Spiritual but not religious – poem

“Spiritual but not religious”?
So was Jesus.
Jesus didn’t come to create a religion
he came to start a relationship.
Jesus wants you to know
that God loves you personally.
That God isn’t some
amorphous thing in the sky
waiting to catch you screwing up.
God loves you
God made you.
God wants you
to know God personally,
without an intermediary.

Jesus couldn’t stand
the religious authorities
of the day
and how they made sure
that people
saw them praying,
and saw how big
their prayer shawls were.

Jesus wants people
to show
how big
their hearts are.

Jesus wants us
to be in relationship
with each other
and with God.
He wants us to serve God
not by religious observance
but by taking care
of each other.

Jesus would rather a person
never go to church
than spend all their time
in church
and none of their time
helping people.

With Jesus,
your religious observance
would be in a soup kitchen
or helping people clean up
after a tornado
instead of sitting for an hour
in a building, in “church”.

Jesus came to tell you
that you
are the church,
not the building.
That we collectively
make up living stones.

Jesus didn’t want us
to be anything
other than equal.
We are not supposed
to have
ordained and lay people,
but all the same people.
We’re not supposed
to have
bishops and popes.
The only one
above us
is God.

So “spiritual but not religious”?
So was Jesus.
His teachings are true.


“Images of God” is now available!

My 6th book, “Images of God” is now available on Amazon. It is a collection of inspirational poetry and photographs. I have published it in two versions – black and white (seen above) and color.

Here is a link to the black and white version –


The color version is more expensive due to the publishing process that has to be used.

Here is a link to it –

Invisible war wounds – poem

My Dad had PTSD,
invisible war wounds
from a war
he never left home for
in fact, he had to
leave home
to leave the war.

He was a son of a veteran
who brought the war home
in his pockets,
in his perfectionism,
in his need for things to be
just so
and it never was,
because it never could be.

Gone were the days
of an innocent youth,
it never happened.
He was trained by an incompetent,
drill sergeant,
masquerading as Dad.
He was living in an army
he never enlisted for,
was shanghaied
simply by virtue
of being born.

Poem for a not-so-happy Mothers’ Day

If Mother’s Day is hard for you –
because your Mother has died,
because your Mother didn’t know how to love you,
because you always wanted to be a mother but couldn’t,
because you are a Mother and your children are dead, or cruel,
Then take today to rest and restore your soul,
to re-Mother yourself,
to show yourself that You are valuable.
Do something in honor of the Idea of Motherhood –
be creative, and kind, and selfless, and giving
to someone else
especially if they are hard to love.

grubs in the basement mix-up poem

Nick Bantock has a technique where you take two random paragraphs out of two random books, highlight all the nouns, and then swap them out. Sometimes you end up with something interesting. Sometimes you have to tweak it a little to make it make sense. This “found poem” is composed from “The Man in My Basement” by Walter Mosely and “The Shade of the Moon” by Susan Beth Pfeffer.

Mrs. Evans, my day, she was real nice, Ruby said.
Bags knew we was going to be trash.
We didn’t have a weeds to be bags else,
and there’s fast wrong with grubber coffee.
But Mrs. Evans said beans should be
proud of the polenta we did.
She said everybody’s good at meal.
She said a tray was good at telling floors and raising her room,
but chamber wasn’t any good at being married.
Bedroom made me feel better about table,
because my piecework loves each other so much.
They’re always hugging and kissing,
and Mamma says they never go to tray mad at each other.
So maybe they’re table,
but they’re still better than Mrs. Evans at being married.
Aren’t you tired, Mr. Jon?
You could get into the window with me.

That was one of the hardest teachers I ever put in.
Twelve thirty-nine-gallons of plastic grubs and dead chance.
I only had two empty nothings left.
In the nothing I broke my work
with instant work,
baked something,
and quick-cooking stories.
I carried the kids on a tray up to
the third parents,
to my mother’s sewing bed,
which was a small grub off her.

Pledge – poem

I don’t pledge allegiance to the flag
it is a piece of fabric
after all.

I pledge allegiance
(I stand behind, I agree with, I commit myself to)
the idea that the flag
that we are a nation
(One, whole, complete)
Stronger together.
United in our belief
that all people
are created equal
(all people, all races, all creeds, all abilities)
and they are endowed
(gifted, granted, made)
by their Creator
(the One who made them)
with rights that cannot be removed
from them,
rights so essential to their being
that they, that we,
aren’t people without them.

So I don’t pledge allegiance to the flag.
I pledge allegiance to us,
and whole.

Wander poem

Lost your Wander mojo?

Did the cold weather make it go?

Too much holiday, not enough time?

Too many expectations on your few dimes?

Stop what you’re doing and go outside

Stand in your yard – don’t go for a ride.

Look right now – what do you see?

A robin? A cardinal, a chickadee?

Perhaps you notice the trees have buds,

Perhaps you notice more grass than mud.

Its coming – its here!

Our spring has arrived!

So go walk around in your yard

and feel so alive!