1974 and the Guardian newspaper
On a ship, where I was employed, docked
In Lisbon, a few days after the Carnation Revolution
The air was full of anticipation
I took a double-decker bus to the town center
A throng of cheerful people filled the narrow streets
At a paper stall, pornographic mags had moved in
getting the most out of newfound freedom
I ate Fesjoada tras montania (bean stew), drank
a bottle of Sagres beer, and later walked around
streets, but with so much noise, I bought
The Guardian newspaper, which I thought was
a harbinger of the truth
Back then, The Guardian was a fresh, brave paper,
These days, it is rather staid in the political line
pro-American, but it is still a better paper
than the Ghastly "Sun" and the Sunday papers
I still read that paper online, which has good art pages
But politically, we parted ways a long time ago
He wo motto took a shield for the bettering of
Boy bubble kev
Upper right flange damage severe ordinance requirement of lifeline preserve cartography blissed out
Gregory Hines session energetic time card!
i seem to view the world in black and white despite my rainbow soul
my skin seems to seep the moisture of ones misfortune goal
i sharpened my broken fingers regardless of my rusty bones
in hope to fight all misfortunes and hell’s unwelcomed call
instead, i cut myself to pieces until there’s nothing left
then my rainbow soul escapes my flesh to find vengeance for my death
but i heard the screeching sound from hell shouting out my name
still i looked upon the heavens to search for the almighty fame
i raised my hands beyond the skies to get a hold of his love
but the void sucked my soul away in the absence of above
Morning Sonnet
The news this morning was something new
Greece has a banana plantation near
Mount Olympus, and they are yellower and
bigger than bananas from Greenland
A British surgeon pleaded guilty to cutting
off his legs to satisfy a sexual need
Try as I might, I struggle to understand how
The removal of legs can be sexually necessary
On Thursday next week, they are removing
a growth on my left side, can the surgeons
be trusted to find and remove the cyst
a letter to my editor
I have tried to get more cash to spend
on introducing me to a bigger audience
I contacted many of my readers on X and asked for
A contribution sent to Hillshire will not come
amiss so far nothing.
I could have asked the man himself, but I will not
He suffers from the insecurity that rich people
People who suffer from that, we like them for the money
I happen to like Elon Musk because he struggles
with a deep-seated shyness like my brother did
So his life is not that easy
So, therefore, just print the en book and send
a couple of copies to me, I shall be nothing more
than mulch in the acre of poetry
Relighting my spark,
I'm igniting the dark,
Embarking on a journey,
That could end in a gurney,
Turning the key,
So you can see me,
Eternity set free,
Lighting up the world around me,
Bound by gravity,
A soul stuck in a cavity,
Deep beneath layers of being,
The dark is fleeing,
Releasing it's hold,
The lessons are gold,
To behold the power,
Of this blooming flower,
Opens up to devour your attention,
It's illuminating ascension,
Through my best intentions,
An invention so pure,
You'll remember who you were.
An atheist living soul was floating above on deathbed,
because if he touched it, he would leave this world.
He let the pain out and screamed through his dying soul.
A guy who was once drenched in every bit of gold
comes to him and says:
“I want to make a compromise with your soul and body—
I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to serve me.”
But then suddenly the man who created every bit of the universe
comes to him and says:
“I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to believe I am real.”
Then the living soul thought:
It’s no different. Both are slavery,
but in different ways.
But he thought,
since he questioned God in the life he lived before,
he would face judgment for that.
Either way, he was going to hell.
He was thinking of every possible possibility
that would grant him some life.
But he died in his imagination while sleeping.
– THEBLOODYPEN
Faith demands we hope for
What cannot be true;
Hope insists we believe
In what will never be.
They are trickster twins
Commanding our allegiance,
Wishing us disappointment, despair and oblivion.
I prefer to trust my wits, sight and a little love.
A beggar grabbed my hand and cried for some spare change.
At first, I offered him a sweet memory of food or a tasteless sip of divine water, but he asked for money.
I had a heavy coin and gave it to him.
I wondered why he took only the money, and when he saw it, he immediately placed it in a different spot.
I asked why.
I offered you food and water—you rejected both, and now you hide the coin.
He said it was the most different one, and if he didn’t hide it, other people would start accusing him that the coin was wrong, that it shouldn’t be used—because its print was different, because its color didn’t match theirs.
Laughter
I laughed with a Pride,
My laugh was lost with a shame .
Smile faded away like hot air.
Jokes where bad towards me .
Anger spread like a disease, disease that killed my laughter.
I used to feel the laughter in my stomach.
Where is my smile?
My life had changed,
Smile also changed.
Hateness became a friend.
Why it is hard to smile this days.
If I could go back in time,
I’d go back to when I believed in soulmates
the way I believe the stars in the night sky
guide us to a predetermined destiny.
Poorly illuminated by the moon,
leaving you to seek yourself intentionally.
Well,
I’ve learned you can throw away fate
when you make an extremist choice,
deviating against that destiny.
Like salmon in the springtime,
we kill ourselves only to respawn,
and reinvent new regret
in search of things we think we need
but already possess.
Now,
I don’t mean to come off as nihilistic or depressed,
but I’m slowly starting to stop believing in prepackaged outcomes,
and have come to the conclusion
that only children believe in soulmates.
At least I did when I was a kid.
Now I know for certain,
love only exists when it’s convenient,
and the stars, more often than not,
pick favorites.
Justice can’t be served
in Gaza blood soaked stained sands
200,000 lives massacre
Your eyes?
They're like midnight — not stars, just... midnight.
Dark, full of something I can't name.
I get lost there. I always do.
It’s frustrating, kind of thrilling too.
Your smile? Trouble.
The kind I’d trip over twice and still chase.
It hangs in the air after you leave —
Like perfume or a half-finished thought.
I hate how much I replay it.
Your lips —
They look like they keep too many secrets.
And somehow, even silence looks good on you.
When you pout, it’s ridiculous.
Seriously, stop that. (Don’t.)
That cheek of yours,
pressed against your palm like the day got too heavy —
and I swear I felt the world slow down.
You weren't posing. That’s the worst part.
You just are.
Every glance, every pause —
you’ve got this... poetry thing,
like you don’t even know you’re writing it.
You don’t try. You just... happen.
And I keep wishing you’d happen to me.
at the pharmacy
ome books in my bookshelf are unread
and can stay the way, I need not read
everything printed
depression hangs over the landscape like
dust on windows tells me the obvious
come clean me now
When finally going ashore, I had floated
like an ant on an oak leaf, I was baffled
electricity bills have to be paid
the pharmacy is open, but I will wait a bit
it is full of middle-aged women talking
about their illnesses
there had been a storm, pot plants
had fallen to the floor, the weather
is getting worse every year
the apothecary is empty. I walk in
to get medicine for diabetes, but
I no longer ask why me
Gratitude
He is not here today, the mantle he wrapped
around his bony shoulders, when there was a chill in the air
is carelessly flung on the sofa
A zephyr whispers, he will not return
Will I be that old? I ask the fading sun
I sit on the balcony, a blanket covers my shoulders against the cold
afternoon chill
Here in the vale where I was born and where my parents lived
I wait for the September rain and remember
I've had an easy life
Specific Types of Atheist Poems
Read wonderful atheist poetry on the following sub-topics:
death, god, love, nature, religion, science
and more.
Definition | What is Atheist in Poetry?