Contemplating Easter At The River, Good Friday 2017 Poem by Roy Blokker

I don't believe in the same God as you,
The vengeful, vicious God
Who chose a people just to torment them
Then had a change of heart
When he had a son of His own
Yet did nothing but say a few words
To alleviate the torment;
He is not my God.
My God is not gender specific,
Yin over yang, male over female,
Fractured.
My God does not walk down boulevards
On Sundays, thinly disguised
As a shoemaker
Hailing a taxi for the coast.
My God sits on Io counting stars
In the night sky,
Earth a brighter light than Venus,
Pluto still a planet of possibilities,
And everywhere everything is God,
Limitless, infinte, beyond comprehension,
The space between quazars, the space
Between quarks,
Motivated by some grave force.
Everything in motion, watch it go,
Prime Directive, do not interfere,
Telephone pipeline busy or
Simply out of service, out of range.
No ressurections, no raqpture,
No false advertising full-throat gingles,
My God likes vacations
But does not play golf;
My God likes war movies
But still mourns the Union dead
And remembers every conversation
Screamed at Craiglockhart
In anquished rhymes.
My God speaks every language
Everywhere, all the time,
But loves the silence upon Io
And the symphonies played by winds
Across the northwest forest green
And would condemn, if fashionable,
Those who serve themselves
To cut down trees without a thought,
Without a plan.
My God tosses echoes at Europa,
Then waits for their return
And doesn't mind the wait.
My God will not save me
- That is my job-
But in the end will take me in
Like so many words on the page
Designed
To further the story.