Paul was struck
by his lack of desire for the Abrahamic God
or any of the thousands of interpretations
of the Word perpetrated on the day.

He decided as a child
he had not failed Sunday school
but it failed him
as it tried to indoctrinate his behavior.

He admitted some of the stories
were good to know in a vague way
like knowing where one hill is
among thousands of nameless hills.

Paul pulled water up from the well.
He knew no matter
what he believed
the water would be the same.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney


Snow falls
like God’s
white hair
as a ribbon
pulls free
and the locks
down upon
the rounded
and curved spine
the series
of separate
and articulated
of faith.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney


I have lived long enough
to see my own sin
come to life and stalk after me
like a hungry child
who has learned how to wail
with that piercing tone
that shivers the spine.

The problem is
I have become my own obstacle.
How brick wall of me.
How traffic light stuck on red.
How English Channel without a boat.

My faith is paint-by-numbers
and I never learned to apply color
within the lines
to form cohesive shapes.

I have no use for handclap gospels
on stadium-screen televisions
and preachers who join the Jetset
with pay-dirt hallelujahs.

My childhood is up for sale
in the guise of furious poetry
and self-published throw-aways
that I hand out as a street corner pontiff,
claiming my work a durable bridge
to cross over from a child’s daydream
to the work of real men.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney