One of the best things about having a blog like this is that you can inflict your poetry on an unsuspecting general populace without the disgusting necessity of having it scrutinized by agents and publishers prior to publication. Heh heh heh.
Christmas Eve Reflection
The Child who, wrapped in linen soft,
And lying on the new-mown heather,
Reached out his hands to girl-child mother,
The first disciple of them all.
And dare we speak of his first feeding,
When through the Virgin’s unstained flesh,
The Author of the life of Man
First drew the milk of human life?
Or of the hidden irony, the subtle
Jest he played upon himself,
That wood which held his dying frame
Embraced his newborn head that night?
Here then was cosmic revolution:
Heaven lay beneath the earth,
And hands that formed stars and quasars
Strained to touch the heads of sheep.
The people to whom Law was giv’n,
And who sought deliverance from Rome,
Ne’er looked to see their Savior lie
With beasts of burden in a cave;
Yet learned strangers from the East
And simple shepherds from the fields
Bowed before the youngling God
Asleep within his mother’s arms.
Credo quia impossible:
No leaping fully-formed from stone,
Or forehead of divine lecher:
Disdaining pagan clichés all,
He came to us as humans do,
Most unobtrusive miracle of birth.
And endless ages, countless tongues,
Shall marvel at the wondrous paradox
Of “Absolute in swaddling clothes,
Omnipotence in bonds.”
Not yet the stagg’ring, burdened walk,
Along the Via Dolorosa;
Nor even yet the confident march
Upon the stormy sea of Galilee.
Just peaceful slumber ‘midst the beasts,
Kept well in Joseph’s loving care:
Tonight Emmanuel has come,
God with us to bring us home.