Atheist? Write your poetry here....

[Rev. Rye]

We real cool, we left school,
we lurk late, we strike straight
we sing sin, we thin gin
we jazz june, we die soon

Gwendolyn Brooks.

Incidentally, I have written two poems, but I'm more of a prose writer.


A GAME OF SOFTBALL


I stand awaiting my
Turn for softball.
One person practices his
Swing. He walks up to
Me as he practices. I get
Hit by his bat and I
Scream. Half the class
Laughs pointing at me claiming I should have
Moved away. I lost half of
A tooth, a Pint of
Blood at the very least and
My illusions of the kindness
Of people in my school and
The kindness of people in general and
The kindness of God, if he even ever was.
The Pain overwhelms me
For the rest of the day, but the pain
And the scars on my lip
Remain, has remained, and will
Forever remain in my mind.

(This poem was written about an incident in my youth.)

The second poem is one based on a famously maudlin poem by Wordsworth in rhyme and metre, about the suicide of Budd Dwyer. My morbid and deadpan sense of humour shines through here.

THE R BUDD DWYER TAPE

Horrors around the 'Net abound,
I watch them with my mouth agape;
But one's seen none until one's found
The Famous R. Budd Dwyer Tape.
When watching it, I'd foreward lurch,
more than when I saw Propersearch.

Budd knew that he would go to jail,
decided he had had enough,
so for tomorrow's Daily Mail,
he blew his whole damn head clean off.
He said, just as he found his gun,
“Stand back, 'cos this will hurt someone.”

And wading on the River Lethe,
Budd stands alone, but less a head,
A catch from “The Faces of Death”
Known less alive than when he's dead.
Stigmatized by Society,
He made his Notoriety.

It's seen by thousands every day,
You see that I am one of them.
And in this fine, fine month of May,
I'm sidetracked in study for Chem.
And so, my mouth no more agape,
I watch the R. Budd Dwyer Tape.