Here’s a few more light atheist poems to chew on.
Rainy days don’t give a damn
if they ruin your picnic plan.
Lightning strikes where it pleases
despite our prayers to dear Jesus.
Tsunami waves just don’t care
if they hit at morning prayer.
Earthquakes are unaware of
who survives and who is spared.
Meteors come from outer space
and can land at any place.
Bacteria don’t check to see
if you believe in a deity.
Virus could really care less
if your sins you do confess.
Nature is not always fair
and if you pray it doesn’t care.
Color of skin or shape of eyes,
short of stature or large in size,
in good health or sick in bed,
with lots of cash or poor instead.
Nature couldn’t care any less
if you fail or have success.
Don’t you think it’s really great
that nature does not discriminate?
Someone to Blame
I wish there was someone to blame
for all the cures that never came;
for the rain that caused the flood;
for the disease that poisoned the blood;
for the cancer that took a child’s life;
for the famine and the strife;
for the parasites that live in their host;
for the plagues that kill the most.
Who can we blame for nature’s indifference?
Who can we blame for viral persistence?
Who can we blame when a child doesn’t thrive?
Who can we blame when it does not survive?
Oh, how I wish I could find the villain
who is to blame for all the killing
of innocent children and other good folk,
those poor victims of fate’s cruel stroke?
Who is it that controls all the power
to stop the sun and grow the flower?
Who punishes the pure and obedient
along with the sinner because it’s expedient?
Oh, how I wish that there was someone to blame
for causing the earthquake and hurricane.
So, all through my life, I’ve searched high and low,
way up above and way down below,
until I discovered my search was in vain.
There is no one to hate and no one to blame.
Life is a gift by nature’s design.
Death is a fact we cannot decline.
So live your short life and hope for the best.
You’re wasting your time to cry and protest.
No gods will hear and no gods will care,
simply because, no gods are there.
Standing in the Shower
I was standing in the shower room with every nozzle blasting
wet bodies that could have been of Greek and Roman casting.
Some were young but most were old, struggling to survive,
hoping that a little youth somehow would revive.
Withering butts and bulging guts were plainly there to see,
results of the easy life that has always tempted me.
Those aging bodies will soon be dry, dressed in fine array
and will return to prestigious jobs with the highest pay.
Some will wear the robes of rank and medals of old wars.
Some still live in that past and will forever more.
I have no doubt that they are smart in a special way.
How else could they succeed and justify their pay?
Some volunteer to serve, as society demands,
and even give a little cash when conscience does command.
These pillars of society stand soapy next to me,
their robes and medals now are where I cannot see.
I think that they would trade past glory for a little health
and for a year of youth they’d give their hoarded wealth.
Robes and medals I’ll never have, and wealth has passed me by,
but I may be rich in other ways, should I tell you why?
I’ve lived my life without the sin of hurting some poor soul.
The search for truth through science has always been my goal.
I try to follow nature’s guiding laws and use my mind as well.
I try to understand my DNA and what it does compel.
To learn from life and my mistakes are things I always do.
I strive to help the suffering caused by the selfish few.
I try to plan ahead for stormy nights and periods of drought.
I understand that superstition is something I should doubt.
I know that to turn the other cheek will often ruin the day,
and to be a victim of aggression simply does not pay.
To believe all that I am told is such a foolish thing.
To the rubbish of the past I simply cannot cling.
I cannot ignore nature’s laws that are given us.
Denying them is, no doubt, too incredulous.
To profit from the plight of others to satisfy one’s greed
is the most common sin justified by creed.
So, as I dry my body in the midst of royalty,
I feel as rich as anyone in all humility.
Robes and medals are secondary and do not count for much.
They are at best, in this short life, just a golden crutch.
If there is still one more thing that I really have to do,
it’s letting others know what is false and true.
The smartest in the shower room certainly is not me.
Neither am I the richest, I know they’d all agree.
But wisdom is a special thing that comes to very few.
In my youth it was a seed, how glad I am it grew.
The curtain hung unnoticed since intellect was born,
thick with dust from ages past, faded and forlorn.
It covered the only window of a house that had no doors
and sifted the meager light that managed to the floor.
It trembled in the turbulent storm of ideas spawned of science
but continued to hide the truth in opaque defiance.
What atrocities of the past paced the moldy floor?
What poor souls inside searched for absent doors?
Who hung the curtain in the ancient past?
How long was it there, how long would it last?
Would some poor soul, driven by despair,
finally gather the courage and boldly take the dare,
perhaps to peer out cautiously at the world of reason?
Perhaps to see, at last, a new and glorious season.
If only they could find their way through the dark morass,
truth itself is the door through which they all may pass.
Will there be a time when doors appear and curtains will be slashed,
when prejudice and superstition will be resolutely trashed?
The story of the house with one window and no doors
should become a fable of the past and reality no more.
But still, we empathize with those who dwell within,
and have not escaped the fundamental spin.
We hope they will be courageous and reject dogmatic din
and make the world a better place for humans and their kin.
Why Can’t We See?
Why can’t we see the truth before our eyes?
Why do we believe those preposterous lies?
Why do we believe all that we are told?
Why do we believe that hot is really cold?
Why don’t we care about the plight of those poor souls?
How would we feel if fate had switched our roles?
Why do we thank the gods for our good fortune,
but never blame them for disaster and misfortune?
How can we decide what is right or wrong
when our holy men sing different songs?
Why do we sit upon our butts and cry about our fat,
and then feed our faces again before we nap?
Why do we say prayers from our holy places,
and then close their doors to different faces?
Why do we pray to God to strike a lethal blow,
against those whom we decide should be our next dead foe?
Why are we so smart and why are they so dumb?
Why are we the pure and why are they the scum?
Questions, such as these, should not disrupt your sleep.
Questions, such as these, should not make you weep.
Questions, such as these, can easily be ignored.
Questions, such as these, must never be explored.
Because, to answer them you must use your brain,
and to do that simple thing would really be … a pain.
Forgive Us Sarcasm
Dear Lord forgive us for we have sinned.
Your holy words, your laws, have been ignored.
Your message long drenched in infidel blood
with fiery fingers were etched in stone for sinners,
who worshiped a golden calf as do we worship modernity’s newborn.
Oh, how this sinful world would be cleansed by thy word
had we, your flock, followed obediently, without reason, or question, or intellect.
Your word is all we need, not the puny accumulated science we now worship and now bow down to, as do heathen who worship false gods with puny intellect, self-righteous reliance on the power of the human brain.
Forgive us Lord for we have sinned, we have not cast the first stone against the frail skull of harlot, disobedient child, non virgin, shellfish eater, and against those who pick up sticks on the Sabbath.
Faith conquers all. Science and reason be damned by your holy grace.
Do unto others as they do unto you is not The Golden Rule.
It’s not the bible story, it almost seems too cruel.
It’s not what they preach to us, it’s not what they’d have us do.
It’s not supposed to work that way, it just cannot be true.
To love our enemies, when we’re wronged, is a losing game.
If we lose by doing that, we have ourselves to blame.
Tit for tat is a better way to survive each coming day.
It gives us another choice than just to kneel and pray.
It makes no sense to turn our cheek and have it struck again.
Instead we must return the blow, and not stop to say amen.
So if we live by the Golden Rule, we really must be dense,
to think that returning good for evil really makes good sense.
I recognized him, as he stood alone, in early morning light.
A lonely silhouette of a little man, a dark proselyte.
The shadow of this frail figure crept across the land
undeterred by argument or sanctified command.
As the merciless sun conquered the cool night,
his shadow protected a few from its blinding light.
While many burned and crumpled under those deadly rays,
there were a few that survived and never did fall prey.
They did still see, with open eyes and mind,
because dogmatic faith could not strike them blind.
Mr. Russell was a humanist and a philosopher of reason.
His contributions to mankind some considered treason.
But those who recognized his logic erudite,
they have immunity from superstition’s blight.
Drosophila – Ode to a Fruit Fly
Drosophila Melagaster, you sexy little fly.
Your universe is in a bottle; you never saw the sky.
You never had the chance to fly, free as God made you.
Your firmament was made of glass, all you ever knew.
A slice of apple or an orange, would have been your wish.
A ripe banana is your heaven in a little dish.
Instead you existed under glass just for me to see,
to reproduce and be bred by a human deity.
I watched you copulate, lay eggs to my delight;
I watched as your larva pupated in plain sight;
I watched your offspring hatch and spread their tiny wings;
I etherized your whole brood and examined the little things.
With a little brush, I selected a few mutations,
and then bred them once again to make some new creations.
Playing God sure felt good for some unholy reason.
Creating little mutants was supernatural treason.
What I did in college lab with deliberate resolution
happens all the time in nature, its called evolution.
But there are those of little wit that still cannot conceive
that what we did together should really be believed.
I finished my genetics course and passed the final tests.
I never could have done it without my fruit fly pests.
Playing God is bad enough; some think it a holy crime.
But, it was fun proving evolution by my design.
The Chimera is a most horrible beast
that, given a chance, on your body would feast.
It would tear you to shreds and chomp on your brains,
and quickly devour what’s left of remains.
Its head is a lion; a serpent is its tail.
Its body’s a goat that’s certainly female.
The Chimera is a mixture of the three separate beasts,
the fanciful concoction of ancient Greek priests.
If you think you’re too smart to fall for these claims
and you don’t want to play superstition’s old games,
you better review other beliefs you’ve been told,
taken from books unreliable and old.
It’s far better to rely on things that are factual
than to swallow such claims of the supernatural.
Unless, of course, you’re too lazy to care
and don’t mind wandering…into the Chimera’s lair.