Spiritual Eve Poems

All is quiet, all is still.
All is tranquil amid the chill.
It's late December, the moon is high,
Shining brightly against the sky.

The snow is sparkling in...

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The old wooden gate is inviting.
A testament to the careful hands of a previous owner. It squeals a greeting as the celtic filigree moss yields...

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They both ate dates from the tree of gnosis 
Froze the whirling wheels in place by their might 
Crushed the cherubim’s heads with bliss 
White...

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Margin of Error

By Mark D. Stucky
If, statistically, Adam and Eve
hadn’t exceeded Eden’s margin of error,
would lambs now be lounging with lions?
Would toothy T-Rexes have been...

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At day's end, I take in the last light
seeping into the dark waters
across the bay and keep it here.
I gather the sound of departing gulls
smudged...

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The call to cut, dizzy came, the rib is off,
Now woe man!
Spiritual farm farmed by he
None another could carry;
Moisturized soil dried,
Sea wildlife fried,
Bush toil players,...

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Last night no pyre the land was; no tamarisk tree wood that’s
No wooden forest there was where cold night was silky silent
Inside of pumpkins there’re...

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Paradise
like Rome
is not built
and not rebuilt
and rebuilt
and redeveloped
and healed
and redeemed
in one 24-hour
cycle
and recycle
and revolving
round day v night,

And/or 
appreciatively regarding both day
and dualdark
rich and fertile 
souled...

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I thought today I could make it work

it wasn’t so much the sadness

as lightness

as bottled crocodiles and persimmon fungi

as broken arrows across the ascended 

the...

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I am walking in the garden 
of an ancient city
The walls are covered 
with climbing ivy of a delicate hue
The dews are thick after the...

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This purgatory of cash
which turns our humanity from one
to one against the other
a spiritual infection of loves unguarded desire for life
and life, embalmed with economic...

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Snake

You may be poised to celebrate
As shadows whirl around us
I feel you might be premature
As destiny has found us

The children cower in the dark
But hope...

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Blame the snake 
Who chose the break
and '11', to play its game
While '12' tended his fame.

Blame the snake 
Whose fruits ache
"a bite, little at stake.
With...

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I quit writing in 1983, for 35 years no poems, diaries zip. In 2018, passion sent me the poem on my list, “Gone.”  Then...

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Hello, there. Rise and shine. I think I’ll call you Adam/
Who are you? Your creator. The maker of all you fathom/
You can call me God....

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