Son of David tosses in his bed
What comes next
Your betrothed took another man insteadNow perplexed
What is just what is grace fills his head
So complex
You’re ashamed she’s a shame all lost cred

Behold, apparent apparation visits verily in a vision
Drops a pointed proposition, redirects the man’s position
Marry Mary merrily mentioned, this pregnancy defies convention
Isaiah’s forecast finds ascention, now you’ll father God’s foremention.

Son of David sees off the magi
What a gift
Settle in Bethlehem come the night sky
Time to shift
From the joy of the guests to a goodbye
Now the rift
Will enlarge with the king and his populi

Behold, a heavenly invitation to arise and flee the nation
Firstborn kids’ annihilation immenent don’t sit now hasten
Take your wife and boy awake them, flee to Pharoah’s habitation
Stay ’til further revelation of foul Herod’s expiration.

Son of David gets the call to go
From the angel
Take your wife and firstborn home
Back to Israel
Check that you must further roam
Father faithful
Gets the branch to Nazareth where He may grow.

Behold, obedient descendant leaves the Lord’s line represented
Mary’s honor he defended, evil tyrant circumvented
When Emmanuel descended, ‘pon your nurture He depended
Dreaming Joseph you we mimiced, God said “go” and we submitted.

A reflection of Matthew 1: 20-25, 2: 13-15, 19-23

Readers, it would appear that I’ve taken a break from writing this year, but I haven’t! I took some time to write a number of poems for Christmas. In the next few days, I’ll publish a couple of them here. Hope you enjoy.

The priest wholly immersed near the holies in verse
His pleas slowly traverse through the incense disbursed
The girl sits ‘neath the tree and reflects silently
Her furled sets of old creeds project faithfully

The angel comes near and says not to fear
He’s able to steer their emotions to hear
The words so profound ‘stead of clear they confound
They surge round their heads to their ear they resound

The old woman’s womb will now bear a son
Her bold summons bloomed to bury the shun
The young virgin’s womb will now make a king
Her subservient view sees to grace everything.

Can such farfetched riffs really be trusted?
Can much tarnished myths of their ped’gree be busted?
Can Yahweh make fruit in the weed-upon earth?
Can Yahweh take root with no seed to spawn birth?

The priest pries improperly for proof from the prophet
He’s ceased to try sovreignty so reproof comes to stop it
The girl gowned in grace goes to gain just a gander
Of Gabe’s endowed place knows what Yahweh is after

The priest now left mute from his lacking belief
The girl resolute from this cracking debrief
One sage now makes signs for his words to be heard
Young-aged gal takes time to assure what she learned.

Two queries two answers two outcomes to ponder
How’ll I know? You will not. May her womb tune your wonder.
How can this be and I remain faithful?
His grace is so great just obtain and be grateful.

The archangel departs post his gift of good tidings
The exchange will move hearts to lift the abiding
What will you inquire from the heavenly hearer?
Will you trust He is higher so to let Him be nearer?

Reflection on Luke 1: 5-38

 

 

 

 

 

 

To read the words is to live today
To breathe now unencumbered
To move about in a vital way
To rest deep in a slumber

To see the light crack through the tree
To witness sky blue in the dawn
To watch the sun fall in the sea
To observe the stars turn on

To play our games with old and young
To work and build and earn
To exercise our legs and lungs
To teach and train and learn

To kneel and offer thanks
To sit and ponder long
To stand upon the banks
To praise the skies in song

Free we are to live and love in this very hour
The valiant left their liberty for sponges dry and sour
Life’s riches we partake in joy for which we paid no price
No greater love, our nation’s friends, laid down in sacrifice.

Dejected to perfected—a spectrum I’ve elected
Selective, trek my thoughts weighing all the perspectives
Now collected, tip the scale, what’s projected?

Could be

A feckless speck of a man prepped to wreck this
Only pecks for success in his recklessness
Expects his neck in a pillory of correctness
Lost, done, worthless, bereft of acceptance
Of himself, dire, mired in deaf remembrance

Checked it.

Did it well, keen to dwell and reflect it
Self now swelled with the hauteur injected
Fail to quell the pomp conscience directed
Hail the tale, statues cast and erected
Til the gale swept ‘way strength unsuspected

A broken balance mistaking measurements but verified valid by itself so inerrant yet we merit as inherent as the spirit meant for cleric now heretic could be back to copacetic if we let it find

the middle

Where guilt and pride are so belittled the ego ceased to be a riddle.

From nowhere waves washed in today
Consumed me, wet rags and disarray
Deluged my spirit, ‘fore was pleasant play
Hanged tones now canvas my dismay.

Dripping, these thoughts in slow motion
Forlorn heart slogs through this ocean
Strive I may refrain to show them
Wet weight bursts, this cup was chosen.

Bemused when I don’t glee consistent
Yet joy’s contrived mired in this instance
Though beaming voice remains persistent
It drowned ‘pon this posture resistant.

Today the billowed gloom abounds
No sense to dry and clean its ground
The sorrow heaps, the blues resound
Can’t solve ’til tide goes out, I’ve found.

Clack-clack, the automatic
Attack, by the fanatic
The cause, psychosomatic
Them laws, undemocratic
That loss, fatally tragic
Whose fault, collective masses
Belief, the right to pack it
And doubt, the smarts to hack it
Self-serve, a freedom racket
Blood spills, as we stay static
Grave times, call for dramatic
Actions, that blast emphatic
Archane notions ain’t you had it
Liberty backs the erratic
Strip it lest we get more manic
And swell our Neolithic panic
Throw death metal in the attic
Lock the glock up from the frantic
Hop and stock up on peace tactics
Stop the clock on lethal antics
Before—-

Clack-clack, the automatic.

‘Twas a cool, dark night two weeks ago I chose to make a monster.
Apparently the horror shows are the ones I like to sponsor.
I could’ve slept, and been at peace, but I gathered tools instead.
And started crafting this foul beast, the moment before bed.

A tiny ask for a small song, of course that would be fine
I extended it the following night, to two songs, twice the time.
The next night just a little prayer after the lullabyes.
And then a holy story right before he closed his eyes.

Then I looked at him in horror and wondered what I’d done
He’d taken to snarls and growls over the sucking of his thumb
Now his eyes wouldn’t shut, he had 12 on his head
I said “Good night” and horns grew out and tore his sheets to shreds.

So I did a book, a prayer, a song, and ended with a story
But of course it wasn’t good enough, and sadly it got gory.
The monster grabbed me with his claws and kept me in the bunk.
It held me there and I was scared that sleep was out of luck.

The next night was a wily show of hopeless magic tricks
A pep talk then some poetry and soporific skits.
As options waned I reasoned I should tranquilize the beast.
Drowsy pills and vitamins I fed it like a feast.

Now I’m wise on exactly how a man can make a monster
Take all your good intentions of the sleep that you will foster
Then take a new request each night as if it will placate
Instead it breeds a bedtime beast, and then it’s all too late.

There once lived a dad who went crazy.
He took 12,000 pics of his baby.
Worried he’d miss a moment
Missed a vital component
Of actually enjoying her maybe.

Another dad had twenty kids
Thought twenty-one could be better instead
So he obsessed for years
‘Til his kids were his peers
Now just one gran would do before dead.

Some dads agonized over names
Like boy one who should’ve been James
Boy two needs new initials
Boy three’s isn’t real special
With boy four we’ll perfect the game

Some dads freaked to miss an event
Leaving kids’ fragile minds with a dent
The dads muttered and moped
Hung their heads like a dope
To the kid it simply came and went.

All these dads so concerned for no reason
Often fearing the change of the season
Can we mutter “Enough”
To ridiculous stuff
Be at odds with what makes us uneven?