the field trip…

the field trip

she had rarely
been outside
her own mind
this excursion
into an open space
of discussion
was indeed
a departure
her ritual existence
hearing the melodic sounds
of truth
a pied piper moment
for her
someone asked her
that universal question
if god
is good
god can
and does
answer prayers
why have so many
believers died
at the hands
of sinners
merely uttered
perhaps god…
with those words
she quickly
staggered back
into the closed confines
that held
the sacraments
of her delusions

the dig…

the dig

he sifts sand
of pottery
old bones
seeking to find
for his beliefs
certain that
there must be
some definitive
that his god
the true god
and that
all others
are but
myths and legends
his brushes
remove the dust
but not
the doubt

legal action…

aunt bea
was recently
she said
from jury duty
it appears
that when the judge
if there were
any questions
she asked him
to define
reasonable doubt
she was certain
she said
that he didn’t mean
there’s always
some degree of doubt
in life’s decisions
what percentage
of doubt
did he consider
aunt bea said
he didn’t have
an answer
asked that
be escorted
from the room
i indicated
that would not
be necessary
i had brought
my own man

clinical considerations…

copyright cwmaritn 2011

one man rises
easter morning
the envy of all
he had made the call
of his own rise and fall
those left behind
have been wondering
if it was just
some kind of magic trick
such human thoughts
place their own deaths
in a void
the proverbial
between a rock
and a hard spot
a what’s next syndrome
that paralyzes
the masses
from action
when they already
what should be done
but one can never
be too careful
so rather than act
they react
while collecting
as many coins
as they can
just in case
the whole damn thing
was staged
and taking out
multiple memberships
since one
never knows
which version of god
will be calling
that is
if the line
isn’t already



he without form
void of all emotions
sat in the darkness
of his room
gasping for breath
praying to a god
he had long abandoned
or abandoned him
expecting little
receiving less
his mind a fertile ground for doubt
too many faceless fears
whispering in his ears
spiralling his fragile thoughts
into the darkest realms of self-pity
where his dreams
wither in the sun of expectation
easily crushed and blown away
faith is but a shadow of smoke upon the wall
sensed but never felt
tears are his only true companion
he is buried beneath daily routines
and each day he thinks
the morning
and evening
were the first day

wake up dead….

through a partially opened window
it enters in the night
like a vapor
with its fingers of doubt
touching each fiber of our being
as we lie there curled
our hearts pounding
veins in our neck pulsating
almost exploding
feeling smothered
by our own breath
then the tingling sets in
as our hands
defy our command
to reach out
trembling and shaking
one hand extends
to the other side of the bed
to find them
but to not find them there
would be to
wake up

of this i believe…

all the words
and verses had not changed
he had said these words a thousand times
and a thousand times he said them with faith
but today
he felt as if he were just an actor
one waiting for godot
staring out into the sea of souls
some lost among the coral reefs of disbelief
seeking to find the beacon of truth
that would free them from themselves
too sure of what they knew
dawned pious smiles when he said
what they wanted to hear
they frowned at him
as he stood in the pulpit
he wondered
could he say those words
his faith intact
if they sensed his doubt
would they rise up from the pews
and proclaim him a heretic
or claim that their faith was undaunted
by what they had seen in the world
had they studied the word
as a lover studies their love
they would understand its history
but they do not know or care
who the scribes were
those founders of this society of believers
the codependency of this relationship
means he dares not tell them the truth
his cross would be that of the malefactor
who did not repent
but this man has done nothing
his questions have come with age
and studies to find true meaning
just to answer those daunting questions
formed from so many years of religious grief
wondering how men meeting in secret
could design and decide
on what was best for mankind
a committee
producing  sacred writings
marketing their beliefs as if for profit
he wonders am i now a non-believer
or am i like a lover
whose love has waned
over the years
progessing from insatiable passion
to a deeper love and understanding
or is this grounds
for divorce…

For those who wish to read the trigger for this, read: Non-Believing Clergy.

a body has been found…

the fog
like the shroud of turin
wrapped around the lakeshore
an omen for those searching
for an unmarked grave
a grave dug with satan’s own hands
one as shallow as the soul
that forced her into the earth
moving as he did before
stalking a young child
fearing not the catach-and-release justice system
or megan’s law or god’s law
for he had seen the religious leaders
who moved from church to church
just as he had moved from town to town
and now in another jail cell
he will watch the same series of events
just like his last prey and so he yawns
and says
not another
candlelight service
and songs like
darling i wish you were here
and lawyers creating jury doubt
and then backroom deals
so he goes to sleep
but i
i summon nemesis
to whom vengeance belongs
o goddess
to whom vengeance belongs
show yourself
come forth and as god
cast out his angel
i ask that you
revenge your sister
and place
on the right hand of lucifer