The Bad Poetry Hour

I'm BA-A-A-Ck! (Imagine horrible red eyes winking at you above a large scaley snout. Or a divine goddess with neon-green teeth.)

Anyway, I have spent much of the last week on the road. Hence this old Travel Poem:

I have traveled far
on the I-95
cocooned in my car.

I have eaten
at a hundred McDonalds and Burger Kings,
and chewed on chicken wings
from dozen Kentucky Fried Chickens.

It is the beaten
path I travel.
The plot never thickens.

As in a dream
I have glided past
a hundred times the same shopping center,
floated in a stream
of identical cars, all going too fast
to give way for those who enter.

I have seen the same wary look
on all the passing faces
and on every break I took
in all the resting places
I have sought
an answer to the same horrid thought:

Am I still me
or does my name
belong to someone else
who only looks the same?

Good, eh? Heh.

And here's a religious poem:

There is but one righteous God and that is mine.
I know, I know His gaze.
He speaks through me and His words do shine.
I run, I run in a maze.

There is but one righteous God and He is mine.
I own, I own His rage.
He is hungry and thirsty and I am His shrine.
His war, His war I wage.

There is but one true truth that I have written.
In me, in me put your trust.
And all who doubt it are righteously smitten
By God, by God in my lust.

There is but one true God and I am His servant.
He has spoken to Me but speaks no more.
His silence is fervent and I am its token.
Mine is His Holy War.

That one is a little bit too realistic, sigh.