feh, poetry is the work of the devil. how dare you excercise creativity, and use your god-given free will to blaspheme his children?! :smt033

...it's actually a religious poem, for which I sadly do not have the title.  The poet who created it is David McCord, if that helps you look for a title.  In spite of its quasi-religious character, it remains one of the few poems that I enjoy.  Without further ado...

"Now think of words.  Take sky

And ask yourself just why--

Like sun, moon, star and cloud--

It sounds so well out loud,

And please so the sight

When printed black on white.

Take syllable and thimble:

The sound of them is nimble.

Take bucket, spring and dip

Cold water to your lip.

Take balsam, fir, and pine:

Your woodland smell and mine.

Take kindle, blaze and flicker--

What lights the hearth fire quicker?

Three words we fear but form:

Gale, twister, thunderstorm;

Others that simply shake

Are tremble, tremblor, quake.

But granite, stone and rock:

Too solid, they, to shock.

Put honey, bee and flower

With sunny, shade and shower;

Put wild with bird and wing,

Put bird with song and sing.

Aren't paddle, trail, and camp

The cabin and the lamp?

Now look at words of rest--

Sleep, quiet, calm, and blest;

At words we learn in youth--

Grace, skill, ambition, truth;

At words of lifelong need--

Grit, courage, strength and deed;

Deep-rooted words that say

Love, hope, dream, yearn, and pray;

Light-hearted words--girl, boy,

Live laugh, share, enjoy.

October, April, June--

Come late and gone too soon.

Remember, words are life:

Child, husband, mother, wife;

Remember, and I'm done:

Words taken one by one

Are poems as they stand--

Shore, beacon, harbor, land;

Brook, river, mountain, vale,

Crow, rabbit, otter quail;

Faith, freedom, water, snow,

Wind, weather, flood, and floe

Like light across the lawn

Are morning, sea and dawn;

Words of the green earth growing--

Seed, soil, and farmer sowing.

Like wind upon the mouth

Sad, summer, rain, and south.

Amen. Put not asunder

Man's first word: wonder...wonder..."

Thanks for mentioning that assignment, Anonymous...I've been looking for an excuse to post that on the web, somewhere.  I don't know a single thing about David McCord, aside from the fact that, whoever he is, he is credited with producing this poem.  I first encountered it in my theology studies; writers of books on Catholic sacraments seem to have an affection for it.  (I copied it from my edition of "A New Lood At The Sacraments" by William Bausch.

Conor

  Bjxrn wrote an Ati-Religious poem that says it all . I hope that it gets published in an Humanist magazine or the back cover of the next Atheist book that has a big impact on all societies. Keep pushin ahead !!!

I like it; it's good.  Hopefully, more folks will share their compositions of and/or encounters with poetry.

Conor

Since the big bang of creation,
That formed all the stars we can see;
The suns have all been in motion,
That’s the only way it could be.

Dust clouds attracted together,
To form a big hot ball of gas,
That ignited under pressure,
When it reached a critical mass.

The spinning of the explosion,
Made a disk of solar debris,
That formed a lumpy collection,
Of planets the sun won’t let free.

Thousands of distant galaxies,
Have a million twins of our sun,
And worlds with perfect properties,
Where life has already begun.

There is a major division,
Between the peoples of this Earth,
Of those that value religion,
And those who know what science is worth.

Truth could not be more obvious,
If poked in the eye with a rod,
The universe is oblivious,
To the whims of a fictional god.

COLIN FIAT!

 

I liked it, but then again, I don't know if you know my history of critics when I post my own.

I look at it this way, be yourself. Don't compare yourself to anyone. What is important to me is the message. I got it, and that is why I like it.

I see no reason why a poem is good merely because it's meter or metaphor is so high pitched only dogs can hear it.

Some cant stand my poetry because I stick to 4 line stanzas, for the most part, I don't always rhyme and I capitalize every line. Long after I started writing I read a book of Plath's poems, and they were edited pretty much the same way. Most of the poems went over my head, but a many of them were set up in the same format I was using, not all the stanza's rhymed , and were simplistic in their imagery and I liked them.

AND in belonging to that poetry group I found that the writers had a wide variety of taste and styles and you will always find people who like your poetry and people who wont.

Bottom line with this one, I only speak for myself. I liked it. I think we need more skeptic poets. Keep em coming.

Before and After, By Brian37

We furrow our brow
With clenched fist
We bellow
Ignorant of the fate
That awaits us all

We are made up
Of that before
In transition
To nothing more

We posture and bloat
And conflate
Our importance
Over what awaits

Hubris the disease
That shortens our ride
The flurry of nothing
We must recognize

We rattle and pound
With such great noise
To an end
No life can avoid

I do not seek
To promote magic
Or to claim
Absolute oracles

But of to say
If to extend
What we have
We can extend

If of such
We don't pretend
We don't pretend
That of Santa

We don't pretend
That of Allah
That of Jesus
These claims are hollow

Males of Alpha
These claims be
To subjugate
Advisories

To be on top
Is life's goal
To become fuel
For something else

Finite we are
And must dispense
With all this myth
If we want to live



Marketing doesn't always sell truth, effective marketing always appeals to the masses, which is why the super natural claims exist. Feeling good, far too often wins out over pragmatism and reality. Marketing is simply the skill of appealing to emotion.

Jesus and Allah, your or me, 50 billion years from now will be all equally famous.



"morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28"

 I'm in the mood for a poem.  Why should you guys have all the fun?   Here goes....

                                                                       The Weed

                                                       they snipped the Holy Vine of David

                                                                and transplanted it to 

                                                                         another  soil

                                                              it took to it         just like that,

                                                                     spread like wildfire,

                                                          overrunning everything in its path

                                                                and ruining many a garden

                                                          -  while the vulgar hold it in high regard

                                                                 the more discerning

                                                                         to this day

                                                                  regard it as quite the

                                                                         weed.....

(Greg Cameron, Poem, December, 2010, Surrey, B.C., Canada - if I should ever do this again, I might next time write of a hybrid plant that has also spread like wildfire and is also proving to be quite the nuisance. Cheers....)

This is a nice one by Mayakovsky (just a small part of one):

I’ll climb out
Filthy (sleeping in gullies all night),
And into his ear, I’ll whisper
While I stand 
At his side:
“Mister God, listen!
Isn’t it tedious
To dip your generous eyes into clouds
Every day, every evening?
Let’s, instead,
Start a festive merry-go-round
On the tree of knowledge of good and evil!
Omnipresent, you’ll be all around us!
From wine, all the fun will ensue
And for once, Peter will not be frowning,
He'll perform the fast-paced dance, ki-ka-pu. 
We’ll bring all the Eves back into Eden:
Order me
And I’ll go,--
From boulevards,
I’ll pick up all the pretty girls needed
And bring them to you!
Should I?
No?
You’re shaking your curly head coarsely? 
You’re knitting your brows like you’re rough? 
Do you think 
That this
Winged one, close by,
Knows true meaning of love?
I too am an angel; used to be one before,--
With a sugar lamb’s eye, I stared at your faces,
But I don’t want to give presents to mares anymore,--
All the torture of Sevres that’s been made into vases. 
Almighty, You created two hands, 
And with care,
Made a head, and went down the list,--
But why did you make it
So that it pained
When one had to kiss, kiss, kiss?!
I thought that you were Great God, Almighty,
But you’re a miniature idol, -- a dunce in a suit,
Bending over, I’m reaching
For the knife that I’m hiding
At the top of my boot.
You, swindlers with wings, 
Huddle in fright!
Ruffle your shuddering feathers, rascals!
You, reeking of incense, I’ll open you wide,
From here all the way to Alaska.

I make no accusations
no implication or allusions
implying to equate your views to superstition

but without ghostly visions, holy apparitions
or extra sensory perception of diabolical dimension
I have no reference to comprehend your specific intuitions

I solicit your confession and question your volition
I am requesting your permission for a session of admission
with respect to your position of affection for religion

now

when oppression of one faction by its respective opposition
reflects a shameful satisfaction with mortal retribution
do you sanction the reaction in compliance to this mission
of decisive devastation with precision ammunition?

Have you witnessed the collusion of motivated politicians
to mobilize militias with appeals to emotion?
Do they obfuscate conditions in regions of occupation?
Or suppress photo exhibition of the victims of explosions?

Do you entertain suspicions when your watching television
That a Muslims' just a Christian with the courage of his conviction?