Willy Nilly

Willy Nilly by Michael R. Burch for the Demiurge aka Yahweh and 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? Bible Libel by Michael R. Burch If God is good, half the Bible is libel I wrote this poem after reading the Bible from cover to cover at age eleven, in utter disbelief that anyone could consider the biblical "god" to be "good." 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! 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-WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEee . . . jesus loves and understands ME! Saving Graces for the Religious Right by Michael R. Burch Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter (wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter). Multiplication, Tabled or Procreation Inflation by Michael R. Burch for the Religious Right “Be fruitful and multiply”— great advice, for a fruitfly! But for women and men, simple Simons, say, “WHEN!” 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. 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. pretty pickle by Michael R. Burch u’d blaspheme if u could because ur God’s no good, but of course u cant: ur just a lowly ant (or so u were told by a Hierophant). 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. 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. 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!” the wise owl replied as the tasty snack died. 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 ... 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. Keywords/Tags: heresy, heretical, god, religion, Christian, Christianity