a poem I wrote

by Mommie Dark 3 Replies latest social entertainment

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  Mommie Dark

  I hope it's ok to just hop in here and post. I wrote this on reply to a fundamentalist born-againer who would not stop preaching at a message board no matter how politely (or otherwise) he was asked/told/screamed at. I am not quite so peeved at Churchianity these days but it still expressed my feelings pretty well.

  Religion

  I confess to a growing intolerance

  for those who thrust the supernatural

  beneath my nose.

  Like swamp-dwellers lifelong steeped in

  that ubiquitous methane,

  immured by association to the stench,

  they seek to share the fetid effluvia

  of demons and deities

  as if it were blessed incense,

  the breath of life.

  The sweet air of reason----

  perfume of human sharing,

  spice of humor, tang of clash and parry:

  scents of the tangible, the tao of reality

  (physical and virtual)----

  is free and clean.

  But superstition

  and the associated vapors and vicissitudes

  is a chicken farm upwind on a hot day.
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  larc

  Mommy Dark,

  I like it. I wish I could write poems like that. All I can handle are business memos and a pargraph of logic on the board here.

  Like you, I wish others would quite pushing their beliefs on me. When I finally get tired of it and poke a hole in their reasoning, they usually do one of two things. One, they hurl insults at me. The facade of love comes tumbling down. Two, they tell me that debate is wrong and they don't want to engage in it. After all, they were here just to help poor little old me.
  It is moments like that, that I really want to rip into them, but I know that would not accomplish anything. They would just go away feeling persecuted and justified. So, I cuss and fume to myself, then come back with some logic, as if I was perfectly calm.

  As Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) said in his book on the Christian Science religion, dealing with them "is as much fun as sawing wood, but someone has to do it." By the way, his book shows that Mary Baker Eddy was a plagerist. She stole the book from someone else.
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  Seven

  Mommie Dark, Great poem!! Glad you posted it here.
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  mommy

  I hope it's ok to just hop in here and post.

  
  Of course it is! I so enjoy reading your writing in any format
  wendy