Atrocities Absurd

“Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.”


”I am confused, I must think” is what I must say

But nothing seems to make you go away

Your trouble my thoughts whenever I think

I feel as though I am right on the brink


It seems as though you are right when you say

That it is the only true light of the day

And so confused I follow you to the end

Where nothing short of death will you send


I stumble and mumble while trying to decide

But from you there is no place I can hide

It is so difficult to pick and to choose

You say that it is the only way I don’t lose


And yet on a trigger of an incendiary bomb

I think of lost friends and my ancient mom

Those who I’ve alienated to listen to you

Insisting on this thing I must do


But as I step into the ring of death and destruction

I suddenly don’t believe your instruction

I pull back and consider your ideal

And decide that it is wholly unreal


That to kill another can ever be good

No real religion preaches what it never should

There is nothing sacred to causing life lost

There is nothing higher, no larger a cost


I must abhor your fundamental scheme

That maintains that death is a religious dream

That you had convinced me with your holy talk

Intending to cloud my life as I walk


Somehow you think that sin is better when done

Murdering many is better than murdering one

But murder is death that we can’t reconcile

It can never be justified or happily reviled


Your religion is a farce and an unholy whore

It should be wiped from this world and what’s more

Any adherents must get their heads clear

Once again it must be death that they fear


Death at any scale can’t be justified by a hereafter

Your intended atrocities are but insane laughter

At once absurd and fearfully heard

The insanity of listening to some prophet’s word


It is only religions that have this absurd intent

Where life is better wherever you are sent

That this end justifies the murder inherent

Following supposed gods must have this latent


Barbara Blackcinder

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In a Forest Glen


I am here, but you don’t know

Like the green moss I grow

Settled in and doing fine

Knowing all around is mine

Little growth here and there

Just a little bit of daily wear

But my sprouts of pistols sewn

Too tiny to see have grown

Hiding in a forest wide

Little showing to the rest

My tiny flowers brightly best

Gone tomorrow as it goes

Fragrance tiny without nose

Too small to ever be seen

Too small for a lasting sheen

Going now to seal away

Perhaps not to return a day


Barbara Blackcinder

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The Forest Napper


Lost in a garden of photographic imagination

kibitzing with lichens and molds

settling in with a bed of wild green grasses

with funguses growing in his folds


He tried to rise with foot in the ground

a shoulder and elbow submerged

but a head of green grasses abound

his river water kidneys were purged


yet winter came and froze up his eyes

no longer glistening with a tear

he yanked on his arm and a leg

and finally sat up on his rear


But part of the woods he shall always be

And he turned over and lay back down

Sinking in past his shoulder again

Once again at peace with the ground


Barbara Blackcinder

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Friends Alone


When there’s no friends, running about

Not even acquaintances, within a shout

It’s time for yourself, to enjoy being you

Then there is so many things you can do


Some of those hobbies just made for your mind

Simple things, little things you can find

With no finish or attempt to get done

Just something enjoyable when you are but one


Be it imagination, taking a trip or thinking aloud

Some tiny accomplishment that makes you so proud

Not something of worth, because that is not needed

Just a thing that you like to do while you’re seated


Making the best of a day all alone

Taking care of some of those thoughts you have sewn

Maybe even straightening up if it gives you a grin

Making a change from a mood your were in


You don’t always find friends where they were last

Sometimes you must leave them back in the past

But they will return with the bat of an eye

And then it will return to being ‘you and I’.


Barbara Blackcinder

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To Hell We All Go


I fear for the world, as it stands today,

Some horrible things that won’t go away.

The beating of children, while bad enough,

Won’t grow them up as really tough

Instead it will make them believe in pain

While they beat their kids again and again

Because they’ve been taught through their lives

That it is okay to beat children and wives.

Who is it that says that this is so?

Someone we all grew up to know

He calls himself God, the maker of all

But with his record, he hardly stands tall

For along with beating, murder, and slavery

He stands for many other crimes against morality

There is the truth of infanticide and genocide alone

Which he not only inspired but was proud to be shown

It is figured that he has killed more than Hitler or Stalin, naming two

When his racism, homophobia, and misogyny was through


But the worse is yet to be for to us who are so dumb

Combining him with a moronic president and his sons

A man who hasn’t read a book in a year

Wants to add his stupidity to the bible’s teaching here

Not only will he do the most ludacris things to us now

He’ll combine it to the murderous bible somehow

Surely we’ll all be killed if the world doesn’t understand

That this man and God both have heads full of sand

Not that I believe in the first in any way at all

But many do who believe in these people filled with gall

Who take themselves as the beginning and the end

And it’s straight to hell that they’re both going to send

It will be fitting that the new innocent die along with the wrong

Just as in the bible under God, they won’t last very long

And under Trump and his ego, it will be the same things

So you might as well believe that we can all grow angel’s wings


Barbara Blackcinder

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Rock Me, Stone Me


It was a stone, a simple stone

Lying in a bed

But if you shine it, polish it so

It will be worth more it’s said


Perhaps we can form it into a jewel

Small enough for a ring

Or maybe create a figure

Now that would be the thing


Let’s make it someone holy

Someone special it could be

Give it even more importance

Or make a cathedral for all to see


It does not matter what form it takes

Or if it’s pretty or a religious design

It is a rock, or maybe just a stone

And I cannot claim it mine


Barbara Blackcinder

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The Tiniest Thread


A little thread, dangling just out of reach

It is a strand of rememberance so weak

A glimmer that is tainted with loss

But a trivial thought I must seek


My mind has an image of it quite quaint

A house here, a street flowing by

If I concentrate without distraction

It appears in its history to my eye


But it is a sparkle, a shimmer of light

A glimpse of what may have been

And I am old, beyond travelling years

My memory probably not quite like then


Perhaps it is best, to keep it in its case

That magnifying bit of crystalized glass

Which raises it to my eye, to my thoughts

Back into my memories as I pass


Yet there it is, in my view once again

In the corner, a still wetting tear

And with some effort and imagination

The sound of it I can quite hear


So I have relived it, so easily brought

Without so much as a raise from my chair

And ever it shall be waiting to see

A memory to take me back there.


Barbara Blackcinder

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