ABRAHAM

Oh Man!

Your every hope and joy

Rest in that boy!

How slay?

How give his life away?

Surely twill break

Your heart. Oh take

Him back again.

And yet he gave his only son to die

Drawing from that deep well of love

That gives nor questions why.

.

THE WIDOW

Woman,

You only have a mite –

Oh, hold it tight!

Why give?

How will you live?

So small to some,

So vast a sum

To you – your all.

She gave it – tiny, mean and small,

And with it the sweet store of love

Of one who gives her all.

.

THE CHRISTIAN

Dear Lord,

You have my treasure store.

Son – give me more.

No pain,

No sweat, no stain

Of blood hallows

Your gifts; shallows

The love you bring

Cheap gifts are thorns and nails, a dart

Thrust in my side. I gave my all.

My son, give me your heart!

The Fatalist speaks first, and cries:

Death is the final end!

All men to nothing tend.

There is no God to rend

Us from the grave. Depend

Upon it – death’s the end.

And so – why stop to think?

Just blue this tiny link

‘Twixt birth and death on drink

And drugs, fast cars – a mink

Or two. Blow up life’s pink

Balloon – why stop to think?

The Humanist, outraged replies:

There’s not a single seed

Of life in death – agreed.

And God is dead indeed!

But man is great! No need

Has he of pious creed –

Religion is the weak-kneed

Man’s escape. Be strong and lead

The good life. Go and plead

The cause of those who bleed

Beneath injustice. Heed

The cry of man! Then, freed

From pain and war, our breed

Will make its heaven. We’ll need

No dreamed-up God – the mead

And crown are ours! We’ll

Rule this cosmic bead.

Then, soft as when the west wind sighs:

There comes a sound that seems both far and near

At hand – now indistinct, now bell-like and clear.

So does the tide steal in unnoticed, till so near

That its bright sparkling splash alerts the ear,

And what we’ve always known, at last we hear.

So, shall we let the deadening night of fear

Snuff out the daystar? No! Let the dawn appear!

Its every ray proclaiming “I am here”.

Give to that old husk of time, the seventy year,

No great attention.

But seconds prize, as grains within the ear,

True comprehension.

In the shops where they sell

Irredeemable grief

And shattered lives

There is blood everywhere –

Running down the porn

And spattered on the walls

Blood for pimps and prostitutes

And the tired sad old men.

They do not see the battle or the blood

Nor the sheltering body

Lashed and slashed for them.

Here  as everywhere,

His death is certain.

It is the price that love demands

Paid in full..

When the day dawns,

He will come here

And Skid Row, and Auschwitz,

And Jonestown, and Ruanda

The Abortion clinics, Slave ships  ……

First

With his trumpets and singers

Saxophones and midis

Jugglers, acrobats and dancers

All intoxicated with life

Rocking and rolling with joy

Handing out cans of Good News

And God’s-Eternal-Love bubbly.

Then

Oh then, they will know.

They will all know.

He paid their ransom with his blood.

My! O my!

There’s going to be some knee-bowing

And glory-giving

On that day!

Human and humus have the same root.

What one is, the other becomes..

Since all is matter, nothing matters

Explanations  are tediums

That they might have death

And have it more immediately.

He said:

“God is dead.

So religion becomes the toolkit

For experimenting with selfhood.

Surrender to your Eye of ‘God’;

Contemplate the Blissful Void;

Radiate with Solar Living.”

But what if ……?

Junk is the peal of an apple
The spokeless remains of a wheel
The derelict calvinist chapel
A shoe with a hole and no heal.

The future gleams like a jewel
And history is junk – but its real.

Write them again
Those dreadful stones.
Curse from the night
Primordial bane
Whose spell intones
An endless blight.

Break them again
Those baleful stones
Let there be light.

1. The Pit

When I think of slavery,
(So soon à la mode)
I see how short the road
From culture to obscenity;
How elegant the veil
That drapes the tale
Of white sub-bestiality.

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2. Will You?
The shame and grief that scab our bloody past
Demand from you yet more than we have taken –
From furnaces of hell, refined and cast
In gold,
A greatness that our evil left unshaken.