Spirituality Poems

Luminal Spectral Bubbles

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“Love waits not for granting of consent
from anybody, anything, any action or role. Love is not conjoined or disjointed. Love Itself is each role & every scent, creating both as meant. Love is  p u r e   A w A r e N e sS”. Poet 

CUDDLE

Alignment

 
 
crown petals unfold for lofty Light
fontanelle gaping softly smile
Centre Point’s hole blazon mile

pineal connects as conical way
to galactic edenic binomial rays
loosens ovuliferous scales honed

thyroid equalises, tongue relaxes
cylinder opens larynx true blue
speech becomes intended hues

heart softens atria, ventricles 
valves linking doors of paradise
protected golden it rhapsodises 

coin-line verticle-horizontal spherical 
solar plexus flowers monumental near
mystical

Destiny’s Child

(“Birth of Gaia”, 2017, original encaustic)

Destiny’s Child

Who am I, where am I from, where am I going?
Are all questions some of us never even ask.
Some because we don’t care 
Or ever look beyond the immediate and material,
Others because they have no doubt
About being first and foremost spiritual.

And then there are those in between like me
Who

On the Path

slowly we evolve 
blinking within universes 
moving forward solve
facing ourselves in mirrors 
knowingness sees then stands deep 

nothing becomes time
matter meaningless messy
we sing songs as chime 
when awakening to truth
egos escape shiver shake 

let go forgiving 
untangle own threads and dread
climb green trees to see
eclipses giving clarity
on the path with sanity

Dweller of our Heart

  


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The Eternal Quilt

We are but patches in life’s quilt—
Tangled together,
Woven as one.
Pull on a thread,
Watch us unravel.

Ignore my thread, and I disappear.
Ragged, jagged knots.
Rocks in my fists.

Bound in silence,
Kneeling like a penitent saint,
Hands stigmata-bright on shattered glass.
A disciple of death.

I watch behind the curtain:
Frayed. Treacherous.
Mister looks my way.

Sad eyes, owlish.
Kohl-ringed and ostentatious.
Painted into empty space.

Looking like a

We Choose

Standing in the library of lives.
Trying to decide which one to learn from.
Picking up each book, reading the lines that have yet to be. 
This life lies, this life hides, this one dies.
Which one is brought out of its slump?
Which life needs careful care?
This life cries, this life tries, this one looked me in my

Hiraeth soul

(HI-RITH)
Hiraeth soul…
A soul forever wandering, in search of a place that no longer exists, or maybe never did.

Looking for a home that no longer exists.
Yearning for a place to fit.
Her soul crosses many planes of space and time.
Her heart is searching for what feels like the divine.

She searches and wanders.
Her body way down yonder, 
stuck

Backward

someone I read him for years
who think he is doing great
in spirituality world
seems to me very seeming
that he is going backward

Light: A Spiritual Interdisciplinary Inquiry

When God said
“Let there be light”
Was it meant literally or metaphorically?


Did time arise crafting the photon 
with the intent
of illuminating the basis of reality?
An observational lens providing the closest assumption of truth?

Or did the limit of human consciousness take precedence.
Therefore, implying we needed to be saved from the void of ignorance,
as light is the transference

Soul Rose Fulcrum

 my soul-rose has a fulcrum 
sometimes
veined petals spread a  c  R    o   Ss 

skies unknown
                           thorns ready 

for piercing when blood
too

Divinity

Obedience is a spell.
But some bloodlines 
carry thunder in their sleep.
They will call it rebellion.
But it is remembering -
the heartbeat beneath the ruin,
the fire before the name,
before the world was trained
to forget its own divinity.
Before the myths bent truth into control -
there were those
who shaped stars with their breath
and did not ask permission.

The knocking

the door is being knocked,
For ages, it has remained closed
Who is there?

The Sun looks
The Breeze Halts
Tulips raise their heads in delight
But the Cascade still flows on
Humming like an indifferent Bee

Knock - knock - knock
How persistent the knocking is...
But who comes calling?

Through the peepholes, its light spills in
The Valley enlightes with joy
Old Cider tree opens its

The Crow

He spreads his lordly cape to slow his descent, gloved talons softly gripping metal throne, his obsidian pallium opulent and ominous. Empowered by wonder and awe, I swallow fear, holding the chthonic messenger’s gaze

Curiosity binds us
The vigilant Seraphim turns

Self-Portrait with My Shoebill Friend as We Rebrand Spirituality

This time,
Janice is wearing a priest collar
and I’m the altar.
She hisses when I open my Notes app
during communion,
calls me a heretic
for spellchecking my trauma.

I tell her my whole personality
is based on being misquoted.
She says no, babe. It’s based on needing
a witness and a warning sign.
Then she bites the rim off my coffee cup
and whispers the

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