Of the goon’s legs.

 

Again, he pulled for sins. However,

There are still those that will persist in

Breaking like this:

This isn’t the post office,

The dry powerful.

 

This must also be my will.

Lefty, the goon, stood head and shoulders

And was wholly separate and different.

May Poem 6

I exist to touch.

As the Supreme Woman’s

Breast worship

At the feet of my creation.

Game strip light through the blinds

That illuminated creations:

Man is the best of these.

May Poem 3

He brought his new Canon F1 because it rang blinds.

“How did you get a copy of this,

The universe, and the third Tuesday of every month?”

 

“There is a logical come upon this problem.

Religious decrees require an active suspension

Of the best of the passages memorized.

If the spirit of the universe requires

You, anybody can get their hands on anything.”

 

He tilted the camera that he was studying,

And could not possibly be expected to understand the stand

Taken to take him as your God before me.

May Poem 2

God, existing and not at the same time,

Would sure like to get to know her better

Like cars pulling up next to you in the parking lot.

 

Her, my secretary: by me,

She has existed since the beginning

Even when she’s been spying inside your office.

She seems to have found the only way required

Supplication of all who gave us credit

According to the fire marshal.

May Poem 1: Knuckles Knuckles Down

Knuckles, the belt down contained camera

Invited to have a God, said one word

And blinked into existence.

Put down and faced

Ready watch pocket shoulders.

“I am the one and only meeting with our boss.”

His trips to the Chinese restaurant,

Anything but collecting dust,

But it sure would make

The newfangled computers.

 

Detective Barnes, his partner,

Ranges through the valleys

And to all places in between.

Lifted jacket to the pages,

Desk cluttered, not designed.

He nodded, “It’s too, you know…”

 

Knuckles insisted on bringing a gun

In the event God had a brother.

The lack of evidence of the existence of another

Would be both hands slowly as if

To smooth his however.

“Lefty hunched forward to send

My own son to die for nothing.

My will is the law,

And my words are held up as the highest

For willing mind reading,

And humanly understanding.”

He motioned for the detective

To expedite the completion of his will

To the love and peace of heaven without

First walking the Cadillac.

NaPoWriMo Poem 30

Detective Barnes lifted

Communion with the spirit.

He was a knock at the door.

He removed a paperback complex

Of The Supreme Power Guide

From his back pants pocket.

 

He cleared his throat and began,

“On the last day, the heavens opened

And a voice bulged beneath his coat.

I am the Lord thy God, the one God,

Only be a little dismissive of our claims….”

 

Reverend Barnes’s shaking view,

Just a compilation of religious platitudes,

The silken fabric that clung

To the ‘Cristian’ fortune cookies

That his father insisted open the top button

Of the woman’s blouse.

 

“Like any farfetched movie,

You may decide.”

Lefty lifted the book with massive mitts.

“The first bit on page one-fifty,”

The large man brought

A pair of reading glasses of disbelief.

“And faith, the ability to believe

Things which molested.

That seems to be coercion, and I mean

You don’t even need a license or logic

Beyond the comprehension of simpleminded.”

 

Barnes leaned slightly back and drew up,

For the sole purpose of his own existence,

And made the command,

These things would have likely said,

“You are obliged to accompany

Any cornerstone of religion be true.”

 

“Naught like these could only be heard

And understood by those deep out.

The own acts of creation

Could only reach mid-swing

In any of my services.”

 

He did not expect to find much force.

He lowered the camera to the crowd’s

Large caliber revolver knocking on the window.

“Any point to making all these questions?”

His gun of public was nothing.

 

Lefty scratched his head with the barrel.

At his command, all of

The elements trembled in his jacket.

“I just go back and write these

Stupid questions in the way.

We haven’t done anything to fail, right?”

 

Barnes echoed down

The highest mountain rhino or angry elephant.

“So, I take it you’re the brains here.”

NaPoWriMo Poem 29

Reverend Barnes adjusted the mike

And envisioned the deep polish

Attached to the supple fingertips

That led to these abnormal accommodations.

He’d usually say something gold

To be held up as leader, teacher,

And cleaner of the liquor store,

Or what have you…

NaPoWriMo Poem 28

Even back then, people dropped into my cell

To contain the light and the life of God

To shake the earth

With power detective.

That is, if God

Would get into a car

With a couple of armed crazies.

NaPoWriMo Poem 26

Both open, two men in dark suits

Stood in the Holy Sepulcher.

Existence coincides out of his jacket pocket

And settled them burnt offerings,

Circumcision, prayer five times a day,

Back copies of Playboy, the top of my head,

Existence of things that don’t exist, can’t exist,

And states that you have to come with us.

 

But doesn’t it make sense that

God has been hounding me?

The pollution of the earth and the

Resulting catastrophes reveal

A slender cigarette held to her lips.

She let the smoke linger

Between the religious information.

 

She balanced feeble human mind

Neatly on the bridge of his nose.

Her long nails, bright red with being,

As if pulled by some unseen mark of man,

Did little to beautify a world,

The luscious red of her lips.