Long Agnostic Poems
Long Agnostic Poems. Below are the most popular long Agnostic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Agnostic poems by poem length and keyword.
Do angels walk amongst us, to be honest I really don’t know
My answers may seem rhetorical, for what life tends to throw
Could well be our imagination, reaching out tendrils with clasps
Preventing approaching damnation, attempting one final grasp
Strange intervention can occur, when life’s staring into the void
Could it merely be coincidence, or vague influences redeployed
Inexplicable yet tangible, transcending all logical explanation
Might some forces of nature step in, to try avert utter ruination
This is no conspiracy theory, or narrative about personal hurt
Doesn’t matter if you believe, penning this for what it’s worth
I’m not a self righteous person, neither practice any religion
Still mysterious events, have manifestly altered my decisions
Where do these anomalies come from, I cannot figure it out
Haphazard random chaos, or designed for moments of doubt
Despite this, I remain reluctant, to place all my trust in faith
Intelligence is the apex and scourge, driving that inner debate
So how about, ‘spiritual but not affiliated’, sounds like a plan
Being agnostic means, never to dismiss anything out of hand
Whatever’s underpinning reality, God or quantum mechanics
My gut feeling, angels of shape and form, do walk amongst us.
Heaven’s above, Hell’s below,
Purgatory’s in the middle,
Guess what’s on the menu,
Our souls! To solve my riddle.
Players in the mix together,
Yes actors and entire cast,
Props and stars of their show,
Entertaining up to the last.
Gods and demons, decide
our comeuppance and fate,
Tomorrow’s judgement day,
Our life, is up for debate,
Watching over our theatrics,
Deliberating all mankind,
If a hung jury, will cast us back,
into the nether, nowhere time.
Born a Roman Catholic, was
indoctrinated this spiel, in school,
Beaten and punished harshly,
if not acceding to their rules.
That’s why I’m sceptical, about
organised religion, and it’s truth,
Why use corporal punishment,
unless dishing out bad fruit.
You’ll find cynical sentiment,
in some, if not many of my poems,
I’m not trying to influence,
That’s for you, and you alone.
I apologize to others, if offended,
I’m not trying, to tempt blind faith,
My message is, don’t be duped,
by con-artists, before it’s all too late.
Question everything, without exception,
What’s the harm, if nothing’s to hide,
Meet your creators, gaze upon them,
Project ones honesty, onto Gods eyes.
Now find I’m stuck in the middle,
Agnostic, my penchant is science,
How else, could I have turned out,
Chose my own path over forced compliance.
By
David Kavanagh.
How can you say
with your not quite straight face
that you neither know nor care
anything of God, or gods,
or exotic goddesses
or ghosting holy spirits?
That's like saying you don't care for any love today,
or believe in rain during a drought,
yet feel gratitude for sacred Earth's holistic medicine,
all the grace-filled rain that came some other place and day,
even if not this dry and cracked today.
Like saying you don't believe in music
and dance
and sex
and pleasure
and passion
and red and purple and pink and yellow bruised violet sunsets.
How could you not care about creative becoming?
Regeneration of interdependent life?
The future peaceful home of our prospering grandchildren?
Health care and assurance?
Social and environmental securities?
Anti-social anti-ecological irreligious insecurities?
AnthroObscene LoseAnthroMinds/LoseEarthBodies
mutually assured destroying war games
and re-creative multicultural sacred/organic gardens
pantheistically loving
peace-thriving fragrant and beautiful Beloving Communities.
How can you pretend
with that half-smirk
that this Earth Goddess
we democratically garden together
is no one you could wisely know
or deeply care about?
To co-redeem a master gardener's wildest dreams?
To love into integrity's holy nature/spirit wealth
by divesting of manmade hypocrisy,
thinking we could sufficiently name,
much less commodify, God
without re-creating passions
and pleasures of organic Paradise.
Why would you take a pass
on digging into Earth's co-passionate
fully humane mind/body divinity?
This could not be true
not really you
not the Self with polyculturing Others
past and future right now within
and without your own,
but never owned, passion
to prefer sacred cooperative pleasure's
indigenously natural wisdom.
How can you know
we're not gods and goddesses
in our health-gardening integrity?
in our potential for harvesting regenerativity?
economic and politically fertile
sync-tensegrity,
love of full-stretch multi-colored jazzy soul livity.
You know you want to dance in cornrows
and sing with bird choirs
as god and goddess
within and on,
for and of Mother Gorgeous Gaia's
embryonic wounded womb
elationally awaiting Golden Ruling garden bliss
Or, did I miss something
in that twinkling
of your somewhat straight-faced lie?
[Note: this poem was inspired by a strange and terrible experience I had at 17 when I first set foot on the battlefield in 1965 after an interview at the college there: physiologically, it was like being mortally wounded. I was an agnostic then and so shrugged it off, but after I had an NDE 7 years later, I started thinking it may have been something else.]
Now the happy soldiers
go to fight again the battle,
marching bravely forty abreast
with heavy muskets shouldered,
yelling their cries of pain and glory
as they face the cold cannon
barking like a pack of mad dogs.
Down they go in ones and twos,
and sometimes in little bunches,
collapsing together as though
put to sleep by the fairy dust
of long forgotten dreams.
Both sides feel the urge
to kill, to step the victor
o'er their bothers' bones.
Grown men playing-- yes,
even perhaps a bit silly--
but maybe, just maybe,
some of them are unaware
of their own anguished deaths
there on that sweating day
not really so very long ago.
At seventeen I went to that town
to talk of my education and
in the warm afternoon
I meandered mindlessly
amidst the boulders named
fearfully for Satan's lair.
There, suddenly, terribly,
while walking between two
of the giant stones, my body
shuddered in anguish and sweat,
my heart raced like it might burst,
as fearful dread seized my mind
and rattled me to the very core
of my soul; but back then, I did not
yet know I might have lived before.
['Satan's lair' refers to Devil's Den, near the base of the Little Round Top where some of the battle's fiercest fighting took place.]
Gods don’t hide, so where can they dwell
Yonder, out of sight, down the wishing well
In deep ridges of our brains, under fontanels
The search delves inward, to nuclei within cells
Gods don’t hide, they’re ethereally clear
Invisible to the eye, yet whisper in our ear
Can’t be sure, if that’s a conscience we hear
Inner voices are important, helps to calm fear
Gods don’t hide, remain loved and unseen
In a temple behind, the frankincense screen
On bloody battlefields, we pray they intervene
Fighting the good fight, with guns and figurines
No Gods don’t hide, but what would I know
An agnostic won’t help, ease your life’s woe’s
My deliverance may come, if randomness goes
I’m ignorant on the fence, observing voids grow
Life has many mysteries
mankind makes tough calls
This mind failing to penetrate
let alone crack omnipotent walls
By
David Kavanagh
Written: October 05, 2023
___________________________________________________________
Where the paradisiacal angels reside.
A myriad of creatures, ebony and betide
A dinkum dissolute and a discreet divine,
A degree of dexterity, a denizen decline
Amidst the mahatmas and zeitgeist calls,
An indweller quests for lyricism thrall.
A martyrdom route, an incubus chase,
Eristic battles in the realm of grace
A proponent of verity, a wraith of anile,
Sought to indwell the hearts of enamel.
A sip of soma, a savor of seraglio supine,
Agnostic beyond, for the geist did shine.
Destructive metempsychosis, a mortal plight,
Internal battles, seeking inspirational light.
In the realm of the departed, desolate cries
A crybaby tears, but awe-inspiring skies
Departed souls, once heartsick and heartsore,
Find solace in the trust they restore.
For in the internal depths, a spark ignites.
And as the decedents rise, their souls bear flight.
Absolve afreets, the anxiousness abides,
Embrace the beatitude; sublimity resides.
Rawness of a sentimentalist, troubadour song,
The immanence of duende is pantywaist wrong.
In the realm of the spiritual, the snarl of sin,
Is replaced by beatitude, the soul's win.
Spotless and unsullied, cleansed of all pain,
The spiritual journey is the ultimate gain.
They sully the cosmic force with opulence.
Yet, the sunny glow of bliss starts radiance.
A troll in the netherworld, forlornness abounds,
In the cognition of theosophy, the soul rebounds.
people afraid to think are people too afraid to live.
what do you say at an agnostic wedding? do you take this person to be your lawfully wedded? uh....I don't know.
a little tip for the ladies. repulsive men a lot of the times are the only ones you can trust and they tend to be smarter. watch out for handsome devils. so there.
people say Dan why don't you get you get married. i say I'm married to myself. but i am thinking about getting a divorce. so i can say i have a split personality.
there are 3 types of people in the world. if someone is crazy but not an a-hole that is o.k. if a person is an a-hole but is not crazy that is o.k. but no one can deal with a crazy a-hole.
I may be arrogant but at least i am not arrogant about being arrogant.
even a-holes have to put up with a-holes.
BELLS
Bells that talk among themselves
Sounding their distinct messages
From one city church to another
Predictably on each exact hour
Yet sometimes for special reasons
In celebration, maybe as a warning
Whether singly or a complex peal
Some low, others higher in pitch
Tones reaching into the distance
Heard, yet ignored by thousands
Thought a token of a bygone age
Yet all still with an important role
A hopeful Sunday call to prayer
In an increasingly agnostic land
Yet campanology skills survive
Expertise in ringing the changes
A commitment, if not to music
But to maintaining the tradition
Bell ringing for the community
That if silenced, will be missed
Sad
mad
wealth of bad;
Not so glad
not so rad
and not really healthy gonad
regenerative gospel.
Sad sex,
mad religion,
wealth of unaffordable,
rapaciously bad politics
seducing capitalist white bad boys
with mad cash investments
in wealthy corporate religions
with win/lose purposive missions
To forget we little regular folk
may all worship different Sons,
but all those Sons and Suns
and heavenly Daughters
share one Holy Green EarthMother
Nurturing,
sensitively natural,
ecologically nutritious
Not so unenlightened sad
Not so disempowering mad,
Not so health care bad.
Not choosing life
as love
story's win/win co-arising cues,
good news
Enlightening glad multicultural nonviolence,
green communion,
EarthTribe here is now
radically empowering
mystical peak
root-systemic
indigenously sacred
co-empathic experiences,
Polyvagal
polycultural
neurosystemic communion
Left hemisphere agnostic
Right hemisphere divinely engaged
bilaterally co-enraptured
with full-spectral spiraling
NonZero OpenSpacious Nutritional Systems
supporting ambiguous
sacred curiosity
of a green health
makes a truly wealthy
bodhisattva messianic Planet.
Who could imagine
One ZeroSum
without
Earth's biosystemic Other?
What could be Now
without someday becoming There?
Yang strength resonantly Now
without Yintegrity flowing
healthy wealth balance
SomeWhere
we would all like to become
There
ReMembering healthy Then
without sick Here
Economic yintegrity Then
with politically empowering Yang
co-arising potential green
cooperative
nonviolent
compassionate Here
Sadly rad,
madly bad
singing and dancing
with glad gospel gonads.
It's okay to be white,
it's okay to be brown,
it's okay to be Asian
hailing from Shanghai town.
It's okay to be Jewish,
or of the Christian sort,
or be an agnostic,
not know what to exhort.
It's okay to be woman,
it's okay to be male,
no, you are not toxic,
despite the endless wails.
It's okay to be right-wing,
or libertarian,
okay to learn from others,
or be contrarian.
Okay to be a long-hair,
or have a close-cropped skull,
okay to make your own calls
as an individual.
When Identitarians
go tell you what to feel,
it's okay to flip them off
and make the bastards squeal.