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Christ My Lovely Friend

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  • Christ My Lovely Friend

    Christened and anointed with holy oils,
    the golden skin of the tree seeps sap,
    his arms outstretched as those bare limbs
    leak blood, sweet but bitter, even as

    The people watch, in horror, some excited.
    To watch our lord die. We cry the acrid tears
    which spill inside the shadow, darkening soil
    which mingles with his essence. Flat white

    of the wound, after the blood congeals, bone
    so timorous, so bleak, holding him. Defeat?
    Do we call this a failure, even as the oil turns
    silvery, a medicament, balm from his heart?--

    Mother Earth heaves and sobs for witness
    to this great loss, her rocks shrivel; animals
    bow heads and feel His wounds that stain
    the edible grass. The water doesn't reflect

    for a moment; there is no face to float
    down the slopes of the river. The body missing,
    before mourning is done ... we wonder:
    Who will take His place? Knowing none can.

    The king is crowned beneath the rock
    that shivers while sitting still; open door
    there is not (hush, o let Him rest) for
    His Way, his voice, his teaching is done.

    ----We love the world that he has made,
    Mother Earth looks up to him, King
    of Her church, where saps inlaid, and love
    course through him into our veins!

    O love you could not be hidden -- Exit
    the cold, and come closer; be warm
    in my bosom, guided by the Star ... you've
    come this far, trail of suffering behind.--

    Now, rejoice, for He is risen: three days time,
    and you've wasted it in doubt? Look,
    very close, you can see his eyes ... like no other,
    shining bright, encapsulating with our soul

    The dying warmth of this day's sunset. See
    how he gathers the sheep, he remembers
    their wounds, the decay lived through, the dark
    webs that held them in mutual bondage.

    Dusky beautifulness, and hes gone from sight.
    Rejoice, the King has moved on. His voice
    I still hear echoing, the promise unmovable,
    the broken details of God's holy land ...


    --We bow until all is silent, revered, and wed
    our blood with our love (the sap from the tree)
    His life to our life (His thoughts with us now)
    and for him we shed our greed, our choice.

    We sow each seed with Him in mind, and give
    our oil of the amber essence, to those who live
    and die, divided between distraction, united
    in Him. Christ our saviour, leafed with holly,

    wreathed by thorns, stems and buds. We see
    now, the mistletoe turn bright, bright, bright.
    His blood lives in our wounds; we thank the night
    for the safety, the moon's lesser light, and an end

    to our daily toils -- Ensconsced within his dark
    ray, we feel terror unimaginable, screaming louder
    than flesh or voice can handle. We tremble in
    the arms ... Is it He? He who licks from us the pain,

    weakness, sadness, the salt from our wounds?
    Will you stay my Lord, here on Earth, and be
    with us ... amidst tears that will not dry,
    within the cut that never shuts? O lord God

    The Father ... The Son ... Holy Ghost ...
    You are spine and wing, the chariot, Host.
    Guide us from the lost, beyond any hope
    except succouring from you, my one and only God.

    Hear my voice, for you are eternal, I am
    not. Be my eyes to see us out, my family
    who bleeds the bloody touch. Let desire
    not consume me, but be as a crystal

    which swallowed and tamed fire. Take
    your rightful throne, and with my trembling lip
    I kiss the naked parts of you, in tears
    bathing you, my night, my wonder, my fear

    issued forth from the cave. I can't eat
    diamonds, so I have you, dear Christly One.
    I can't walk on water, so I have you,
    such goodness bent, and floating there.

    The afterimage burns my eyes -- Your glory,
    not mine; your sight, unblind. My dear
    Savior, in your holiness, I ask forgiveness
    for the ever piercing light to heal. I ask

    your honesty, in guiding me, until the end.
    I love you, I love you most, and you are
    Them. I will close my eyes to fall asleep,
    and it is your eyes bound to open,

    my Sweetest Christ. My lovely friend.

  • #2
    Wrote this a year ago. A favorite of mine!


    • #3
      Jerusalem Slim *

      I did not know it was Joy
      And her fingers
      Blessing me from words
      Trapped in stone

      Now in Gethsemane
      You who could not wait
      One hour sleep like salt

      Scattered on the ground
      But even now I forget
      Where the difference falls

      Some say Elijah
      Some say John
      But Joy you say nothing
      And take me on

      * This is what my father called Christ, alone
      and muttering to himself, while nursing his
      Four Roses whiskey at the kitchen table.


      • #4
        I enjoyed that poem when I read it first, too. You are good at setting up "vastness" or space between words and concepts. It allows for a largeness and the technique works so well with your content.
        Thanks for sharing.


        • #5
          amenOra, I read your poem as a prayer and loved its flow and imagery.


          • #6
            This is a truly moving and beautiful work, amenOra; real poetic stature here - in diction, in scope, in concept, in construction. Incandescent. Not enough Likes.


            • #7
              this could bring an athiest to tears. incredible writing.


              • #8
                Lovely . . . a very intense poem! amenOra I can see why it is a favorite! Well done!


                • #9
                  Sigh...and today, in the Catholic world, we celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Thank you.


                  • #10
                    This is an eloquent distillation of spiritual devotion.


                    • #11
                      Simply out standing AMEN