*
 *
Easter
 *
Gentle rosy raindrops of a mellow dawning.
Children make the day – it’s Spring.
I thought of Christ in Church this morning,
borne on His cross in long ago Jerusalem.
Jesus, before His Destiny
removed Him from common ribaldry,
shoving banter that scores for a man
his jesting place among fellow men,
Jesus loved the little children even then.
He dared to proclaim a gentle faith, free
from bullies’ shaming, from easy blaming,
from traumatic scars of social war.
He believed in kind justice, respect for
human kin above judgmental sin.
Fatherly humor, the way fathers love
their children, with the pride of
ownership and the slave master’s
secret fear,
God disciplines His Heir.
 **
Arising to new warmth, the earth’s reawakening.
It’s a time for children and games of childhood,
a time for flirting with romance,
secret smiles and daisy chains.
Restorative season, simple, soft, natural,
for anointing damaged souls in peace
after lacerative ravages of winter.
Time for gentle things
like newborn kittens
and flowerbuds after beckon of rain.
I am slowly relearning the healing strength of love,
gladly relearning easy pleasures of humanity.
Life is tender, poignant,
a drifting melody.
 *
 *
 *

SHELL GAME

A mess, better left unbroken;
walk softly, whisper, agree
to be agreeable.
Breakfasting on soggy cereal or
just a cuppa.
Smiling lamely through the
livelong day.
“Please don’t let me be a burden.
Please, allow me, walk upon my
crooked spinal stairway while
I carry your petty parcels
in my cracked, bleeding teeth.”
Eggshells break monthly
inside my womb.
But we don’t speak of that.
Not polite.  Not politic.
Like religion and horse races,
consuming addictions.
‘Cause we’re alright, ya know.
We’ve nothing to complain of.
Got our daily cakes and tea,
obeisance to some faith based Queen,
jolly good, jelly roll.
On Easter, in the blessing of Spring,
we paint sweet pastels
gently upon hard-boiled shells,
promise to be good little lambs.
The crust of the Earth
protects primeval fire and
gemstones.
Seed of the Sun
bears a glorious array of
multi-hued fruits
upon which we feast
for energy.
Part of this complete breakfast
rounded with an omelet
for growth and repair.
 *
 *
 *

SUNDAY PSALM

Am I meant to be
a sacrificial lamb
as the Universe goes about its merry way?
Is this why we pray?
 *
If it’s only me —
the great and wise I AM
engaging in some self-negating play,
what the hey?
Life is whatever you make it.
So go out there and take it.
Never, ever fake it
and you’ll be ok.
Or so they say…
 *
Just a philosopher-poet,
suffered to ply my trade.
Brilliant skies hover nigh;
but, below, fading sight denies
acclaim.
 *
Somnolent glide, sinuous, silvery stair.
Burnt eyes still, closed to the world.
What glimpse might I witness
if only I dare?
Is there purpose to wandering Earth?
Should I care?
But what if I’m missing the thrill?
What would carry me there?
 *
Over the boundaries; into the wild.
Not a safe task to commit to a child.
A quest full of questions.
A fool’s ‘oliday.
And, have I mentioned,
no promise of pay.
Just a born again supplicant
reshaping the code,
creating the tale I’ll tell
when I’m old.
 *
“Jesus wept and died”
I always wondered what that meant.
An admonition to us to do the same?
Like, “Life sucks, and then you end”?
Or, if Jesus died for our sins,
did he first weep for our souls —
a holy pity party enfolding us all?
So, our sins have been wept for, died for;
we carry the blood of the Lamb, like disease.
Perhaps His sacrifice would be better released as
happy laughter; hugged forgiving;
genuine indulgence in feast of experience,
balance to weeping and dying.
For revelry balances grief;
ecstasy balances defeat;
and love, of course,
is the only balance to love.
Spitting on divine art.
Anger overtaking heart.
Ripping the world wheel apart,
invested in childish rage.
“Am I good now, Daddy?”
Purging my animal nature.
Ripping out the devils
under every bed.
I tell them, I tell them
what you said
about Fires of Hell awaiting
devotion to unsanctified ways.
Daddy, will you love me,
keep me safe?
My life, all lives, for You!
I humbly sacrifice
all life to You.
‘Cause you’re my Man, my Holy
Truth and Power.
Elevate my cause; it is your own.
 *
 *
 *

ARIA FROM THE CHRIST

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