The Fashion(s) of The Christ Pt 2

 From Our Winter Collection

This season,

Our Lord will be wearing,

A rather fetching,

Figure hugging,

Rustic all in one,

In swaddling cloth.

Perfect for cold nights,

Traditional and yet casual,

For putting important guests at their ease.

And a scent of frankincense,

Perfectly accessorised With 'Manger' by Anonymous of Bethlehem.

The spring collection.

 This Spring:

He will be wearing

A less than fetching 

Figure

Your sin,

Pure nard,

And what's left of his skin.


Coming up Next Season:

Something a little more bling,

White horse,

Crowns,

A long robe,

Golden sash,

Accessorized with 7 stars,

And a certain fire in his eyes.

The Fashion of The Christ

 This Spring:

Our Lord will be wearing

A rustic 2 piece,

(Accessorized with 9 inches of Roman iron)

Made from locally sourced wood,

A jaunty little headpiece,

Shame,

Humility,

Love,

The sins of the world,

And nothing else.

Boy's Best Friend

I used to talk to my cat.

As a boy.

Telling it all my troubles.

I identified with the cat, I suppose because it was different from people.

People were always the problem.

The cat like me, I felt, Stood out.

Stood apart.

Usually found on his perch half way up the stairs.

Optimum heat, as it rises.

Optimum vantage point for spotting danger.

Optimum inconvenience for it's humans, ascending and descending.

If the fire was out.

If the range wasn't on.

If it wasn't sunny out.

If the food bowl was empty.

Usually found on his perch half way up the stairs.

I would go up or go down to find him there.

And I would pour out my heart.

Pour it on thick.

"We are not like them"

"We are not like them"

"We are not like them"

But never being satisfied until I had pushed it too far.

And then the fateful. "You understand me"

"You love me unconditionally"

Projecting onto this animal, perhaps precisely because he couldn't speak to debunk the myth.

His voice an insufficient instrument or weapon, he would let his body talk.

It was usually at this point, he would wriggle and squirm his way out of my arms,

And then he would walk.

If only my parents had been Dog people.

Reflecting now, I feel. I was never really easy with those words. 

It made me nervous to say them. 

I feared deep down he didn't like me.

I think that came over.

I think he sensed it. 

It spooked him.

I think perhaps he was more like them than I would have ever dared to think.

The Reason I Don't Get Up

 The reason I don't get up,

Is that you cannot fall off of the floor,

The same reason I am still curled up in a ball,

While the world kicks me some more,

(One of those blows might land,

If I actually try to stand)

The same reason I reason I wont take off,

And the reason I never attempt to fly,

Is that you cannot fall if you do not climb,

And you cannot fail if you never try,

The reason I don't know love,

Is love can't let you down,

If you don't let love come anywhere near you,

If you don't get in the water you'll never drown,

It's better off somewhere over there,

In movieland and works of fiction,

A  place of make believe and escape,

Rubberless, roadless and free from friction,

The reason I hang on to this silver,

And never really invest it,

Is you cannot lose what you did not invest,

You can return it to the one who entrusted,

'Fear can stop you loving,

But love can stop your fears'

A lesson I heard for those who can learn it,

A song for the one who has ears

The Deer That Wasn't There

 On the way,

I walked, in wonder,

Where would it come from,

God today?

Where is your word, 

Here in the hedgerow?

At home if the half-light,

Hiding in plain sight, 

I should say,

Open my eyes,

In expectation,

Open my mind,

My heart would say,

Where in this wasteland?

Where in the wanting?

Where is the word,

In the world today?

Where is my manna,

My meat and my measure,

My portion and pleasure,

Arrived to stay,

Where in this wide world,

That you have created,

Is the delight I've desired,

Through night,

Till the day?


I can do nothing,

Without your word,

Without the wonder,

Of you to sway,

My heart like a tree,

In your direction,

The wind of your spirit,

Will blow me this way,

I've seen your word,

In wilds and wastelands,

Wetlands and wet sands,

And in the sea spray,

It comes to me, 

In Winter,

In Robins like ravens,

If feeds me, as they feed,

On my feeder each day,


The words walks by,

As I walk out in nature,

It flies high, and glides by,

The wind 'neath it's wing,

It's lifted me too,

As it's left me at landfall,

Listened with laughter,

As I lift voice and sing,

The word is a hider,

Habitually hidden,

But it's also a revealer,

An ambusher-king,

It sneaks up in surprise,

Swoops down from the skies,

From the ground it will rise,

Suddenly showing everything,

So where in this wild world,

Where in this wasteland,

Where in the quicksand, 

Is your word today?

Where is your olive branch?

Save me, I'm sinking,

Stuck in the stagnant,

Miry clay,

There in the cornfield,

There by the oak tree,

There with it's four legs folded,

In the distance, is a deer today,

Bowed at the bottom,

Slipped into slumber?

What is it doing?

I cannot say,

If I am quiet,

I can creep closer,

I can sneak slowly,

And see it's display,

Dead though it may be,

Stopped like a still stone,

Dropped like a mill stone

At bottom of bay,

Is it still breathing?

Can't decide in the distance,

Draw near to the deer,

Hush now as you slink,

This must be it,

Your word in waiting,

And for the first in a longtime,

I've found it, I think,

All the lessons from learning,

Songs from the psalmists,

Deer and their drinking,

And I'm thirsty that way,

Perhaps that is why,

You lured me in my longing,

You chose a deer to deepen,

Whatever it is, You are going to say,

I sneak even more slowly,

Cling close to the hedgerow,

Hide in the shadows,

Hold my head out of sight,

The deer doesn't move,

Though I came out of cover,

Coughed and then crouched,

But it doesn't take fright,

This deer it seems,

I say as I near it,

This deer must be dead,

Or deaf or blind,

I know I'm down wind,

But that doesn't explain it,

It must be dead,

What will I find?

I'm staying the right side of the oak tree,

Now I have cover,

I discover my mind,

Suspects that the sight,

I am set upon seeing,

Is something else,

(A deer of a different kind)

And breaking my cover,

I discover the deer isn't there,

But an oak branch,

Slyly suggesting the shape that I saw,

'Gotcha', says God,

Getting the laugh in,

Setting the bucket,

For me to walk in the door,

But the image of that deer,

Doesn't leave me,

A picture of chasing,

A metaphor,

The deer wasn't there,

But the lesson learned,

Is what it wasn't there for.

Talks

There was a time,

I talked to people,

Who showed concern,

That you did not talk much,

I am not worried, I would say,

He talks to me all the time,

Just not so much in public,

(I exaggerated)

Laughing inwardly at their insecurity,

Needing feed back for affirmation,

But nowadays,

I can only laugh at my need,

In my insecurity

The joke is on me,

And the talk

Is memory.