Friday, November 27, 2015

The Credo Poem

I'm writing a long poem in which I'm trying to describe my political and philosophical outlook. So far I only have 24 quatrains, which you can see below. I will add new ones to this page as they come along.

                      1

Holy books are filled with fiction.
Wishful thinking, clumsy lies
And internal contradiction
Make their authors seem unwise.

Whether one God or eleven
Rule their model of the skies,
They treat fate, the Earth and heaven
As if they had ears and eyes.

As if they could understand us.
Answer pleas, forgive mistakes,
Pity, comfort and command us.
Mend our hearts and sooth our aches.

2

Our big brains evolved to give us
A leg up on other men,
So that they don't outlive us
And their genes don't spread again.

So we're good at understanding
Human minds and human acts,
But much worse at comprehending
Random chance and cold, hard facts.

When we scream at our devices,
Tell a keyboard to be damned
Or attribute human vices
To a printer that has jammed

We act much like those believers
Who beg heaven, earth and fate
To deliver them from fevers
Or to set their children straight.

3

Scripture never mentions protons,
Plasma, X-rays, DNA.
Neither does it talk of photons,
Cells or nuclear decay.

No America or Britain
In the Bible or Koran.
Not a word in them was written
About China or Japan.

One could get a slight suspicion
That these books are not the works
Of an all-knowing magician
Or his honest, zealous clerks,

But are rather just collections
Of some ancient tribal lore -
Merely accurate reflections
Of the ignorance of yore.

4

Yet the men who bash religion
Are a bunch of clever fools.
There is much more than a smidgen
Of true wisdom in "Gods"' rules.

Atheism is self-defeating:
Godless people have few kids.
Deadly illnesses are eating
Those who do what "God" forbids.

Faith evolved through countless ages,
Growing in organic ways.
The advice on scripture's pages
Is still useful in our days.

                      5

Every modern recreation
Of morality from scratch,
On a rational foundation,
Has some flaw, some fatal catch.

There are limits to our powers.
Anyone can quickly tell
Real plants from plastic flowers.
We don't copy nature well.

We cannot explain tradition
Any better than a spleen
Can expound upon its mission
Of maintaining our blood clean.

I wrote the following part first, but I want to put it close to the end of the finished poem, many pages after what you see above.

                     N

We could learn to live forever,
Reach the stars, begin afresh.
We could find a way to sever
Our connection to mere flesh.

We could some day figure out
All of Universe's laws.
And then briskly set about
Fixing its most glaring flaws.

We could master all the powers
Men have long ascribed to Gods.
We'll become Gods. Fate is ours!
We can start to set the odds.

                     N+1

Man is ruled by thieves and liars.
Parasites control his thought.
Mankind's future has no buyers.
All these dreams will come to nought.

Gullibility will never
Be from altruism detached.
Such rich pickings for the clever!
The divine is overmatched.

If the Earth's civilization
Ends up gnawed to death by pests,
Suffers early cancellation,
Fades away without bequests,

There may never be another.
Not just like it, but at all.
Space would be a barren mother
Stricken dumb by our great fall.

Last updated on 2/08/17.

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