The war cries deafen in thunderous dust:
Churning Earth with mortar,
Bullets pelleting dead soldiers,
Muzzle flashes barely visible through the crust
On their viziers. War scars
Will form years after marching orders
For those who must live with memories of the lost.
Now, expletives at pain inflicted in the battle.
They tumble, we crumble,
Bone fractures, cursed mumbles.
Blood’s a minor distraction in this macabre hustle.
Eyes half open, mouth blown off,
The bodies in cursive in troughs:
Friends will mourn friends in memory of this tussle.
OR
thank God for the life of the fallen —
Who, rosary in hand, went forward
With the proficiency of the Bard,
Wrote, even with axe threatening, for our calling
Into the New deadly Way,
That brings life for aye,
That speaks truth to spear, arrow, or cauldron.
The great news of Life abundantly given.
Nero, Napoleon… all failed!
The martyrs live even impaled
For victory in human view isn’t so in Heaven.
(c) nyonglema
Tag Archives: Jesus
Immaculate Conception
For spirits rare, a vessel rare
Chosen one, chosen for the Heir!
He shielded you from Adam’s stain
Eve’s gain he made you to disdain
Loving mother, hear this misery
Oh Immaculate heart carry
Our sincere confession of faith
To Jesus, even just a wraith
(c) nyonglema
PS: This is part of a longer prayer to be released in time for the Assumption 😉
Mustard Seed
Light a fire upon the raging fire?
The wood shudders and writhes in pain
As fumes scoff at the deadly ire
Dancing about the dying twig, and it's plain:
Why add more fire to fire?
Seventy seven times seven is huge,
But sometimes barely sufficient to quell,
For forgiveness of the Scrooge
Is the silence of a storm-tossed city bell;
But this would cull the deluge:
(For the twig is now bent over,
Both sides seeking trust in combustibles,
The dance of shadows now groovier
Human life precious, now just expendable,
From a spark to a supernova)
That we had that mustard seed!
Barely perceptible, yet full of potential
Calling us eagerly to heed
The Master laying bare the essentials:
Grow faith, reach the mustard seed,
Hold the cycle of hate at bay!
With one act of kindness, a precious flower
Growing in the concrete today
Is the start of the end of destruction's power
Mustard seed. Mustard tree. Today.
(c) nyonglema
Going up
Higher he soars, the one who calls us to more Eyes stare, the clouds do pirouettes A silhouette against the advancing sky Some cry distraught at it happening again: What's to gain if the Master disappears? Memories of the first mass Bread broken, wine shared Hope poured out, on sandy stone On a hill gasping with bare bones Break oh break, hard heart of mine As our Lord leaves to another sublime clime. Oh wake, oh wake hard heart of mine The promises form out of the clay Of the fabric of time before me Hope covers my shivering body In quotes of all that He uncovered From our knowledge new discovered What wisdom we missed, Isaiah! For now, a silhouette against the advancing sky He goes before us as advocate: He lives. (c) nyonglema
Walk on Water
The lessons of the gears that power the universe Pour forth in ambitious drips into a bowl To build an ocean from simple watery smears. From Egypt slavery one was chosen to show the signs, And staff and cloak he led the scowling whole, Across the river; he parted it to stay dry from brine. Before reward for courage to preach against the abhorrent, The prophet chanced upon the Jordan's deadly bowl, And with his student, parted it for dread of its current. But when the promise long foretold at last came to pass God Himself, didn't take a staff, or cloak, But let the water be, and showed His friends His glory. (c) nyonglema
In the desert
I hear voices telling me I'm not enough. My inadequacies gang up for an intervention, And I'm the center of their morbid attention: "You are and will be found wanting." Camel skin marked the way way back. The desert stirred as "Repent" echoed along The lonely shores of the River Jordan, and throng Upon throng came to listen. I'm not there. A straight, flattened way for the Lord Was the requirement for any form of joy. Yet all I bring are curves, hills and voids, And inability to do better or more. "Before birth, before you were formed..." I've read that, but should I believe it? Definitely it was meant for some great prophet, Not me, seed on rocky soil wilting away How shall the Lord travel these traps That my hungry angry soul sets in despair? How shall he navigate a heart so in disrepair Even spiders won't build webs there? "Don't be afraid, for I am with you...." Whispers floating to my cowering ears To persuade me to cast away the fears That gang up to jail-bar my attention. With four candles burning on the wreath, And my healing heart still thinking about my fate While making the straight to welcome the babe I move to not be afraid for He is with me It's a child's craft on the potter's wheel, The trembling fingers on the archer's bow, A wrench eating at a loose nut, but I sure know That I'm not alone in fixing that manger Which for the Architect is Heaven's harbinger (c) nyonglema
Shiny shiny
A voice calls out in the wilderness, preparing
The way for Salvation.
The plan is laid out: the plasma'll start circling
Around His feet, as the notes melodramatically
Change, raising a cloud of multicouloured dust.
The rock LED-struck would lift up in those clouds
And the clouds of fairy dust would produce bread.
The crowds will watch in awe, hearts will turn.
Then standing haloed on the edge of a cliff
He would increase peril by facing the crowd
To meet the Pisa, but only falling to the rocks
Below.
But the drum of the beat will change 'fore his feet
Hit ground, as a flash of the S-chested angels
Whisk him up, leaving levitation to draw out
Cheers, kowtows, conversions, repentance.
Then foreseeing the weakness of the cross,
Bleeding, helpless, He would kneel.
Three years of wasted ministry prevented
By the brave act of trading this simple act
For the salvation of all the kingdoms of the Earth,
('Cause, you know, he who never lies said so.)
Having been assigned leadership to the King of
Heaven and now Earth, all souls would cheer
"Hail to the King, Hail to the King"
And Mission Accomplished, the Son would return.
A voice plans this all in the wilderness,
But it isn't the Baptist.
It's the bearer of all that's shiny,
Bearing light as a beacon to trap fickle hearts.
See how our Saviour chose the scenic route:
Not the glamour of human expression of worship,
He obscured the message with long boring
Parables, that contradicted the common-
Sense of the day, and mocked academia,
Nor the Hollywood-like production of miraculous
Miracles, spiced with convenient back stories;
He healed, resurrected but asked to
Keep such under lock and key until
The Cross had been revealed that
The focus be kept always on Love
Nor comfortable choices to make the journey
Of pain less painful than it needs to be.
He taught climbing out of one's skin
To remind us that human strength doesn't
Get good mileage, but a shared yoke
Kills usurper guilt forever,
He chose a cross, a quiet wooden cross,
That we never forget the Sacrifice:
For us,
But about the Father, and to the Father.
(c) nyonglema
Weak Men
"Touch your feelings. Cry. Show that emotion." I remember one who did that as the plot thickened. Speaking of truth from his purple toga: Purple dripped to the floor because of his fear. An emotion. It crawled off hanging flesh on a back. It trickled off the whip, splattered on stone. He feared losing his position in the hierarchy. He feared being labelled a tyrant. He feared being labelled too clement. Truth knocked at his door, offering Salvation. He chose his weakest emotion as guiding star, And led Barabbas to lonely babies and future orphans. Standing there, drowning in fear, fear, fear, Beset by crystal balls drawing his fate In paths to future outcomes in purple blood On the city walls, amidst the clamour, his Gumption Was vaulting over a bowl of ostrich water, washing Off the blood saying, "It wasn't me! Fac sicut vultis" Where was the Evangelist, to write the guilt, Shame and justified tears, as the eclipse shook The temple to its foundations, stole the light Off the world? To watch him watching Him on His Mission, Shedding the tears of repentant strong men, but Only, this time regretting "what if", "what if". (c) nyonglema
Gethsemane
As mere mortal man, where do I go for strength? Reels of death give me the L in a reek, like Lazarus died of covid19 in a past story of a tryke Tumbling into Jerusalem in tears with 2 sisters. "Pull Heaven to your breast", I hear that often, And belief is Atlas lifting Earth, Jupiter plus That weird new 9th planet, because Pluto was Not enough pain to bear: something newer, heavier Is what I need for strength, till I stop to think. Whom did God call to for help when fear gripped The roommate of flesh? How was the switch flipped? "Not Mine but Your will be done" Nothing heavier. (c) nyonglema
Coal #hope
Do not be discouraged. Don't lose your heart as everything seems to fall apart. A chick will emerge from the shell; always does. What do you see when the rough fire eats at wood, Softly sintering what was splintered? It's weird that pain brings togetherness Where handshakes were fake, and escape Was the constant. Now we crave to touch, We crave so much as the mask falls off To reveal the despair on the decaying Banana on the medic's lips. Last touch Gone. What I see is pain, but not like Cain's on Abel. I see the pain of a pierced side, or thorns Crowning the start of a battle for souls. I see the pressure of nails dodging wrist veins, But getting some, missing the bone, hanging on. I see years of preparation, patiently waiting For that moment: the filth of coal felt like Victory to the Virus smiling. The crown of the Start of the battle, rattled to the ground. Pressure, battle, the victor won without a sound. I see Sunday morning, Peter's out of breath Chasing John, chasing Mary earlier in the morn. I see a cloth there, bare, where coal had dared To start tears down my cheeks with biers. See, The wood destroyed slowly became the coal of pain, but What I see is not coal on worldometer's charts; I see diamonds form, Love's pressure on the Sacred Heart. (c) nyonglema
waghni 