Grandmother Religion Poems

Mother of us all 
Powerhouse of all life 
Goddess of the gods 
She is the Bird of birds 
The Beast of beasts 
The Fish of...

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How did you become featherless
Angels are always blessed and do bless
Standing too close to the fire
Devil got me in a crossfire
Make sure you always tell...

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I may not have faith,
But I believe He's there
For my grandma prays to Him
And I know my grandma knows Him 

So, I put my faith...

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Our minds play
an eisegetical game
transubstantiating our debating minds
translating our felt bodies
embodied contexts

Natural/Spiritual environments
felt yet untouched messages
spoken through ancient metaphoric narratives
polypathic tales
multiculturing mysteries
sacred polytheistic histories

Felt 
egocentrically...

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Back in the day
of exclusively straight white male
****-retentive missionaries,
the Church

Whether monoculturally Catholic
(which may become an oxymoron
one enlightened day)
or Protestant,

But certainly not polytheistically ecstatic,
like a perfect...

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It was an island of piety
out of place in Port Adelaide’s 
working class sea of pubs.
Off the main road,
St Mary’s was a refuge
for the Catholic...

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Today I write just for you                                       ...

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There are many questions in life,                                    but not...

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Joe and Jacque almost met on a Friday in 1996, but not really
They kind of glanced at each other, not speaking
In line for a train...

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God
will wait
on this day                     ...

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Isaiah I Want,                      ...

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RightBrain culture
absorbs and heals
LeftBrain monoculturalism,
capitalism's win/lose unholy market-structured days
and commodified aggressive nights
pursuing lose/lose fear v anger competitions.

RightBrain multicultural invitations
whisper nutritional health climates
longing for explicit win/win...

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Once upon a time,
an eight year old
Black and Green and Brown and Red and Blue Lives Matter
ultra-nonviolent kid
wrote an ultra-violet note to him/herself
about stuff s/he...

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First of all, Grandma left us.
Now Grandma’s gone to be with the Lord
But thank God I know better.

O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where...

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The first time you loved a girl, 
her hair was the gold rosary from your Polish grandmother. 
Her blue eyes were reflected in the stained...

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