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

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

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

These are prayer poems by Michael R. Burch, along with a few hymns and hymn-like prayer poems. There are also poems on the subject of God and religion—the Christian religion in particular. In my youth I wrote some devotional poems but my later poems tend to be heretical, after in-depth study of the Bible revealed things unworthy of decent human beings, much less a perfect deity. 



I Pray Tonight
by Michael R. Burch

I pray tonight
the starry light
might
surround you.

I pray
each day
that, come what may,
no dark thing confound you.

a global race is a global race against time
the hands of time is the race against time
god is the hands of time
god is the hands of race against time
time is in the hands of god
time is in the hands of a global race
god is a race against the hands of time

time race against religion
religion race against religion
religion is a aftermath of a religion
a aftermath is a global aftermath
a aftermath is a global aftermath of religion
time is a race against time
time is a aftermath of a race against time
 

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?).

Is there any Light left?
by Michael R. Burch

Is there any light left?
Must we die bereft
of love and a reason for being?
Blind and unseeing,
rejecting and fleeing
our humanity, goat-hooved and cleft?

The Celtic Cross at Île Grosse
by Michael R. Burch

“I actually visited the island and walked across those mass graves [of 30,000 Irish men, women and children], and I played a little tune on me whistle. I found it very peaceful, and there was relief there.” – Paddy Maloney of The Chieftains

There was relief there,
and release,
on Île Grosse
in the spreading gorse
and the cry of the wild geese . . .

There was relief there,
without remorse,
when the tin whistle lifted its voice
in a tune of artless grief,

These are poems about God, Jesus Christ, the Bible, the Christian religion, and religion in general. 

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.

***

The Gardener’s Roses
by Michael R. Burch

Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.”

I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms
 
this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.

These are epigrams by Michael R. Burch and his translations of epigrams by other poets  ...

Love is either wholly folly,
or fully holy.
—Michael R. Burch

Love has the value
of gold, if it’s true;
if not, of rue.
—Michael R. Burch

These are humorous epigrams about love, sex, procreation, politics, God, the Bible, religion, life and death.

Less Heroic Couplets: Midnight Stairclimber
by Michael R. Burch

Procreation
is at first great sweaty recreation,
then—long, long after the sex dies—
the source of endless exercise.

Published by: The HyperTexts

***

Less Heroic Couplets: Liquidity Crisis
by Michael R. Burch

These are epigrams about life, death, love, society, politics, the coronavirus pandemic and religion. 

Less Heroic Couplets: Fine Feathered Fiends I
by Michael R. Burch

Conformists of a feather
flock together.

Winner of the National Poetry Month Couplet Competition

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Less Heroic Couplets: Fine Feathered Fiends II
by Michael R. Burch

Fascists of a feather
flock together.