Theological Musings

Theological Musings Final by Rod C. Stryker

Tore a rent

in reality today

and pulled out

all those prophets, gods

and semi-divine beings

that have been pestering

our fickle faiths

into the light of day

so they could

settle things amongst

themselves.

I figured it

would spare

us lowly mortals

some grief

and give us a much

needed reprieve

from genuflection, sermons,

swearing and penitence;

as well as jihads,

pilgrimages

and sacrifices;

not to mention deep-seated

resentments based

solely on a difference

of belief.

 

Once the supreme ones

finished,

I threw them back into the void

bloodied and maimed,

their divinity faded,

lackluster.

And for the first time,

we looked upon

one another

w/new eyes,

new hearts.

And began the

journey towards

peace.

 

by

Rod C. Stryker

This is an older piece. Seems it’s still applicable to today’s religious issues. Hope you like it.

The King’s New Clothes

Laying those clothes of cynicism

   aside,

I enjoy that special feeling of

freedom in my birthday suit.

Happy times ahead dusted

 with sparkling sentiment

     offer me little choice

      but to feel good

  and retain my sexual

  high for a

   better world,

    a better day.

   And against my

    darker thoughts,

my better judgment,

        I experience a finer fitted feeling

      in your eyes,

your smile.

 And the power of love’s

  silken embrace on

     your naked lips.

 

by

Rod C. Stryker

This is an older poem. Hope you like it.

Too Human

photo by Aaron Harewood

     And you decided to

 name him great;

        on a par with even God.

    Given to daily feats

of epic verse,

while prone to acts

    of leather and pain

   that you were too ready to ignore

       for a small glimpse of his world,

    his heaven.

        But when the years passed

   and his wonders were made flesh,

his divine aura shone

    less and less

      and the beatings nagged for

 your attention more and more.

  And then one day quite suddenly,

  you woke to find where

  once stood your idol,

existed your father,

 and by the tell-tale

scars on your face,

      a too human man.

by

Rod C. Stryker

I grew up a victim of child abuse at the hands of my father. As a child, I escaped into my head (my pretend world) and did everything I could to be invisible, to avoid the abuse. I discovered the religion/faith/spirituality of poetry and self-expression and it, along with my very patient wife, Sabina, saved me. This poem was my way of acknowledging my father’s abuse for what it was. I will no longer hide the abuse or the abuser. And my hope is that this piece may help others who struggle as well.

Neverland

     

Yes, I raged at the news,

  bombs in baby cribs,

      oil fires in the desert.

     And the murder of children

labeled mushrooms.

     Still I loved your smile in

  the bomb shelter,

      the play of your eyes in the

       hospital.

        I know joy when I hold

  you as the fighters

thunder overhead.

And I commit my love

       to you

     by the light

of the burning chapel.

 

by

Rod C. Stryker

This poem was published in the anthology, Will Work for Peace. Hope you like it.

Mayan Blues

                                                                                       Mayan Blues Final by Rod C. Stryker

The sixty-five
parables of depression
are stamped on my forehead,
dribble

down my cheeks,
splash, stain and play
tag
among the cotton
threads of
my white shirt,

drive my resentment
through to Mexico
and stop long enough
to pick up
apathy,

sunning
amongst the cactus.

A motley group,
we pay fares and bribes
equally

until our arrival
at misty temples
and dejected fables

reveals

sacrifice and Mayan priests
joking of mass murder
and temperate weather patterns.

by

Rod C. Stryker

This poem and art photograph was published in Lucid Affairs (Sun Arts Press). If you’d like to get a copy, click here: https://squareup.com/market/sun-arts-press

Saving the Day

Cityscapes Study by Rod C. Stryker

A child screams

into an August

city night.

   Footfalls echo

in the street.

   Sirens holler at

the depression

of an excited

populace

  quick to glance

      there and here

while touching the

   steams anger.

       A holy chime

          invades,

    gives rise to

       uncensored belongings,

 rectifies the righteous

       in their efforts

    to remain at

 peace. Pain settles

       this disquiet

    thunder of the

 pale moon.

       The screams stop.

   A window breaks

   the city’s back

   and runs away

   …scared.

 

by

Rod C. Stryker

This is an older poem. This will also appear in my forthcoming book, Native Instincts. Hope you like it.

King George’s Angel – a demon/saint sonata

King George’s Angel Embrace Final by Rod C. Stryker

It must

discourage the angel

that enfolds you,

holds you,

to watch these crimes

explode around you,

confounds her wings

in blood and rage.

A wink and a kiss

spark a flame

between guardian

and monarch

consummated

in exquisite

acts of contrition

pirouetted amongst

the bodies and souls.

Your angel’s tears

play taps

as your bombs

gouge craters

in sweet disaster.

You fan the flames

that singe her wings

against skies

rolling in

smoke and betrayal.

The burning flesh

smells like heaven

to you.

Long live the king.

by

Rod C. Stryker

This poem and art photograph were published in my current book, Lucid Affairs (Sun Arts Press). If you’d like to get a copy, click here: https://squareup.com/market/sun-arts-press

Land’s End

 Photo – Elysion Blues by Rod C. Stryker

I inhale

the spirits of

stone and forest,

so kind to lay trees and rocks

for my climb up the mountain.

 

As juniper

branches gently

comb my hair,

Stonehenge formations

help me acknowledge

what went before.

 

I add my sun stone

to the cairn                

in an effort to delay

Death’s quiet approach.

Compadres met

along the trail

yield warm summer afternoons

and welcome insight

to the cycle.      

 

Intentionally,

I prick my finger

on sharp causality

affirming the spark,

reminding me

how much fun

I’m having.

 

Even as the summit

is won,

my capricious Thalia

reveals the ocean

beyond.

 

And w/my

arrival

at land’s end,

lay the body’s ashes

in the rolling seas,

so generations

can perceive

a sun poet.

 

by Rod C. Stryker

This is an older poem. Hope you like it.

Warnings in the Web

Someone call

 911,

  render assistance,

   we’ve lost our respect

    for life.

     Killing sprees are now

      in vogue,

       ethnic cleansing

        is business as usual.

         We need a Charlotte

 to make a web,

  spell it out for us,

   help us see the writing

    in silk.

     Draw attention to

      the hand basket we’re in

       shootin’ the rapids

        to our demise.

Zuckerman’s famous pig

 should be our example.

  We need such radiant friends.

   Charlotte, give us a

sign!

 

by

Rod C. Stryker

This was also published in my book, Exploits of a Sun Poet (Pecan Grove Press). Hope you like it.

Knight in Shining Chanclas

Old man

of El Ranchito,

forehead on his knees,

knows the importance

of love unconditional,

the pain of

iron chanclas rusting

in the closet;

the frustration it brings.

Still he remains seated,

knees to forehead

waiting for his unconditional

love to return,

baking in the

Texas triple-digit blues.

He fools himself

into believing he’s tricked

them all,

persuaded the lie

of polished chanclas

and authentic happiness.

But look under

the wide-brimmed hat,

stare deep

into the tear-stained

countenance,

and know the truth,

feel the loss.

And maybe,

if it’s yours to spare,

love him.

Just love…him.

 

by Rod C. Stryker

This was published in my book, Exploits of a Sun Poet (Pecan Grove Press). I’ve also included an MP3 of me performing this piece with backing classical guitar by Jorge Sanchez. It was included in my spoken word album, Exploits of a Sun Poet.