Public Humiliation of the Innocent.

Good Friday

All through the night he was moved and tried,

no one stood by him and not one dared stay,

Peter denied knowing him and a cock crowed,

people yelled, ‘Crucify!’ when Pilate was unsure.

Washing his hands, wipes away innocent blood,

scans the grown ugly mob and turns to Jesus,

and hands the love of God over to his fate.

Whipped til his skin reveals the bones, forced

to walk humiliated and shamed, struggling

bearing the sign of a murderer, wearing

a crown, meant as a taunt, which pierced 

his head, blood pools in those loving eyes.

Blood lost left him weak and faint. he fell,

His already blood smeared cross, it falls,

Simon was called to carry it to the skull,

There, on the cruel mount he laid it down.

——

Nearby, hIs faithful followers stood stunned,

flinching and vomiting at each hammer blow,

unbelieving, as he was raised up above them,

watching him gasp, he was hardly breathing.

—–

Proud of their feat the jealous elders shuddered,

Feet ran swiftly. Tells -The temple curtain is torn.

Jesus called out in terror, abandoned, alone,

calling on God to forgive their ignorant wrongs.

Then a collective sigh as he breathed his last,

the healing, loving man was gone from their grasp.

—–

Truly dead declared the sword in his watery side.

Violated, abused, his spirit was freed.

They brought him down, lowering his broken body,

gently they wiped away flies, blood and smears,

then carrying him, awkward in death, to a tomb

hidden in a garden, where Spring flowers bloom.

——

Mary his mother, tear stained shock showing 

in her face lined with grief, pain and living,

stumbles over stones and Joanna holds her

while Mary of Magdala holds onto his feet.

——

The cold blast from the whitened sepulchre

welcomes the already stinking, oozing corpse.

Death always come with grim decomposition 

and the loss of a person we will dreadfully miss.

—–

The stone in place and the group drift away,

numbed by the traumas of the recent day,

each tree a reminder of his stertorous breath,

each nail etched into their tortured memory.

No one can speak stretching the silence,

sick with himself, Peter goes off alone,

his manly pride battered by his denial

of a man he loved, worshipped, adored.

——

All over the world they humiliate the fallen,

the innocent and callously condemn them

each to a whip, public execution and so 

he, in them, feels their heart and weeps

in desolation of our vile inhumanity.

Betrayal for Violence.

Holy Wednesday 

Grateful bastard, so well you know me ,

So you think you can flipping turn easily,

my fell desires to yours and create freely

another like you? 

Then think again my Lord, Think again.

——-

You are so kind and you love the poor,

you gave me the purse and I have made sure

that they are always, always wanting more.

If you think I’m like you? 

Then think again my Lord, Think again.

——

The wandering women, I hate the lot, 

its not in my heart to care a jot,

except for the Romans will I rot,

If you think I’ll change

Then think again my Lord, Think again.

—–

I went to see them and they paid me well.

Its not the money but the chance to yell,

I wish you’d listen, be surprised that I’d sell 

you and arm your men,

Then think again my Lord, Think again.

—-

If only you would see your peoples’ need,

it’s from the Romans they want to be freed.

Your zeal unplaced will never, never feed

the starving. Hear me please!

Then think again my Lord, Think again.

——

I found him, kissed him and called his name.

they took him away and then I felt the blame,

How’d I missed that it was right to avoid fame,

to be loving and graceful, a king of souls.

Then think again Judas, Think again.

——

It’s too late. It was I who should have thought,

stopped and listened, let him change my heart,

and yet stubborn to the last I chose my part,

and shall I be damned to eternity.

Well, think again Judas, Think again.

The Kingdom in the Vineyard

  Holy Tuesday

The purple fruits hung in bulging clusters,

their juice running down the sampler’s chin,

Beautiful to see and wonderful to pick and

mouthwatering, tartness and sweetness as

the grapes burst, giving up their fruitfulness.

The vines, like people have roots deep down

in the soil of their youth, but there are those

who choose to rule by cruelty, might and fear

they grow tall and strongly, overshadowing

the poorer, weaker plants absorbing their life.

—–

Love has a vineyard,  worked for the good,

To grow fruits of peace and hope and joy we

need manure and compost of spiritual growth,

but they grew their fruit rotten with greed and

their souls as empty as their vacated hearts.

—–

It is not a place of power and control but open

to welcome the lame and the sick, old and young

so that equality reigns and all share the goodness.

A place and time where timid children are safe,

and women free to be completely themselves.

We all live in vineyards where the pauper reigns,

for it’s the kingdom of God celebrating diversity,

a world loved and graced by his woundedness,

working, growing, diligently aspiring to be just,

like the son who was killed for caring too much.

Coercion and Corruption

Holy Monday

It was riddled with corruption and guilt,

that temple in Jerusalem,

No one could come and feel beloved

excepting the moneyed leadership.

—–

The tables were out and wares bought,

in that holy courtyard,

In poverty they came where exploitation

capitalised on the hungry poor.

—–

Pitiful returns on money exchanged,

and the costs of doves were high,

seeking redemption they paid it all,

to appease the law.

—-

He walked in and saw the oppression,

in a place that was holy,

he felt their pain, saw the cheating

and stood for truth that day.

—–

He overset the tables, loosed the doves

in his rage at the injustice.

Breathing hard he spoke the word –

this is a place of prayer.

—–

The temple curtain trembled and shook,

while people flocked to see,

the gentle, healing man, zealous for action

fighting for grace and love.

——

The stones in the courtyard,

besmeared and trodden,

looked up and praised

that awesome judgement.

——

The great blocks of stone, in

the sturdy temple walls,

shouted for equality and opportunity

to be shared for all.

——

The dust settled, shock waves at peace,

he looked up and wept for the many

who always die contributing to 

corruption and coercion.

Palms or Arms

He boldly went on a bewildered donkey,

batting the flies as they settled to feed on 

both their faces. The long ears of the ass

twitching and both hearts fast beating 

as the crowds around cried,”Hosanna!”

The strewed garments grimy and torn

by flocks of people waving branches,

claiming the humble man as their king,

hoping that he would take up arms,

fight their cause, banish the Romans.

—–

He tried to unclench his teeth and let go,

smelled the fresh scent of broken palms,

and touched the dark, rough haired, long

eared head. They began to walk slowly,

plodding down the long, grave strewn hill.

—-

He felt the eyes from the armed ramparts,

He lifted his dark brown eyes and looked,

The famed golden gates open, beckoning,

his gentle mouth fixed, his bowels churning,

Judas turns, smiling, his shouts the loudest,

—–

The cool streets embraced the eager crowds.

He dismounted and sent the donkey away,

forever marked as a sign of suffering love.

Walking up the hill, the temple beckons

and they’re waiting on his every word.

—-

‘Silence the citizens,’ called the objectors,

‘ Hush them? Remember the seeing stones 

violence, lechery, cheating, killing they know.

For the stones will cry out from the wall, 

calling God’s Kingdom of mercy and grace.

—-

Thirsty he drank thankfully, Mary saw his need,

clearing his head, he reached out to heal,

to answer their questions, tell short stories,

think creatively when they try to box him in,

and then to Bethany, solace, peace and rest.

Prayer on the Front Line.

I pray for Ukraine,

that each blade of grass,

flowers, bees and beetles,

birds and butterflies .

—-

I pray for their protection

against the avalanche

of violence and vile

destruction.

—–

I pray for each small child,

girl or boy, their school,

hospital, park and their

climbing tree.

——-

I pray for their safety,

in the minds, bodies,

and, cast away from families,

to be safe from harm.

——

I pray for the mothers, who

wait by the phone,

fathers, changing a job

for tanks, missiles and a gun.

——-

I pray for their hearts

that they don’t break,

that the abusive powers

relent – speaking words of peace.

—–

I pray for the medics, 

short of supplies,

for the vets who cannot

save bomb blasted pets.

I pray that they’ve

healing hands, their touch

to be as Christ, – in the absence 

of enough of everything.

—–

I pray for the governments,

choices they are making,

to save a people or

bury them in ash.

——

I pray for them to see with

a frightened child’s eyes,

to hear the cries with a

shattered mother’s heart.

——

I pray for the world powers,

to put aside their quarrels,

to open negotiations,

and work solely for peace.

——

Prayer is a voice in the wilderness,

a light in the darkness

and always on the front line

of any battle for any life.

The Poor paying for the Rich

He looked into his wallet and then into the face of his children.

Oliver looked out from their faces, thinned and paled by hunger,

Their sad eyes looked at  under woolly hats and coat covered arm hugs.

His eyes watered and his empty belly grumbled as he opened

the last dull can of beans, cut the crust of curling bread into two,

watched the food disappear into hungry mouths opened like nesting chicks.

Not far away, plates were full with succulent salmon, rare steak, 

beef, chicken  vegetables, fried potatoes and mashed spuds, followed

by golden custard, french named cakes, apple pies and salted chocolate ices.

—-

Somewhere a mother scraped small crumbs from her sons bowl, sucking

them from the poor plastic spoon. In her head imagining the eggs tomorrow,

when the reduced Universal credit arrived, a meal, heat, then rancid bin search.

Not far away, a kitchen door ajar, while out of date food is thrown away,

in the waste; while far away, the icy hearted are having a party at number 10,

half eaten rich food slipped in a bin. They take from the poor to give to the rich.

—-

Clean, loved children crying themselves to sleep, hunger gnawing at their vitals,

holding onto the hope for tomorrow they’d be in heaven, food galore at the FoodBank,

bringing home food in plenty to be eked slowly to cover the schoolless, foodless weeks.

Miles away lives a callous rich man who can choose to give them enough or kill

them slowly by starvation and a rich woman minister who chooses to treat them as 

alien pariahs, ignores the council of the wise, ignores deadly hunger, abuse and trafficking.

—–

Truth may come, but already the lies hold sway, the government culled the media.

So, how will the hungry children have their voices heard? The starving, the weakened

the oppressed, hidden from sight, are crying out, lost in the lies trumpeted out by Tory press.

======

Yes, minister, the numbers in poverty are atrocious 

but we are doing what we can, watch us.

We’ve paid the rich and they are wealthy too. 

Tis tricky, the trickle down effect?

‘It won’t.’ A lie from long ago. 

The poor are always with us – but they

don’t

donate

to

our

party.

Feed the Rich and starve the Poor.

He looked into his wallet and then into the face of his children.

Oliver looked out from their faces, thinned and paled by hunger,

Their sad eyes looked at him as they hugged each other for warmth.

—-

His eyes watered and his empty belly grumbled as he opened

the last dull can of beans, cut the crust of curling bread into two 

and watched the food disappear into their mouths, every dry crumb.

—–

Not far away, plates were full with succulent salmon, rare steak, 

beef, chicken  vegetables, fried potatoes and mashed spuds, gravy

and there would be golden custard, pies, cakes, salted chocolate ices.

—-

She scraped the lot of the crumbs from her sons bowl and sucked 

them from the plastic spoon. She would eat tomorrow when the meagre,

mean Universal credit arrived, just the once and search rancid bins to survive.

—-

Not far away, a kitchen door ajar, while out of date food is thrown away,

in the waste; while far away, somewhere they’re having a party at number 10,

half eaten food slipped into the trash, where its taken from the poor to give to the rich.

—–

Two cleanly washed children trying to sleep while hunger gnawed at their vitals,

too tired to cry, but holding onto the hope for tomorrow they’d go to the FoodBank,

bringing home food in plenty to be eked slowly to cover the schoolless free food weeks.

—-

A few miles away lives a rich man who can choose to give them enough or kill

them slowly by starvation.  A rich woman minister who chooses to treat them as 

alien pariahs has people shopping for her and ignores the cries. and has food to spare.

—–

Truth may come, but already the lies hold sway, the government culled the media.

So, how will the hungry children have their voices heard? The starving, weakened

oppressed, hidden from sight, are crying out. Their shouts trumpeted out by Tory press.

——

Yes, minister, the numbers in poverty are atrocious but we are doing what we can,

We’ve paid the rich and made them very wealthy and wait for it to trickle its way down,

‘It won’t.’ We made that lie up a long time ago. The poor will always be with us but they

don’t donate

to our

party.

The Flames of Death

It was beautiful, the newly shooting buds of ancient trees,

those toppled by the terrible storms defiantly greening,

At our feet the carpet of pungent garlic holding its buds

as precious gifts to a foraging folk and here and there

stars of anemones shining in the dim lit ancient path.

==

We trod on round the scars of fallen rocks, glimpsing

blue sky and rolling waves as they washed the shore, 

relentlessly cleaning the rocks and sand, filling small

coves with tiny shrimps, and cockle shells for the

sustenance of the crying gulls and scuttling crabs.

========

We rounded the corner and felt the cold wind of

death. All around blackened, tortured branches

crumbled into the blackened earth where the tiny

bodies of creatures lay cremated by human hands,

who’ve abused and raped this gentle, gracious land.

—–

Broken by the sight, smell and disgust for our race,

teary eyes took in the acres of what should be golden

tipped gorse, bluebells coming, and a place where

bees would buzz and butterflies dance. But their 

hiddenness in this brutal affair cost them their lives.

——

The stench remained with us as we finally passed 

into green and gentle slopes laying atop the cliffs,

called us to pray for Ukraine and others. There, a

beautious land has been stripped and burned. Both

their fruitful futures killed by callousness and greed.

——

The smoke still hung in the air as we silently pass,

the grim reminder of the disregard for living things.

The blackened soil lives in in our dreams, haunting

our thoughts recalling us to reality that some care

not for creatures, nor climate change carbon stoked

by

their 

fires.

The Hearth of the multitude.

The memorial bench, a seat in the mystery of time,

where I can sit, and my heart swell with the beauty

of the place where he sat and contemplated the view.

—————–

The mist far out to sea cooled the sultry spring air,

Silent, eyes closed, no wind and somewhere not far

a bud opened, a tiny deflection of air like a butterfly

——-

which has flown past in a soft, floating, rocking flight,

and there, I listened for an insect crawling between the

grasses and bluebells and wondered why it ever was

——–

thus that humans were blind to the beauty of the tiny,

ephemeral life and deaf to the opening of a rambling

rose, their sense of smell missing the coconutty gorse.

—-

Time will hurry on and this seat will rest many a one,

who will miss, like I have, many tiny signs that we’re

not alone, and we share our lives with a myriad things.

——-

Pulsing hearts and gleaming anthers, populated homes

and glorious, awe inspiring flight of birds and bees

and if we knew would we take consider their cares too?