“Bethlehem’s Hours’ Mourn”
Bethlehem’s hour’s mourned, furtive glances northward toward Nazareth;
Veiled her expectations as soon enough her promised Son survives.
She knows that somewhere in between this king contrives
Within himself to build a wall. He practices precision; he does not guess.
He knows exactly what he wants, and from the East come
Three who only recently made queries round the campfires
‘Neath the skies beyond the Jordan. Casually they’ve inquired,
“What are these walls, and what the genesis of guns
And orchards plaited all along the shepherds’ run? Whose images are these,
And what is it they disguise, the vulgate for the people?”
Yes, they come, these three, adrift once again stalled between the steeples,
Barred, forbidden. Then again, their passage isn’t what it used to be.
They ask in vain and find the answers come as no surprise.
The king’s awake tonight; he’ll not fool the wise this time.
Posted in Bethlehem, Caesar, Christmas, Christmas Season, Civilisation, Double Sonnet, End Times, Herod, Holy Land, Hubris, Imagery, Imagination, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Magi, Materialism, Nazareth, Night, Poem, Poetry, Ptolemy, Pyrrhic Victory, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Walls, Wise men
Tagged Bethlehem, Christmas, Christmas Season, Double Sonnet, End Times, Herod, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Nazareth, Pain, Poem, poetry, Ptolemy, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets, Wise men
“As Christmas Eve Is Everywhere”
As Christmas Eve is everywhere, so too the silence, sadness
Its valance, a residue in the lining: I’m not there, the table’s not set,
There is no tree, no biscuits in the oven, no word from them as yet
And never will be save within my heart’s gladness
In the thought that what once was my heritage remains
Here within the certitude of who I am, forever wrought
Of memories in this time of year, and always in my thoughts.
I knew it was the last that late December night; it somehow came
To that as we were leaving. Half way down the lakefront land
I stopped and turned the car around, precious moments slipping by.
I found my Dad still in the driveway; Mom, no wonder as to why–
She looked away, a single sigh– “I forgot something, Dad,”
I stuck out my hand.
His grip was strong–our eyes met, then it was I
who turned away from this last treasured view
Of the two of them–the last of Christmas
with the greatest man of his time I ever knew.
Posted in Age, Aging, Christmas, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Sonnet, Sonnets
Tagged Emotion, Imagery, Imagism, Love, Lyric Poetry, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Sonnets