From a tired atheist...

Look, child, I am not shopping, so stop selling.

No, I don't want a taste of your god.

Yes, I have met god. I've met a few men's gods.

And I've been somewhat, unimpressed.

Men tack gods onto their back pockets,

like collector cards "Look, mine's best! Mine's best!"

But the best gods I've ever met

were the quiet ones who sat on kind tongues

behind contemplative eyes, in compassionate ears,

not interested in saving me, or fixing me,

or damning me, or wanting me dead.

The best gods are teachers, not tyrants.

The best gods are roads, not graves.

You want a god, that's a fine place to be.

If that gives your life meaning and direction, 

that is a good thing and I won't have you any different.

But your god wants to stick his cock in my business;

then I have a problem with both you and your god.

And we know from history the surest way to end gods,

is to end their cultists.

-o0o-

The Gods' Men

the gods' men

mouthpieces of mistrust

that recite the virtues of women

women made chattel by scripture

women you've bent to your patriarchy

women you supposedly protect

women you beat in secret

the good wife

and virtuous daughter

you that have made us other

you that have gendered men and women

as fundamentally different

you that see women as servants of men

you that see transgender people as subversive freaks

you that don't see nonbinary people at all

you and your gods

and your scripture

that write submission and hierarchy into your hearts

hatred made manifest

of course I mistrust you

and everything you say

you praise our virtues

if our virtue is founded in serving you

you fear our liberation

because everything you are

is grounded in our oppression

you are the reason I disbelieve in your gods

-o0o-

Silvertoothed

today I am beautiful

ever shining

despite the hate in this world

with arseholes opining

I sparkle against them

a protest uphill

and still, and still, and still

through sheer will

I am

always glorious

defiant bastard

newly victorious

I exist to spite

spit in the face of ignorance and hate

and burn bright

I am deified in this

atheist and god

in one place

to fly in the face

of the powers that keep me down

I am the smile

to spite that frown

oppress me? I'll beat you

hate me? I'll eat you

compete me? I'll feat you

because today I am beautiful

shining and splendid

animal and human

broken and blended

I'm the always irreverent dream

the unexpected blasphemous scream

the madgod rising unforseen

the silvertoothed heathen feminist queen

-o0o-

Wishes

feed your wishes to the fishes

they're no good for you

your wishes fleeting dreams

made to stars so far away

a lifetime will pass

and a wish will be no closer

to a star that screams its own wishes

into the void of space

where a single ear hears

and remains grossly impartial

to the cries of the stars

how much less should consequence

the lord of abandon

care for the wishes

of bipedal apes

crawling on the surface

of an infected grit

floating through space

here for one second

and gone without a trace

at least wish on the sun

she's closer

Sol with her crown

who burns you with her smile

and her here/not-here attitude

that sets the clocks aspin

the sun and Earth twinned in dance

to a song sung by a dent in the film

as thin as a wish

and as volumous as all eternity

your wish should bend this?

you'd do more damage with a kiss

a fart in the sky

a bat of your eye

a twirl in a dance

stands a better chance

to move the stars

than um's and aah's

wrought out of a childish need

to alter the universe with a selfish greed

-o0o-

Abelief

no gods or devils here, ma'am

no spells or powers, sir

just this

small-town reality's kiss

spilled blood and coffee

pain and tears

both

crystal on my eyes

no justice but what we make

no meaning but what we take

no purpose but that we break

we made this world in our image

cruel and hateful

like the gods we dreamt up

I cannot tell you what I believe

because I don't believe in anything

but I can tell you what I don't believe

and much of it comes from there

that place

the pit of human hatred

that teaches us that

men over women

white people over people of colour

breeders over queers

cis over trans

and funny how all your books

all your gods

all your dogma starts there too

cruel and vindictive

dogs requiring the collars of modernity

no wonder god and dog are the same words

rabid monsters untamed and wild

ripping the throats out of the innocent

or puppies trained to piss outdoors

where we don't have to worry about it

and for what it's worth

I love my dogs more than your gods

they've actually given me love

they were there for me when I bled

they were there for me when I was beaten

they were there for me when I cried

and your gods supplied the blows and cuts

fortified the hands of the men who hurt me

with scripture and pulpit

so, no

I don't believe

no gods or devils here, ma'am

we're all sold out

-o0o-

Makeup

cottonball ceremony

unbecoming man

paint on, paint off

as hard as I can

eye lined, gloss nails

bringing matter back to gender

a worship of form

a god to render

ex nihilo fantasy

makeup so sweet a twist

a made up liturgy

from a staunch atheist

-o0o-

Excusing the Bible

You must understand
Your Bible was held alongside a knife to my throat
Your Bible weighted the boot in my ribs
Your Bible cocked the gun in my ear
So when I say that I find your Bible threatening
When you tell me that my point of view is at fault
I can't help to think
That perhaps my point of view
Is precisely the thing being disregarded
You come across like Charlton Heston
Bibles don't kill people
People with Bibles kill people
I am almost inclined to agree

-o0o-

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Caelum Ardere Colores

the hues are impressive
your god has much to contrive

after such a cataclysm
one might paint the sky with colours too
if only to conceal the carnage he committed
killing children
killing babies
pregnant woman
and this is what you'd have me consider?
seriously?

perhaps
you need prepare a better P.R. event
than some pretty lights
if you're proposing to sell your product

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Waiting for Hope to Strike (Old Lightning Tree)

ah, but our liberty
(for them and me)
is tied to the branches
of the old lightning tree

when your threats came
you tried to shame
but ignored us
and though we did explain

this, our liberty, you see
for them and me
veins and gizzards
to the lightning tree

we are stuck in tar
bound to what we are
and when we roam
we are never far

from boughs and leaves
that shades and feeds
sticky gory tendrils
that meet our daily needs

though axe, you see
might rip us free
we starve to stray
from the lightning tree

so you come joking
warning of a fire choking
of the selfsame flames
that you were stoking

your bibles fanning
plots: years in planning
yet, yours the guilt
something worth damning

our liberty, you see
for them and me
regrows under the ashes
of the lightning tree

and though we're in fetters
at the hands of our betters
we carve in the earth
our initialled letters

L.G.B.T.Q.I.

-o0o-
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D'Souza

So this manly man
     with a fake smile
Preaches his plans at me
     over the table at dinner
Damns me to hell,
     which is all very well
     for as you all know quite well
     I'm a horrible sinner

He hands me his thoughts
     his old is'es and his aught'ses
Like a toddler assaulting at my heels
     with his sleeves full of snot
"A real man," he said
     "wants a woman in bed"
     but I bed men instead
     so "a real man" I'm not

"Since, Jesus (Don't you know)"
     "made everything so"
"And planned where stuff must go"
      "(if you know what I mean)"
Making a circle with his left hand
     and right takes his middle finger
     demonstrating sex
     with gestures obscene

But Preacher, I said
     head tilted, eyebrow raised
You hardly assume
     such authority to preach
Given the state of your church
     you actually perch
     at the top of a quagmire
     that your god could not reach

Just think of the wars
     that your sermon employs
Not to mention the kids
     that your priesthood 'enjoys'
And the consequent lives
     that your lifestyle destroys
     and the guilty are sheltered
     in endless convoys

Your pope and your bishops
     belong in a cell
Your child raping priests
     should be hung from a tree
Given the scope of
     your wars and your crimes
     I fail to see how you
     could dare to judge me

And then there is you
     with your wife and also
Another woman who
     wears another man's ring
Your married and yet
     you go out and get
     another man's wife
     a peculiar thing

So I'm honestly vexed
     and a tad bit perplexed
And I weep for the sex
     if a "real man" were you
Sanctimonious smile
     and an unctuous tone
     sounds all a bit smug
     if not downright untrue

So let's not pretend
     I'm all but your friend
And I won't let this end
     with me condemned to hell
You'll have appear
     to make your product more appealing
     given the gruesome veneer
     of the god that you sell

-o0o-

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/friendlyatheist/2012/10/16/dinesh-dsouza-who-opposes-gay-marriage-is-divorcing-his-wife-for-a-younger-woman/

http://gawker.com/5953049/married-dinesh-dsouzas-mistress-also-married

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-corvino/dsouza-the-real-problem_b_1998800.html

http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2012/10/why-the-dinesh-dsouza-scandal.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/19/nyregion/dinesh-dsouza-is-out-as-kings-college-president-in-scandal.html?_r=0

Dark Rum Bandit

dark rum bandit
sitting in his chair
getting drunk, getting drunk
belt raised in the air

beat the small child
drunkard in the night
I must pray, I must pray
ready for the fight

Jesus, missing
in the dead of night
empty prayers, empty prayers
not a god in sight

dark rum father
skulking past my door
run and hide, run and hide
bloodstain on my floor

five o'clock strikes
daddy and his drink
contemplate my suicide
pain gone in a wink

Queer History

(Written 17 August 2012 - In part an ode to the life and works of Christopher Hitchens.)

You hated us always,
from the beginning till now.
You killed us,
you killed our families,
you drove us from our homes.

Because of your god,
you claim,
all things are permitted.
You are righteous,
blood dripping from your hands.

Of course, then you reformed:
and killing became distasteful,
but you hated us still,
so you stepped back,
a tiny tiny tiny bit.

You changed your tone,
still hateful,
you now needed rhetoric,
to legitimate your hate,
and the apologist stepped up.

When we said that violence,
does not come from a "god of love",
you say,
"Who ever believed it did?"
but your hatred and violence continued.

You stopped killing us,
but you threw us in prison,
you took our rights away,
you took our freedom,
you tortured us brutally.

And again you reformed,
and torture became distasteful,
but you hated us still,
so you stepped back,
a tiny tiny tiny bit.

You changed your tone,
still hateful.
You got into a difficult position,
and how you hated us,
when we started challenging you.

We no longer feared jail,
or prison, or torture.
We could speak our minds,
and you kept us from universities,
and stopped us from getting jobs.

When we said that torture,
does not come from a "god of love",
you say,
"Who ever believed it did?"
but your hatred continued.

And again you reformed,
and exile became distasteful,
but you hated us still,
so you stepped back,
a tiny tiny tiny bit.

You changed your tone,
still hateful,
we now want equal rights,
we didn't ask for them,
we took them.

When we said that human rights,
would not be denied by a "god of love"
you say,
"Who ever believed it did?"
but your hatred continued.

And something strange happened,
you realized,
you couldn't stop us,
not with fear of death,
not with torture or exile.

And again you reformed,
and came at us smiling,
smiling with ingratiating charity.
Opening your doors,
with a cunning lure.

Offering that putrid cup,
that poisoned chalice,
Christian conditional love,
asking for our souls as sacrifice,
in your blood cult.

Your sword hidden far from sight,
your bloody hands pinkwashed,
your churches welcoming,
your ministers eager to,
make us change.

And always ringing,
that ugly stupidity,
"Hate the sin, not the sinner."
Branding our very souls sinful,
by implication.

That we should cut ourselves open,
to be inspected by your superstition,
bringing your pseudoscience,
and scratch at our innards,
so that we resemble you.

-Raw
-Bloody
-Desexualised
-Boring
-Dead

We told you,
wxactly where you could stick it,
and you got so offended,
"The queer agenda!"
you called it.

You screamed at us,
how filthy we were,
how dare we deny you,
didn't we know,
we would be damned?

We said that we didn't believe you.
We wanted nothing to do with you.
Your whole history,
is ankle deep in our blood,
and in our tears.

When we said that hatred,
does not come from a "god of love"
You say,
"Who ever believed it did?"
...Oh really?

You have no right to forget,
the way you behaved,
when you genuinely believed,
when you honestly believed,
when you whole-heartedly believed:

That your god was the sponsor of,
-Your hatred
-Your murder
-Your greed
-And your hubris

Fuck you.

-o0o-

Imagined

So, you imagined there to be,
some daddy in the sky:
who destined you to live,
who destined me to die.

You imagined me as sick,
and you alone can sell,
the imaginary cure,
that alone would make me well.

You imagined me to hell,
and yourself on heaven's shores.
You soul immaculate,
and mine awash with flaws.

You imagined me as cracked,
and yourself as pure and bold.
You imagined me in debt,
while your pockets filled with gold.

You seem surprised by me;
that I should show disdain.
What nerve I have! The cheek!
How dare I now complain?

But tell the truth, you fool.
If you were me, and I you;
and I claimed such stupid, hateful things,
you'd be somewhat pissed off too.

-o0o-
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Ruba'i for Khayyam

In honour of Omar Khayyam (1048-1131)

At once I heard that god had come again,
petitioning the hearts of all his men,
to be as abject slaves to every law,
that could never hold water now nor then.

I saw Omar then standing at the gate;
a smile on his face and food on his plate.
I asked of the sage whether he was scared,
for god had come again to forge our fate.

"My boy," he said reclining on the floor,
"this god is somewhat lacking in encore."
"How could he ever hope to come again,"
"if that old god was never here before?"

"And say to those fools, who come in his name,"
"to show us a sign that bolsters their claim."
"Since I am not impressed by man-made wars;"
"both their crimes and feats, I view them the same."

-o0o-

In the style of Omar Khayyam:

Look not above, there is no answer there;
Pray not, for no one listens to your prayer;
Near is as near to God as any Far,
And Here is just the same deceit as There." (#78)

"And do you think that unto such as you;
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew:
God gave a secret, and denied it me?--
Well, well, what matters it? Believe that, too!" (#85)

"Did God set grapes a-growing, do you think,
And at the same time make it sin to drink?
Give thanks to Him who foreordained it thus--
Surely He loves to hear the glasses clink!" (#91)

as translated from the Persian by Richard Le Gallienne.

Got ist Tot

You can’t foresee the day at all

The day on which God dies

I looked up, prayed and all I saw

Were vacant starry skies

I missed Him then as if He’d gone

But find Him now distasteful

His priests, his imam’s, rabbi’s, all,

They make His face disgraceful

Now God no longer haunts my mind

Impeding every action

No superstition, no remorse

No credulous distraction

I only give my mind to that

Which feeds my intellect

And I approach no priesthood

With undeserved respect

-o0o-

Old Walking Stick

I have an old walking stick
A crutch of sorts
Something that I've leaned on
Perhaps everyone has one

It is my weapon against my enemy
With its deftly concealed blade
Whereupon I have pledged to stab it
Into his heart

But the stick is old
It is made by my enemy
And his contemporaries
Crafted with hatred

It is familiar to his touch
Not mine
It is an instrument of his will
Not mine

It is phallic and long
The penetrator
Male in all aspects
Made for domination

I must forsake this thing
This instrument of manhood
This instrument of whiteness
This instrument of power

I must forsake my own power
And take up the arms of those that suffer
To become as they were
Once weak, now strong

I must craft new weapons
With the new knowledge I have
Stand on my own two feet
And raise my voice

Among those that have been raped
Those that have been beaten
Those that have been trampled
By my enemy and his kind

Those that tower over us
Will crumble under their own weight
When we refuse to be their crutches
And we come into our own

We will rise anew
Creations of hope
Strong and again proud
Without shame

[Note for later, perhaps a rewrite. A note on the abandon of whiteness and maleness as a source of power. The use of my place as homosexual as a starting point of embrasing otherness.]

-o0o-

Bullshit (Part 1)

We speak out against your bullshit

     And your stupid superstitions

That is the truly guilty culprit

     For our grief and our afflictions

Your unscientific notions

     Anachronistic narrations

All your abstract little potions

     All your hate filled inspirations

We have seen your war and battle

     And how you've colonized the land

So reducing us to cattle

     As if God Himself had planned

So that we the tiny bastards

     Somehow fated to live in shame

Must we now bow to you - our masters?

     And this way carry all your blame?

So risk perhaps a moment here

     To consider things in this way

And shut your mouths and lend an ear

     Consider our words when we say

That if you claim to be of Him

     Who suits your purposes so well

Then you and He and all His kin

     Can freely fuck off right to Hell

-o0o-

Bigot

You can't fix me

     When I'm everything that's right about you

You can't kick me out,

     When doing so means your own ejection

You can't call me wrong

     When I'm everything you do

You can't rub me out

     When I'm your very reflection

You will kick me when I'm down

     And I'll carry on as always

And you'll spit on my grave

     In the name of your false idolatry

But I'm there on your floors

     On your roofs, in your hallways

I'm no good anymore

     As the ballast for your bigotry

-o0o-

To B with Love

When you cried, I shared your tears
You wet my shoulder through the years
I watched you cut through guys like hair
As often as you changed underwear

I stood by you when you fell down
You'd drink to make your sorrows drown
I did these things because I knew
That you loved me like I loved you

You'd snatch guys up and spit them out
And watch them beg, you'd smile and pout
And string them down the road like sheep
Like some psychotic Lil' Bo Peep

And you got high on Jesus gas
And stuck the Bible up your ass
And then let on that you were pure
That none could tarnish your allure

You got high on that mighty horse
And preached a storm with no recourse
How gays and fags and dikes and queers
Deserved to die in blood and tears

And after all they might as well
Since they are predestined for hell
So we should stone them, this you know
For the Bible tells you so

So to a bitch from this old runt
I loved you once, you stupid cunt
And though you think you've gotten far
We all know who you really are

So bring your stones, make sure they land
and then look to your bloodstained hand
See how you became so much more
A killer as well as a whore

-o0o-
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Path

I have chosen my path
And I walk it with certainty
I know my enemy
I can even call him by his name
I did not come here accidentally
I did not come here because I was told to do so
I am here because I should be here
Just because I am on a different path than you
Does not mean that I am lost

Quote from H Jackson Brown Jr. (1991) "People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost."

-o0o-