Comparabolic Religion

Under the same Abrahamic rite
Why is it one tribe must shoulder blame
For all the ills our tongues in spite
May mutter, hiss, jibe, joke, proclaim

Can all those bearing guiding star
And shunned as less than fully hale
In truth be held as such they are
Accountable by any scale

From other creeds and careful groups
And once again, ill fated, mean
Cast out as ‘other’…  Story loops
Unfit to mingle, foul, unclean

How are we in point of fact
In any way so different
When we all, with lesser tact
Live and die with base intent

Dogma and self-interest
Returning fellows to their clay
Here with darkness in our breast
We’ll charge along this alleyway

Now ignorance and cruelty
False, Godless words have spat to shine
We in our turn may twist and see
Of those whose creed does not match mine

Our own ideals overturned
With harsh contempt, disowned, decried
And know ourselves as those who earned
The scaffold built when first we lied

And chose to follow to this end
The unrefined, archaic lore
Hanging decisions on the bend
Of what worked once some years before

To weigh as wanting one who had
An equal claim to all the Earth
As we ourselves who in our greed
Conspired to steal more than our worth

Hidden Agenda

Well-versed in deflection
Adept sleight-of-eye
We swallow confection
No hint of a lie

With no information
To pad out the cues
We’re sunk in deflation
That borders abuse

And used to the stories
So rarely explained
We vote for HisTories
And nothing is gained

Consistent imprudence
Of well-feathered nest
Career jurisprudence
You-know-who knows best

We’re damned by inaction
To more of the same
A knee-jerk reaction
And someone to blame

Half-Pint’s Positive Thinking

The best thing about a committee
Is there’s always somebody to blame
A convenient scapegoat to pity
While feeding the papers a name

And as all the ballots are secret
There is no-one to call out the lie
As you smile at the cameraman’s edit
One more face in a coat and a tie

Oh, we cannot condemn the committee
Just a small offering will suffice
Thus with humblest expressions of duty
We prepare for the next sacrifice

Crusading poetry

I make my peace with what you cry
‘Swear now ’tis true or else you die!’
I thought such sooths as men might say
Died out long ere my yesterday…
But yet I hear on radio
And internet, and tv-show
A million screams ‘forswear your lore’
Or all with turn as was before,
Crusades will come, and burning too,
And witch hunts over ‘what is true!’
And battle cry of not-yet-men
‘Our God’s the stronger, bow to them!’