Why I "Left" the Religious Right

I "left" the Religious Right for reasons I reveal in my sometimes heretical poems.

I grew up in an evangelical Christian family with missionaries, pastors, Sunday school teachers (including my mother) and a deacon. Why did I leave the Religious Right and the conservative, Bible-based Christianity of my youth? There are a number of reasons, which can be gleaned from the poems that follow. But the main reason is the Christian dogma of an infinitely cruel, purposeless "hell"...

If one screams below,
what the hell is "Above"?
—Michael R. Burch

How can any decent person be happy in heaven if there is a hell below? All the good mothers would leave heaven to be with their children, or out of sympathy with other mothers whose children had been denied salvation by an infinitely cruel, evil, unjust deity. Self-alleged "Christian" popes, priests and pastors have claimed that Einstein, Gandhi, billions of Hindus and Muslims, and untold multitudes of other souls will all go to an "eternal hell" for guessing wrong about which religion to believe, when even a cursory examination of the Bible proves hell to be an ancient fraud! I can and will offer overwhelming evidence that the Bible does not teach the dogma of an eternal hell, which was never once mentioned by the biblical god nor by any of his prophets in the Old Testament.

You can read my logical proof that there is no hell in the Bible, according to the Bible itself, citing book, chapter and verse, here: There is no "hell" in the Bible.

“Bible Libel” was my first poem, written sometime between age eleven to thirteen. The story about how it came to be written follows the poem.

Bible Libel
by Michael R. Burch

If God
is good
half the Bible
is libel.

How did I come to write “Bible Libel” at such a tender age? I was a reading prodigy and when I was in the fifth grade, my school created a special reading class of one. While my classmates read normal fifth-grade fare, I devoured the classics: Austen, the Bronte sisters, Cervantes, Dickens, Hardy, Homer, Milton, Shakespeare, Twain, et al. In addition to required reading, I also read independently. I would go to the library, check out eight books (the max), read them in a few days, then repeat, repeat, repeat.

Saving Graces
by Michael R. Burch

Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter
(wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter).

Due to my intensive reading, my grades shot up and from the fifth grade on, I was always the top student in my classes. I went on to earn two academic scholarships, which I used to attend a top ten university for computer science, where I had the highest grades in the math/physics/computer science department and ended up with the two prettiest CSC majors on group projects because they knew I would get them A’s. I skipped most of my classes to perfect my pool skills—I made the NCAA regionals in straight pool—and to become something of a pinball wizard. I was also the first person I know to turn over the newfangled Space Invaders arcade game. I was very bright, and when I set my mind to doing something, I was an overachiever, but the Bible made no sense to me except as a tool to manipulate the gullible.

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

I dropped out of college after my junior year, started my own software development firm, Alpha Omega Consulting Group, Inc., and went on to make millions designing and writing software that, once debugged, has run flawlessly for decades. In my spare time, I became one of the world’s most-published poets, having recently passed 10,000 publications including poems that have gone viral. (And that tally doesn’t include self-published poems, in which case it might be closer to 20,000 publications.) I have had my poems taught in high schools and colleges, included in textbooks and courseware, translated into 22 languages, and set to music 61 times, from swamp blues to opera, by 32 composers. I credit intensive reading for my success as a student, writer and software developer.

But getting back to my eleven-year-old self…

My very devout parents were delighted with my accomplishments as a reader and suggested that I read the Bible from beginning to end, ten chapters per day. I wanted to please them, so I did. Unfortunately for them, I read the Bible with considerable comprehension and it quickly became apparent to me that the biblical god Yahweh aka Jehovah, was not “good” but incredibly evil.

According to the primitive men who wrote and constantly redacted the Bible, their “god” was a mass-murderer of men, women, children, toddlers, infants, babies, unborns and trillions of animals. Yahweh also commanded and/or condoned the worst crimes known to humanity: slavery, sex slavery, infanticide, matricide, ethnic cleansing, genocide, and the ghastly stoning to death of boys for misdemeanors and of girls for non-sins like being raped and not bleeding sufficiently on their wedding nights to “prove” their virginity.

Thus I became my family’s black sheep and the child heretic who wrote “Bible Libel.” My role models became other heretical writers like William Blake, Robert Burns, e. e. cummings, Emily Dickinson, Mark Twain, Voltaire, Walt Whitman and Oscar Wilde.

The title of the next poem is a pun; it suggests that God acted hastily and without thinking things thoroughly through, when he rushed into creating life. The title also questions which part of Yahweh’s anatomy he used to create life. If I remember things correctly, there are Bible verses where Yahweh bragged Trumpishly about a certain appendage as well as his glorious thighs, etc.

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?

In particular the Bible's creation account made no sense to me. Even if Adam and Eve's "disobedience" had merited the punishment of death (which it obviously didn't since God had withheld the knowledge of good and evil from them, meaning they couldn't know it was "evil" to eat the forbidden fruit), why did God condemn the animals to suffer and die, when they hadn't done anything wrong and didn't acquire the "knowledge of good and evil"? Why did God become the first murderer, killing innocent animals to give their skins to Adam and Eve for clothes? Why didn't he use his superpowers to give them clothes of nonlethal fibers like cotton or wool? And if God is perfect, why do Christians pray so fervently for him to do the right things?

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!

Another reason I left the Religious Right is its strident insistence that heterosexual Christians can be forgiven of all their sexual sins and other peccadilloes, but for some strange reason homosexuals can't. Really now, does that seem fair? It seems likely to me that conservative Christians focus on homosexuality because it's one of the few biblical "sins" they don't struggle with personally. And why would anyone want to believe in the horrifying Jesus of Revelation, who, according to John of Patmos, will return to murder billions of human beings and trillions of animals, making him worse than Hitler? Why not believe in someone nice, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny?

I’ve got Jesus’s face on a wallet insert
by Michael R. Burch

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.

Although I seldom thought about homosexuality until returning to the Southern Baptist Church briefly at the age of 46, its disturbing intolerance soon opened my eyes and made me start thinking. Did I really want to believe in an intolerant, homophobic God?

I found the whole "Jesus loves Christians and saves them by grace, but Gandhi and Einstein and the saints of other religions can all go to hell" thing very, very creepy. I used some cummings-like typography in the poem below to illustrate the way the "grace for Christians only" crowd seems to reduce God and Jesus to accomplices in their crimes of intolerance and bigotry.

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-WEEEEEEEEEEEEeeee . . .
jesus loves and understands
ME!

Because I'm an editor and publisher of Holocaust poetry, it troubles me that so many Jews and Christians have used the Holocaust to excuse the inexcusable: the horrors of a new Holocaust, the Nakba ("Catastrophe") of the Palestinians. Is this the will of God and the revelation of the Holy Spirit, or just another example of how easily Christians are duped when they strive to "believe" the Bible?

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 really 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 other things gods and Christians disparage.)

Jesus will understand, I’m quite sure
that your intentions were good and ineluctably pure.
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.

It's hard to understand why Christians have been the ringleaders in so many Crusades, Inquisitions, witch hunts, burnings of heretics at the stake, and Holocausts, if theirs is the "one true religion." Hitler was a fan of Martin Luther, who was a rabid anti-Semite.

Auschwitz Rose
by Michael R. Burch

There is a Rose at Auschwitz, in the briar,
a rose like Sharon's, lovely as her name.
The world forgot her, and is not the same.
I love her and would not forget desire,
but keep her memory exalted flame
to justify the thistles and the nettles.

On Auschwitz now the reddening sunset settles;
they sleep alike—diminutive and tall,
the innocent, the "surgeons."
                                                    Sleeping, all.
Red oxides of her blood, bright crimson petals,
if accidents of coloration, gall
my heart no less.
                              Amid thick weeds and muck
there lies a rose man's crackling lightning struck:
the only Rose I ever longed to pluck.
Soon I'll bed there and bid the world "Good Luck."

Christianity has also been a prime cause of a new Holocaust, the Palestinian Nakba ("Catastrophe"). According to most conservative Christians, God wants Christians to "support" Jews until Jesus returns and sends the vast majority of them to an "eternal hell" for the "crime" of not having believed in his person, even though he either chose or was unable to speak to them personally. Does any of that make any sense, if Jesus is good? But in any case millions of innocent Palestinian children now suffer because the governments of Israel and the United States have joined forces to deny them basic human rights, freedom and dignity. The suffering inflicted on millions of Palestinians during the Nakba was a direct cause of 9-11 and the subsequent wars. What sort of "true" religion continually practices racism and intolerance, creating Holocausts and successions of unnecessary wars?

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)

CC: Pat Robertson, Trump, the Religious Right, et al.

God,
the fundamentalist Fuck,
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.”

Brother Iran
by Michael R. Burch

Brother Iran, I feel your pain.
I feel it as when the Turk fled Spain.
As the Jew fled, too, that constricting span,
I feel your pain, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I know you are noble!
I too fear Hiroshima and Chernobyl.
But though my heart shudders, I have a plan,
and I know you are noble, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I salute your Poets!
your Mathematicians!, all your great Wits!
O, come join the earth’s great Caravan.
We’ll include your Poets, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I love your Verse!
Come take my hand now, let’s rehearse
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
For I love your Verse, Brother Iran.

Bother Iran, civilization’s Flower!
How high flew your towers in man’s early hours!
Let us build them yet higher, for that’s my plan,
civilization’s first flower, Brother Iran.

The United States has been famously (or infamously) called a "Christian" nation. But it seems to be one of the most belligerent, bellicose, bullying nations on earth, along with Israel. If believing the Bible causes people to become bullies, perhaps they should stop reading it so much.

Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch

If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.

The Bible is full of commandments for "men of God" to go to war, and even to slaughter captured women and children (Numbers 31, for instance). The horrendous book of Revelation says Jesus Christ will return to earth to murder the children of a woman because she committed adultery, and that he will then go on the warpath, destroying a large portion of the earth's human and animal populations. After that, human beings will be tortured with fire and brimstone "in the presence of the Lamb and Holy Angels." So much for hell being "separation from God." It seems to me that someone who calls himself a "Savior" should go around saving people, not torturing and murdering them.

Autumn Conundrum
by Michael R. Burch

It's not that every leaf must finally fall,
it's just that we can never catch them all.

What Christians obviously can't do is explain why God loves them so much, and yet allows them and their children to die like everyone else. Is there any evidence that the love and compassion of God accomplish anything, really?

’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.

This poem questions the "growth" of God. How did someone so intolerant manage to acquire such a huge following, really?

I see u-turn
by michael r. burch

o, tiny intolerant god,
the savior of only the FEW,
yet the respecter of any HUGE CLOD
who preemptively whispers, “I love u!”
then 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?

Like Mark Twain, I discovered to my chagrin that I was a Christian "for revenue only." There is no mention of a place called hell in the entire Old Testament, and barely a mention of anything like hell in the New Testament. The Hebrew word Sheol and the Greek word Hades both clearly mean "the grave," not "hell." The other word commonly translated as "hell" in English Bibles, Gehenna, appears in a scant ten verses in two of the four gospels: Matthew and Mark, which obviously derive from the same source text, and thus from the same writer. So it looks suspiciously as if one person cobbled "hell" into the Bible in a very clumsy manner, as he forgot to ever have God, Jesus or any of the prophets and apostles ever explain how and why "hell" popped into existence, after thousands of years in which it was never even discussed. It seems pretty obvious that "hell" was the ultimate scam: one that has been very, very good for church business.

Amazing “grace”

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!

These are various heresies of mine, without further ado…

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.

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.

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).

Not Elves, Exactly
by Michael R. Burch

Something there is that likes a wall,
that likes it spiked and likes it tall,

that likes its pikes’ sharp rows of teeth
and doesn’t mind its victims’ grief

(wherever they come from, far or wide)
as long as they fall on the other side.

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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 whore 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!

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 cock 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!

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.

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?).

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.

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.

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!

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.

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,
impaled with hard 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.

The Church Gets the Burch Rod

Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter ...
wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter.
—Michael R. Burch

I have my doubts about your God and his “love”:
If one screams below, what the hell is “Above”?
—Michael R. Burch

With the clumsy cobbling of the pagan Greek "hell" into the Bible, the prophets were replaced by profits.—Michael R. Burch

I join Mark Twain in grokking the economic basis of Christian “salvation.” My response to all infallible commandments of the infallible Bible, including those to mass-murder babies and unborns in their mothers' wombs, is: "Praise the LORD and pass the collection plate!" — Michael R. Burch

Can a true religion be based on lies?—Michael R. Burch

Conformists of a feather
flock together.
—Michael R. Burch

Skeptics say the Bible is immoral but I disagree: If we always do the opposite of what Jehovah did, we can lead exemplary lives full of kindness, compassion and the pursuit of justice. — Michael R. Burch

God and his "profits" could never agree
on any gospel acceptable to an intelligent flea.
—Michael R. Burch

If God has the cattle on a thousand hills,
why does he need my tithes to pay his bills?
—Michael R. Burch

since GOD created u so gullible
how did u conclude HE's so lovable?
—Michael R. Burch

Life is pointless, then you die.
Never ask the good LORD why.
His plan’s divine. You’re a mayfly.
—Michael R. Burch

The best tonic for other people's bad ideas is to think for oneself.—Michael R. Burch

Religion is the difficult process of choosing the least malevolent invisible friends.—Michael R. Burch

Most Christians make their God seem like the Devil. Atheists and agnostics at least give him the "benefit of the doubt."—Michael R. Burch

Hell hath no fury like a hypocritical moralist out to control other people's behavior.—Michael R. Burch

Religion is the dopiate of the sheeple.—Michael R. Burch

An ideal that cannot be realized is, in the end, just wishful thinking.—Michael R. Burch

Hell hath no fury like a fundamentalist whose God condemned him for having "impure thoughts."—Michael R. Burch

The problem with bigots is that they know they're not bigots, just "better."—Michael R. Burch



The Hole-y Bible

The Bible's most inspired passage is 1 Corinthians 13, where the evangelist Paul says Divine Love never condemns, never gives up, and never fails. Unfortunately, all the mythical gods including Jehovah fall far short of that lofty standard.—Michael R. Burch

How can the Bible be "infallible" when from Genesis to Revelation slavery is commanded and condoned, but never condemned?—Michael R. Burch

Can a true religion be based on lies? How can the Bible be "infallible" when from beginning to end it commands and condones but never condemns the satanic institution of slavery?—Michael R. Burch

Can a true religion be based on lies? How can the Bible be "the word of God" when it commands and/or condones the worst crimes known to humanity: slavery, sex slavery, infanticide, matricide, ethnic cleansing, genocide, and the ghastly stoning to death of rape victims and child brides who didn't bleed sufficiently on their wedding nights to prove their virginity?—Michael R. Burch

Can a true religion be based on lies? The Bible says God can never be seen and has been seen repeatedly; that it is a shame for a man to have long hair but that men consecrated to God like Samson and Samuel never cut their hair; that God wanted men to be monogamous but also endorsed sex slavery,  that trees grew on earth before the sun was created, and so on.—Michael R. Burch

The Christian Bible quickly evolved from an empty grave and a big question “Mark” — pardon the pun — to outrageous claims of Jesus flying into the clouds like Superman.—Michael R. Burch

The original gospel of Mark ended with a huge question mark. — Michael R. Burch

Oh, what treacherous webs they weave when "theologians" practice to deceive. —Michael R. Burch

(The Hebrew prophets of the Old Testament never mentioned "hell," "purgatory" or "limbo." These were the creation of deceitful Christian theologians: very good for terrorizing people into converting and giving money to the theologians' churches.)

The orthodox Christian religion is fundamentally dishonest, pardon the pun. Christianity calls evil "good" when its diabolical god does evil things, such as mass-murdering women and children, and either causing or allowing billions of souls to be eternally tortured in a purposeless "hell" for guessing wrong about which irrational religion to believe. Eternal torture for guessing wrong makes the Christian "god" infinitely worse than the Devil.—Michael R. Burch



The Least of These ...

What you
do
to
the refugee
you
do
unto
Me!
—Jesus Christ, translation/paraphrase by Michael R. Burch

Hell has been hellishly overdone!
Why blame such horrors on God's only Son
when Jehovah and his prophets never mentioned it once?
—Michael R. Burch

(Bible scholars agree: the word "hell" has been removed from the Old Testaments of the more accurate modern Bible translations. And the few New Testament verses that mention "hell" are obvious mistranslations.)

Double Cross
by Michael R. Burch

Come to the cross;
contemplate all loss
and how little was gained
by those who remained
uncrucified.

Farewell to Faith I
by Michael R. Burch

What we want is relief
from life’s grief and despair:
what we want’s not “belief”
but just not to be there.

Farewell to Faith II
by Michael R. Burch

Confronted by the awesome thought of death,
to never suffer, and be free of grief,
we wonder: What’s the use of drawing breath?
Why seek relief
from the bible’s Thief,
who ripped off Eve then offered her a leaf?

Certainly, saints, the world’s insane:
If I tell the truth they attack me,
f I lie they believe me.
—Kabir Das, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keep the slanderer near you, build him a hut near your house.
For, when you lack soap and water, he will scour you clean.
—Kabir Das, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Without looking into our hearts,
how can we find Paradise?
—Kabir Das, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

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!

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!

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.

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

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”?

Untitled

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

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 shit.

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!

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.

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.

Yet Another Shitty Ditty
by Michael R. Burch

Here’s my ditty:
Life is shitty,
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!

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 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.

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?

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).

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.

ccc

Clodhoppers and Hopers
by Michael R. Burch

If you trust the Christian “god”
you’re—like Adumb—a clod.



Redefinitions

Faith: falling into the same old claptrap.—Michael R. Burch
Religion: the ties that blind.—Michael R. Burch
Lingerie: visual foreplay.—Michael R. Burch
Trickle down economics: an especially pungent golden shower.—Michael R. Burch



Conservative Christians who claim to "believe" in Jesus seem especially creepy when they say Christians must support Israel, despite its despicable treatment of Palestinians, when they expect Jesus to send the vast majority of Jews to an "eternal hell" for not believing in his person.

Baked Alaskan

There is a strange yokel so flirty
she makes whores seem icons of purity.
     With all her winkin’ and blinkin’
      she seems to be “thinkin’”—
Ah culd save th’ free world ’cause ah’m purty!

What are Sarah Palin's qualifications for elected office? She is a true believer, but always in the wrong things.

This Poem Is Irrefudiateable!

Sarah Palin is cute and bright —
cute as a button,
bright as a mite
(but her mite-y brain ain’t got no grammar
so she speaks with a stammer
and wields a big hammer).
Yet, despite her IQ, she’s come up with a “plan”—
to support Tel Aviv
by destroying Iran.
Yes, sweet Sarah Palin’s a cute thing, alright —
acute as the button
on a stick of dynamite.

“pls refudiate!”

Sarah Palin tweeted her disapproval of a plan to build a mosque close to Ground Zero: “Mosque supporters: doesn't it stab you in the heart, as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate.” When asked to explain what would have been a verbal gaffe for anyone else, Palin displayed the luminosity of her intellect by replying: "Refudiate, misunderestimate, wee-wee'd up. English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin words, too. Got to celebrate it!" In the process she borrowed a nonsense word from another charismatic moron, whose identity must be concealed, to protect the ignorant.

“Refudiate” this,
miffed misunderstood Ms.!—
Shakespeare, you’re not
(more like Yoda, but hot).
Your grammar’s atrocious;
Great Poets would know this.

You lack any plan
save to flatten Iran
like some cute Mini-Me
cloned from G. W. B.

Admit it, Miss Palin!,
stop your winkin’ and wailin’—
only “heroes” like Nero
fiddle sparks at Ground Zero.

Sarah Palin: 2012 or Bust!

Winkin’ and Blinkin’
met Barely Thinkin’
goin’ to the fair.

Said Barely Thinkin’
to Winkin’ and Blinkin’ —
What does she have, “up there”?

Winkin’ replied —
There’s hot air inside;
it’s just her exterior that’s fair.

Blinkin’ agreed —
Her brain’s gone to seed
though her legs are quite smooth, thanks to Nair.

Joined by Abe Lincoln,
Winkin’ and Blinkin’
lifted a prayer up to God —

Save us, Good Lord,
from the Rod and the Sword
and remember us please, to old Nod!

Then off in the distance
with tremendous persistence
wild weepin’ and wailin’ ensued

for Sarah, elected,
had gone apoplectic
as soon as shocked Muslims had booed

and flattened Iran
(which was Tel Aviv’s plan),
but she looks awfully good, the dim boob,

on the Rube Tube!



Snap Shots
by Michael R. Burch

Our daughters must be celibate,
die virgins. We triangulate
their early paths to heaven (for
the martyrs they’ll soon conjugate).

We like to hook a little tail.
We hope there’s decent ass in jail.
Don’t fool with us; our bombs are smart!
(We’ll send the plans, ASAP, e-mail.)

The soul is all that matters; why
hoard gold if it offends the eye?
A pension plan? Don’t make us laugh!
We have your plan for sainthood. (Die.)

Come Spring
by Michael R. Burch

for the Religious Right

Come spring we return, innocent and hopeful, to the Virgin,
beseeching Her to bestow
Her blessings upon us.

Pitiable sinners, we bow before Her,
nay, grovel,
as She looms above us, aglow
in Her Purity.

We know
all will change in an instant; therefore
in the morning we will call her,
an untouched maiden no more,
“whore.”

The so-called Religious Right prizes virginity in women and damns them for doing what men do. I have long been a fan of women like Tallulah Bankhead, Marilyn Monroe and Mae West, who decided what’s good for the gander is equally good for the goose.

uv been had
by michael r. burch

uv been had;
ur Dad’s a cad;
His priests are mad,
His pastors’re lying.

they only want your money, chum,
so why play dumb
and give it to ’em?
give them the boot and send them flying!

markdown
by Michael R. Burch

christians will try to sell u
their Gaud full of infinite “love”
then with fear they will try to compel u ...
but if one screams below, what the hell is “Above”?

Ah-men

We Know It All
by Michael R. Burch

We rile. We gall. We know it all
because we’ve read the Bible,
which tells us genocide’s “God’s will”
along with bashing in kids’ skulls
and other forms of libel.

The earth is flat, our Book says so!
The Lord will torture our rational foe!
(We lack the compassion to tell the fiend “No!”)

God’s on his throne, the Angels are winking,
applauding our lack of critical thinking.
We’re drowning in crap. We’re stinking and sinking.

Eve once petted friendly T-Rexes!
A “witch” should be stoned for unprovable hexes!
It’s a “sin” to make love if one’s lover has exes!

Girls were enslaved and raped by their “masters”!
Our Book is the source of so many disasters!
The earth’s overheating? Let’s burn it up faster!

The next poem pokes fun at two of my favorite targets: the Pope (who claims to be able to speak infallibly but sounds like an evil moron on the subjects of condoms, contraceptives, euthanasia, etc.) and the Southern Baptists, who have erected a nine-foot-tall statue of their hero, Billy Graham, here where I live in Nashville, Tennessee. 

The Trinity (an Update)

"And the three men I admire most, the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost, they took the last train for the coast ..."
—Don McLean, "American Pie"

The God of this World,
his-great-and-exalted-Holy-Eminence-etc.-etc.-blah-blah-blah
Pope Ratzinger/Benedict,
whose previous orifice—er, office—
was the only-recently-euphemized Grand Inquisitor’s,
but Who is now safely ensconced (if strangely diminutively, like Oz’s wizardly lepre-Con)
on His bejeweled throne
smiles, heaves chortling sighs, then raises His weasely face . . .
finished, finally!, with His 666^th revision of the (un)Holey doctrine of Limbo,
having done his best to prevent his all-stupendous-etc.-etc.-blah-blah-blah
"god"—yahweh—from broiling more babies in "hell"
—blessed be his phenomenal name!—
for the inconceivable "sin"
of having died sans splashes of water by magic-imbued priests
who, if their intended victims had lived to the ripe ol’ age of accountability
and profitability
would no doubt have rewarded them with rudely reamed wallets, or rumps . . .
great He—the prophetically named rat-fink ruler/traitor of all mankind—
no longer down in the dumps,
smiles—understanding His own subtle artifice?—
the blind bleeding the blind.

Meanwhile, back in Nashville, the "Athens of the South,"
thousands of evangelicals trudge worshipfully from a replica of the Parthenon
with its strange pantheon of "gods," nymphs, satyrs and cupids
to gaze up in rapt, adorational awe
at the nine-foot statue of their one true Idol—Billy Graham:
earnest as a buzzsaw,
armed to the teeth with a Bible, the "Law,"
and the only surefire-get-out-of-jail-free’n-clear raffle ticket to heaven—"grace"
(theoretically, a gift;
theo-"logically", pure grift).
So ante up,
sell your soul to the Devil,
sign here, on the blood-dotted line!

Meanwhile, nearby at Graceland,
Elvis, like Jesus,
remains both omniscient
and conspicuously absent.

Amen

yet another ode to a graceless faceless Creator albeit with thoughts of possibly rescinding prior compliments
by michael r. burch

who created this graceless universe?
why praise its Creator? who could be worse?
why praise man’s Berater with obsequious verse?
job’s wife was right: he’s nobody’s nurse.

Hellion
by michael r. burch

cold as stone,
cold to the bone,
so cold inside even icebergs moan,
such is ur Gaud on hiss icy throne.

lines written for a luverly Gaud who cant be bothered to save pisspot peeple who guess wrong about which ire-ational re-ligion to believe.

“Hellion” is a pun on “he-lion” as in the “Lion of Judah” and “hell-lion.”

the U-turn poem
by michael r. burch

Life so defaulty,
Life so unfair,
why do wee prize U,
what do U care?

LORD who lets unborns
drown in a flood,
CELESTIAL ABORTIONIST,
r U sure Ur understood?

Unwhole
by Michael R. Burch

What is it that we strive to remember, to regain,
as memory deserts us,
leaving us destitute of even ourselves,
of all but pain?

How can something so essential be forgotten,
if we are more than our bodies?

How can a soul
become so unwhole?

Leave Taking (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Although the earth renews itself, and spring
is lovelier for all the rot of fall,
I think of yellow leaves that cling and hang
by fingertips to life, let go . . . and all
men see is one bright instance of departure,
the flame that, at least height, warms nothing. I,

have never liked to think the ants that march here
will deem them useless, grimly tramping by,
and so I gather leaves’ dry hopeless brilliance,
to feel their prickly edges, like my own,
to understand their incurled worn resilience―
youth’s tenderness long, callously, outgrown.

I even feel the pleasure of their sting,
the stab of life. I do not think―at all―
to be renewed, as earth is every spring.
I do not hope words cluster where they fall.
I only hope one leaf, wild-spiraling,
illuminates the void, till glad hearts sing.

It's not that every leaf must finally fall ...
it's just that we can never catch them all.

Originally published by Silver Stork

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;
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.

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?

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.

Untitled

limping to the grave under the sentence of death,
should i praise ur LORD? think i’ll save my breath!
—Michael R. Burch

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.

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.

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.

The closing poems were written during a brief stab at becoming a Christian at age 46, which I quickly abandoned after re-reading the Bible from cover to cover and confirming all my prior doubts and dissatisfactions with the book and the religion it spawned.

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

O, My Redeeming Angel
by Michael R. Burch

O my Redeeming Angel, after we
have fought till death (and soon the night is done) ...
then let us rest awhile, await the sun,
and let us put aside all enmity.

I might have been the “victor”—who can tell?—
so many wounds abound. All out of joint,
my groin, my thigh ... and nothing to anoint
but sunsplit, shattered stone, as pillars hell.

Light, easy flight to heaven, Your return!
How hard, how dark, this path I, limping, walk.
I only ask Your blessing; no more talk!

Withhold Your name, and yet my ears still burn
and so my heart. You asked me, to my shame:
for Jacob—trickster, shyster, sham—’s my name.

To Know You as Mary
by Michael R. Burch

To know you as Mary,
when you spoke her name
and her world was never the same ...
beside the still tomb
where the spring roses bloom.

O, then I would laugh
and be glad that I came,
never minding the chill, the disconsolate rain ...
beside the still tomb
where the spring roses bloom.

I might not think this earth
the sharp focus of pain
if I heard you exclaim—
beside the still tomb
where the spring roses bloom

my most unexpected, unwarranted name!
But you never spoke. Explain?

Of Seabound Saints and Promised Lands
by Michael R. Burch

Judas sat on a wretched rock,
his head still sore from Satan’s gnawing.
Then Saint Brendan’s curragh caught his eye,
wildly geeing and hawing.

I’m on parole from Hell today!
Pale Judas cried from his lonely perch.
You’ve fasted forty days, good Saint!
Let this rock by my church,
my baptismal, these icy waves.
O, plead for me now with the One who saves!

Saint Brendan, full of mercy, stood
at the lurching prow of his flimsy bark,
and mightily prayed for the mangy man
whose flesh flashed pale and stark
in that golden moment, beneath a sun
that seemed to halo his tonsured dome.
Then Saint Brendan sailed for the Promised Land
and Saint Judas headed Home.

O, behoove yourself, if ever your can,
of the fervent prayer of a righteous man!

In Dante’s Inferno, Satan gnaws on Judas Iscariot’s head. A curragh is a boat fashioned from wood and ox hides. Saint Brendan of Ireland is the patron saint of sailors and whales. According to legend, he sailed in search of the Promised Land and discovered America centuries before Columbus.

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!