Religion Camp Pt 2

The disillusioned atheist,
Bags stowed away safely,
Joins the rest of the Religious People,
On the pilgrimage to Religion Camp.

The bus is only half full,
Yet the smell of Religion is...
Miraculous.
The smell of Our Lord, Jesus Christ.

The two hip vicars,
Both young,
Shepherd their flock into their seats,
Legally reminding them of the seatbelts they must wear.

Would Jesus not save them if we were to crash?

The organiser, sat at the back,
Is subjected to the torture of the mad youth,
Yelling their devotion to the Lord,
By stopping up 'til one and discussing Capital Punishment.

And lo!
The ferry looms nigh.
The Religious People pile off,
Eager to praise God over an overpriced cup of coffee.

The angry Godlings rush to the deck,
Smoke inhaling and exhaling through their prayer-holes,
Continuing their earlier discussion,
About staying up 'til one and hanging paedos.

The atheist, the organiser and the father (non-clerical),
Our third character,
Gently perambulate towards the bar,
Like the beginning of some xenophobic joke.

And talk turns to the mad youth,
The hip vicars,
The odd couple driving the bus,
Making deals on who is going to swap seats.

The atheist, having sat next to a tasty girl on the way,
Is not inclined to give his seat up,
And the father has come back from camping, and needs his rest.
So the organiser draws the hypothetical short straw.

Fitting.

In what seems like mere seconds,
The announcement comes,
via the new improved crackly tannoy,
to return to the coach.

And now begins the slog.
The long, arduous part of the journey.
The part where hours seem like minutes,
And minutes seem like hours,
Like some retarded board game involving a timer.

Pick whichever one you don't like.

The part where you aren't sure whether
You're awake,
Or Asleep.
The part where eyelids
Droop,
And heads roll,
Onto uncomfortable
Neighbours
Shoulders...

Zzzzzzzzzz.

Water

I eye the water bottle nervously,
Grasped between hands of vengeance,
Mischievous hands.
Please dont!
I dont want to get changed.

SQUIRT.

I'm going to need five minutes guys.

A Note From The Poet

That title would make a good poem I think...

Anyway, this post is basically to explain the last poem I wrote (Religion Camp Pt 1) and the poems I will be posting in the near future, all of which were written at Taize, in the South of France (near Lyon). They all reflect the many experiences I had, almost all of which were positive. Characters, names and locations may have been changed to protect the innocent/make better poetry, and I hope anyone who reads it will enjoy.

BB.

Religion Camp Pt 1

Day one.
The stout atheist,
Comfortable with his Darwin support,
Receives the invitation from his friend;

"Come to religion camp!
It's not that religious at all.
We just play games,
And the girls are really easy."

The atheist,
Curiosity spiked,
Turns to his online banking... ah science,
And confirms the lack of excuse to say no.

He replies, "I suppose so",
His reluctance to accept religion showing,
And sets the date with his friend,
The organiser.

Day twelve.
The organiser calls,
To say that he made a mistake:
"It's slightly more expensive than that!"

The atheist turns,
Again,
To his trusty bank account.
And in what can only be described as a non-religion centred coincidence relating to chance, luck and the random make-up of the universe according to chaos theory, the atheist has enough money.

Day thirteen.
Religion camp is still going ahead, says the atheist.
When are we going?
At the start of summer my friend, replies the organiser.

Day twenty seven.
It's all booked and paid for,
The atheist is getting excited,
Imagining all the girls of the five thousand, looking for salvation.

Day thirty.
The atheist stays at the organiser's house,
Bags packed,
Excitement barely concealed.

"There's just one thing I forgot to say"
Mentions the organiser.
"A few things you need to do while you're there";
RELIGION.

The Holidays

Finally,

After the long wait here they are.

I'm not sure why I'm inside writi....

Difficulties with Friendship

The end of the Easter holidays.
You look forward to the final party,
The big one,
The housewarming You've been looking forward to for a month now.

And the work hits,
Smashes,
Breaks,
Upon the nerves that are already increased after
Such a long time away from school.
From the classes that need You,
And the classes that want You to leave
Again.

You call the friend You love,
The one You can always depend on,
Knowing that they will forgive,
They have to.
They know what pressure You are under,
And yet...

The friend answers, "Hello?".
All very normal so far.
You begin the explanation,
With a long winded apology,
Even though
You know
That there is no other option available,
They have to see sense.

And then you hear it.
That awful, gut wrenching,
And completely fucking unfair comment:
"I thought you were my friend?"

And the apologies turn to smoke in Your lungs,
Choking You're ability to be polite,
The sadness and guilt that rides in your chest
Like a mucus covered imp,
That slightly resembles Your conscience,
Slips,
Takes a long Helter Skelter down to your feet,
Not to be seen again for a long while.

How DARE They Say I Am Not?

WHAT does this problem have to do with being a friend?

And You know then that the relationship is on the rocks.
Many rocks,
Perhaps a beach full,
Like landing on a horiztonal cliff face,
Sharp,
Unforgiving,
As You consider putting the phone down on Them,
Just to spite them.

But YOU are polite,
And YOU are THEIR friend.
So I just say that I am sorry.

Upon The Arrival Of The New Student

Dear New Student,
You arrived in my class
And decided to pass
On the work that was set
For the rest of them and yet
You decide it's beneath you
Which, probably, is true
But not in the way
You laugh and say
"Errr, I dont think so".

Ok, New Student,
I'll lay this down clear,
In case you didn't hear
The instructions I gave
About the way to behave
In my class.

You do NOT answer back
You do NOT crack
Any wise jokes for the joy
Of the boy
Sat next to you.
You do NOT take your phone
Out of it's home;
Your pocket, where it belongs.
You do NOT chat
Or flit like a gnat
Around my room
Or ELSE your doom
Will be fast approaching.
If you want to belong,
Then dont be wrong,
Be right.
And behave.

Well, New Student
I've got news that seems prudent
To tell you, for your sake
That if you continue to take
The piss out of me
Then, New Student,
You will learn the definition of detention
In all its forms.

For you are the New Student.
And this is MY Classroom.