Saturday, December 18, 2004

a night not to be silent - 3


God didn’t mean to torment the astrologers.
He would fulfill the promise,
Send the shimmering Guide at
precisely the right moment.
But then, as ever, their seeing was as dark
as a moonless night.
How many eyes winked and squinted
Imagined holy stars that weren’t
Each rhinestone of Orion’s belt was suspect.
God clucked his tongue, sighed, and waited
another few hundred years.
They watched.

They waited. Then His Star.
Utmost intelligence of Light, not part
of the heavenly coruscuation,
Specially sent by God for this,
a spy mission – "Lead the allies
to the rendezvous point, and beware
of the evil king!"
This follow-the-leader Luminary
could zig through palms like a shuttle,
bob to a hilltop, stroll, enjoy the vista
like a guide waiting for his huffing tourists.
No static star – a bounding, bouncing ball ablaze

Their shock on beholding
Ball of Holy Spirit fire
dazzling before them,
waiting for them in the eastern sky,
is not recorded. I imagine them
eyes and jaws finally slack,
and a wise man mutters,
"That’s what He meant by a star!"

© 2004 Jennifer Zolper

Jennifer writes from her home in California. Her work sings with honesty, creativity, and humor. Read more poems by her here. She’s also a graphic artist.


among women
not for your wide hips
or easy stride
when so many others
would have nursed
and cuddled
brushed curls and tied sandals
wiped tears
turned back caravans
to collect pre-teen
from the temple
from so many
that could not walk
death up Calvary
weep salt boulders
into the cracks of the
Wailing Wall
without losing
their faith

© 2004 Jan Wood

Jan, who lives in northern Saskatchewan, Canada, writes thoughtful, dense poems which remind me of rich mocha mousse garnished with a bitter black coffee bean - a sort of brain caffeine, with the edge of espresso. Her poem, "In a Civilized Society an Adulteress Isn't Stoned," won first place in the 2004 Utmost Poetry Contest. Read more of her work here.

I Cannot Write About a Manger

I cannot write about a manger
without thinking of a cross.

When angels are glad-singing,
joy-bringing, I hear
desperate joy-robbing,
cries from a crowd dispirited
at the de-souling
of the incarnate God.

All streets in Bethlehem
lead to Golgotha,
that skull-shaped
cross-draped hill
where Satan sought to kill
life, but killed death instead.

And so, it is not just a birth
I celebrate this Christmas,
but a rebirth –
and that rebirth mine!

© 2004 Mary Lou Cornish

Mary Lou, a native of Ontario, Canada, draws from deep wells to express what is almost inexpressible. Her poem, "If This World Hung from Some Other God’s Arm," won the 2004 Word Guild Award for Best Poetry. Read more of her work here.


Anonymous said...

I love "I Cannot Write About a Manger" by Mary Lou Cornish. It's artistically worded, clearly expressed, and wonderfully true. Praise God for the wondrous, extravagant gift of Our Savior and his salvation.

Violet N. said...

Thank you, Anonymous! I agree - love that poem too and all it expresses.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...