Tag Archives: atheist poetry

COVID Poem 413

If there is a God

and you are made

in her image …

then there is nothing

wrong with you.

You are a perfect

aspect of his light,

the infallible pitch

of her voice;

you are

the exact measure

and cut, made from

original stuff.

Don’t let any man

or mob of men,

any book or verse,

or anything disguised

as coming from god

tell you otherwise.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2020. All rights reserved

On “god”

You believe you have a personal relationship

with your God?

 

Well, so do I.

 

You think he tells you how to live your life?

Well, so does mine.

 

The things your God says are wrong,

my God thinks are fine.

 

The punishments that make your God strong,

would make mine seem less divine.

 

Keep your God where it belongs,

In the temple of your mind.

 

We’ll each get to sing our song

At death; just give it time.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2019. All rights reserved

Beware the Prophets

On one of the days

of that week of creation

(the sources aren’t sure

if it was the 3rd or the 6th)

the angels were told

to bow down before Adam

for man was God’s favorite

invention; made as he was

in his own image

from the mist and the mud …

how could this tiny

material thing, be greater

than those who’d known only

Heaven?

And this is when

the angels conspired to whisper

forever into the ears of men,

lies about the nature of nature

and the terrible predicament

that we are all in.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2018. All rights reserved

 

 

A chant against the coming darkness

No … and no … and no.

We cannot go

We will not go

No … and no … and no.

Back into the darkness,

where the laws are said to be,

handed down from heaven

to a lone prophet in secrecy.

Whispered to in loneliness,

and given the only set of keys

into the majestic,

that isn’t meant for you or me.

.

No … and no … and no.

We cannot go

We will not go

No … and no … and no.

One book is not enough,

to answer all our questions.

One man’s take on what is love,

cannot fulfill all our suggestions.

One book and one belief,

leads to the closing of our minds.

One book and one belief,

is for me, how hell’s defined.

No … and no … and no.

We cannot go

We will not go

No … and no … and no.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2015. All rights reserved.

deferring dreams, no more

race is not

just a lie …

but a horrible tangle

that needs be decried

 .

needs be split open

set in the sun

put out to dry

for now it is

a dirty, slimy, rotting knot

of pus leaking snot

of old blood clotted

spotting and spitting

unwitting thoughts and beliefs

leaking into our lives

and our dreams

.

a cancerous meme

made stronger in waves

and on screens

depicted for what “it”

can mean … but it’s not

it’s a lie

 .

it’s a colorful twist

on how we are made

to survive

a spiraling joke

from a helix

that shows we’re

99 percent the same

on the inside

 .

race, is a lie

and always has been, now

we need wash our hands

and our mind of its sin

we cannot carry

that load,

lest we implode.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2012. All rights reserved.

To my son, on searching for his wings

You know

the many reasons

that we named you Gabriel;

.

arriving in the world

when and how you did

according to a fashion

unguided by the stars

directed by the chances

of who and what we were

.

I know my story states

there is no grand designer,

there is no author penning

lines for you to say

there are no demons coming

or angels to save the day

.

and I cannot use the devil

or eternal damnation

to turn you away

from the “dark side”

… what they call temptation

.

now that you have

no use of a soul

or a search for salvation

to easily tell you

what’s wrong

and what’s right

.

now that you know

that we may be alone

in this corner

of space and time in the night

 .

now that you’ve learned

of the treasures we’ve earned

as social loners

making culture and learning to write

.

now you’ve been told

all the monsters before

were imagined and less deadly

than the monsters we know

.

now that I’ve shown you

in form and in poem

in lines and at home

through kindness

and failure and flaws

what little I know

of the nature of laws

.

I am sure you too

you will find yours.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

pasando por aqui *

for Paolo Ernesto

.

the rules for all of this

come from distant worlds

we are satellites of satellites

bound to every detail of the past

.

we trod around our

flooded rock imagining

we could be stars

but we know now

that we are very far

.

we are made from pieces

that fall apart to blend again

with earth and rain

and other broken things

.

like water at different degrees

we are held in a temporary state

awakened for a moment

and given a name and birthdate

.

if we are lucky,

our days cannot measured

only by our presence

or the illusion of our reflections

.

instead we learn to love and live

above the center of the dance

where the music is played

in plasma waves and memories

of romance and laughter; until

yesterday is more engaged

for moments …

.

before the bad news breaks

to remind us of our origins,

.

               that the lotus is retreating

               that the universe ends up freezing

               that there is no way to kiss your gentle face again.

.

* “passing through here” or “happening here”

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

lost prayer

… and I said send me a message

          or show me a sign

because my eyes are wide open

          but I am feeling so blind

I understand all the reasons

         and none of the rhyme

and I have changed with the seasons

         to mine the sublime

and while I long for discovery

         I’m growing shorter on time

I’m afraid all the answers

         don’t get along in my mind

as the more that I learn

         the less I can define

what you call angels and demons

         good deeds and crimes.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved. 

On choosing

Every day the light

comes up at the top

of the world

.

the churn goes on

grinding down

and pushing out

as well

.

everything is going

on as before

according to

the same laws —

.

the furthest star

is twice as far today

than one we’ll see

tonight

.

the only thing

that’s changed

are the subtle

combinations —

.

the queerest force

called chance by most

who fail to comprehend

.

the only mark we leave

in time is what we do

while living.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

Gods in Good Standing*

Born of the trails in our minds

marking music and time,

the first gods were known

to have perfect camouflage –

they dressed as the wind and the rain

shook the earth, flooded plains

retreated to the stars above

and slowly grew in our dreams.

.

What happened next

in that darkness

we’ll never know exactly,

but glean from cave walls

and arrow heads, from beads

and bands buried with the dead

that some in the clan

needed magic and preferred

not to be reminded

of their short stay

and had no other way

to learn of the world … yet.

.

So instead, our animal brains

adopted incense and gemstones

drew symbols as portals

fell in love with the abracadabra

of magical thinking,

started linking mere chance with a meaning,

and passed whatever the leader was dreaming

as a sign from above.

.

And little by little

these lies kept infecting

everyone everywhere

while promising protection

from the neighboring gods

and the horde from next door,

while delivering nothing more

than a lifetime of prayer

as salvation from boredom.

.

What a sickness it was.

Like a virus over time

and across space,

leaving no room

for a question that challenged

what little was known of ourselves

and having to face

whatever the gods were pretending

to reveal to the head of the state.

.

In this way the deluded

were able to steal the time

and the minds and the work

of the people they fooled

with cruel lies as a tool

to build monuments and

monoliths with the money

they took from those who

were not in on the ruse.

.

‘Til at last the Truth was revealed

(a little at least) by words

that were spoken by those

who wouldn’t be fleeced,

by people who wouldn’t be sheep

who dared to speak back

about what they had seen

and learned of the world

from eyes and ears that were

keener than those who had

hidden themselves in the spell

whose magic no longer worked

to explain any heaven or hell

or anything ever on Earth.

.

And now, the only gods in good standing

have slipped back into silence

leaving believers nothing but relics

and rituals that belong to an age

before science.

.

* Title is borrowed from a Richard Dawkins speech

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.