Category: poetry

Unbuilding

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Do you believe in God? I used to answer quickly.

Now, I pause —

not out of rebellion, but reverence.

I dismantle doctrines like old furniture,

finding splinters of truth and tradition embedded in my hands.

The creeds I once recited now echo with questions, each word a doorway to deeper understanding or further doubt.

In the quiet morning, amidst the smell of roasted coffee, I find sacredness in the mundane, grace in the unspoken.

Scripture pages worn thin from searching, not for answers, but for the presence that lingers between lines.

I am both the builder and the ruins, the seeker and the found.

Do you believe in God? I still ask, not seeking certainty, but connection.

The Crackling Word

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Each page crackles as it lifts from a leathery shell, giving birth to new waves of flame.

Smoke rises and fills one’s nostrils with ancient history, myth and story.

Tongues of flame wave slowly at those gathered around its holy site.

People stare entranced in harmonious gathering with the Other as they listen to flame’s whispers.

Songs played and sung aloud; marshmallows melt softly in flame’s warm embrace.

Around the Sacred Fire, there is no black, white, free, slave, male or female, for they are one with the Spirit that binds them in the night.

Here love is found. Love is lived. Love is loved.


Celebrate. Learn. Rejoice. Drink deeply from the well of flames that He has to offer.

The Deep Blue Church

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The Sun glistens off the ocean’s face illuminating its grandeur, giving awe to all who brave its windswept shores.


The Sun’s light dances across the surface of the ocean then trickles below the surface to bring life to her many congregants.


Upon the ocean’s surface, fishermen are compelled by her mysterious call as they throw their lines, nets, and rape her womb.

Captains sail the great unknown with their sacred cargo while oil seeps out into the very waters that give them purpose.


Intrepid explorers go from island to island excited to discover new land, but turn their cannons and flintlocks on anything that seems other.

The ocean, full of schools of fish delightfully darting to and fro as they seek warm water and feast upon their daily sacraments, unaware that fraternities of predators lurk in the deep.


The nearly extinct and wounded drift through her halls seeking shelter from that which seeks to harm them, without realising – or perhaps without a choice – that danger is behind every pillar.


Hope. The light still trickles down to those that dare swim.


Warmth flows from the cracks in the ocean’s floor life to even the darkest rooms.


She will be cleansed, renewed, and delighted in once again.