Idol
by Ted L Glines

Jungle clearing nested
stone carved head
grey like time forgotten
lichen eyes watching
eyes stalking immortal eons
open grey mouth
black hole hungry
granite tongue protrudes
licking tasting what
carved of living rock
primal nature god
worshipped to life
hard ears listening
to ululations of
some far dim past
of innocent fear
slaves of innocent belief
ancient jungle drum
whum whum whum whum
bright feathered shadows
strutting dancing circles
around the fire
thunder rolling in the heavens
primeval lightning flashes
stone eyes glow
rock deep ancient voice
rumbles long forgotten
grey tongue speaking
words no human mouth can utter
whum whum whum  whum
laughter of elementals gibbering
shadow shamans screaming
red fire casts blazes on stone
god idol once more alive
and hungry

Author's Notes: Is  it the gods who create our deep  spirituality or is it our primal  fears and generated beliefs which create and  empower the gods?  What if we have created the gods in our own diverse images?

Idol
by Ted L Glines

Jungle clearing nested
stone carved head
grey like time forgotten
lichen eyes watching
eyes stalking immortal eons
open grey mouth
black hole hungry
granite tongue protrudes
licking tasting what
carved of living rock
primal nature god
worshipped to life
hard ears listening
to ululations of
some far dim past
of innocent fear
slaves of innocent belief
ancient jungle drum
whum whum whum whum
bright feathered shadows
strutting dancing circles
around the fire
thunder rolling in the heavens
primeval lightning flashes
stone eyes glow
rock deep ancient voice
rumbles long forgotten
grey tongue speaking
words no human mouth can utter
whum whum whum  whum
laughter of elementals gibbering
shadow shamans screaming
red fire casts blazes on stone
god idol once more alive
and hungry

Author's Notes: Is  it the gods who create our deep  spirituality or is it our primal  fears and generated beliefs which create and  empower the gods?  What if we have created the gods in our own diverse images?

Hunter
by Ted L Glines

Once upon a time we hunted the wild
the wind in our hearts with the hope of a child,
roaming the plains and forests so vast
with only our gods to make us aghast,
we fished the lakes and roamed by the sea,
hunters with honor -- living free.

Now -- we hunters -- build our own cages
small cages -- tall cages -- caging our rages,
movement restricted -- freedom constricted
bound and gagged -- release interdicted,
and we paint the inside of our walls
with sunsets and meadows -- pools and falls,
oh, how good it looks -- like the real thing,
never feeling the wind -- a bird on the wing,
we whine and complain about crime and hate
things done by hunters sharing our fate,
for cages breed hunger and greed, you hear,
where kindness is weakness destroyed by fear.

Oh, Heavenly One, You will not help,
“the caged hunter -- hunts himself.”*

*This almost-quote from: “People of the Silence,” by Kathleen O'Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear.