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
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
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
"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
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
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
The Angel offered to seize it all:
Your peaceful days gathering water
Your anonymity doing God’s ways,
Waiting for your spouse to take you
In order to save an ungrateful people.
You said yes!
The governor forced you on a census, with
Baby pressing your bladder,
With back ache, spots on your face
No room to calm Braxton Hicks
Just you Joe and the animals
And the grass the animals ate
And when it was time to push,
You said yes!
The prophet embarassed you with your newborn,
He promised you the grace you knew
He promised you lots of pain new
And you pictured the sword, your heart
And figured greatness breeds pain
And looked at Joe’s encouragement,
And said, well, yes!
And at Cana, where the harps hung on empty cups
You turned to your baby boy
All grown, all full of hope,
And bade him do them a favour.
Yes, you set it all up, for his
First miracle, and the Lord
And throughout his ministry, he would taunt you with denial
To teach love of neighbour beyond family
But you were the first disciple,
You rode his pain, you shared his joy
And I can picture the conversations of
Mother and son, advise shared, wisdom shared
And through rain, sun, hail, gale, miracle,
You said yes!
And when his coronation came close on a donkey and palms
You saw the blood that would end
The journey of love; you saw the manger
The temple, the sermons, the crowds,
The miracles, the thorns, the cross,
The blood that would end it all.
Yet, you said, yes!
And as John watched your tears reflect his blood, whence
You couldn’t parch his raging thirst
Nor re-nurse those childhood wounds
Nor hug the pain out of infant tears
Nor sing a lullaby to ease the sleep
Nor rub his back to heal the pain,
Your tears said, yes!
And as they took the nails out his hands, as he lay on you,
And love slithered to constrict your chest
And the tears bubbled out to heal his death
You sought to comprehend it all
And prayed the roles were reversed,
And God said, you’ve done well my child
For the salvation of many, and again,
You said yes!
Happy Easter to all of you; Seek the Light as it pours into your hearts
Where can those chocolate eggs be?
Eggs beaten, made into omelettes.
They said you can’t make one without breaking eggs.
So God took a pan and broke a few…they sounded like bones:
The egg white as water, the yolk as heavy as blood.
Mine was, anyway, the promise of Adam.
I saw a curtain rip the Earth apart,
As a cross took God on a roller coaster ride
To a destination we all must go…but all fear to go:
Like wanting to go in a public toilet…but…
The yoke was heavy on humanity, and God broke it
He made us new, and I saw Mandela’s advice:
It went something like:
Aim not for your fears, but for your hopes.
So God bled tears on stone, and went for one hope:
That your soul (well our souls) would find light
Even in the deepest darkness!
He accepted the treacherous lips of death
And the deprecating thorns and cape that drew his blood.
He did it for you, that you may have new life with him
On the day He gave new life to Himself. Amazing right?
God died our days away with His pain, love, and light.
Those eggs look pretty that way….if any of this was about eggs anyway.
There’s an orchestra in the trees
A funny band they are, uniform with instruments.
The same notes rustle enchanted leaves,
Putting on a show for the feathery clouds pasted
Across the tapestry of God’s palace,
(For a carpenter, it’s strange He fancies blue)
Spreading before my eyes covered in awe
Taking it all in: the air pressure mounting Bucephalus to move
Feathers on the band, the sunlight stealing trinkets of colour for
My hungry eyes, the Earth of golden brown,
Holding years of history in stories it whispers to my consciousness
As I grab a fistful of my raw material.
Maybe I should seek a seat by those rowdy fellows
And watch their breasts vibe at the resonance
Of nature’s beauty.
Oh that band of one instrument.
One as an instrument taking me home.
Whoa! I have never seen this one before!
Diamonds sparkling where trees swayed, casting
Their awestruck projections of myriad rainbows
Upon our faces, and straight to our hearts.
What feeling is this?
This brings me back to that day on the boat,
When salvation changed my trade, and made the day after
Never the same.
How can I describe this post-war type
Peace that pervades my heart like a first breath,
Like a first love?
Even the fragrance of white lilies swims into
My nostrils, are the others getting this?
Who is that? Wow, that beard, that robe.
This is amazing, should I talk to him?
Should I inquire what he did when we left him behind?
Should I…wait, and who’s that now?
Oh the beautiful chariot of fire. Chariot of fire? Chariot of…
My goodness, are we really here? Rabbi, is this where
We are promised?
Is this where we shall find rest after it all?
Rabbi, this feeling should last forever.
These bright bedazzled rocks, the sweet music
That paints joy all around us subtly,
These smells never before smelled,
All this should last forever.