The Wine and Grain

Jesus was a man who loved to feast;
He drank salubrious wine at weddings,
Ate perfectly roasted fish with salt and mustard,
Rubbed a head of grain from the stalk
And ate those finest grains.
Perhaps this is why they didn't like Him?
Was that He was no prude, but a man
Who taught us how to enjoy life
Though the world would never let us have it?
And that was His message,
Was how much better the world could be
If men were allowed to enjoy the good things
Instead of the lofty and high things?
But, because all was made lofty and high
That you could have no life unless you sought it,
Not to seek your life here,
But rather in the next.

Pilate

Pilate begs the crowd to free Jesus,
Whips Him, scourges Him,
Trying to appease the Jew's
And save Christ's life.
But, a voice cries out,
"He made Himself a King
"And if you don't kill Him
"You are no friend of Caesar's!"
A lone, false witness from the crowd
Who twisted Christ's words;
For Christ Himself said
His kingdom was not of the World
But in the hereafter.
And the crowd wanted Him dead.
So Pilate washed His hands of it
And gave Christ over to them
For it was not in Pilate's power
To free or kill Him, but in Christ alone
And the false witness of the Jewish People.

The Garden

Christ, that Garden, like my beloved Pinchot,
Judas knew you took refuge there.
And the place you enjoyed and loved,
A place of joy, and of peace, you prayed
And He came and took you away
To Pilate, where in the most sober
Words, and salient tongue,
Pilate asked you if you were King,
And you told Him your kingdom
Was not of this world, but the next.
I await to go to that world too,
Oh LORD Made Flesh...
God's Eternal Word,
The Sabbath of my heart...
You are Begotten not made
And Your Word is the Father's
And Your Flesh is the embodiment
Of the Father's Word,
Since you were pierced, 
And then raised to eternal glory and fame.

The “Mad Man” of Nazareth

John's Gospel is true,
For it almost makes Christ look mad.
You hear the arguments made,
And you see it through the Jew's eyes
That this mad Samaritan came 
And called Himself the Messiah.
A madman himself
Enlightened me to this nuance---

Yet, the fact remains, Christ
Performed real and many miracles.
And He taught salient teachings
More coherent than any sage before Him.
And He was a sober man
You see in the Gospels---
And He was filled with Compassion.
I know no more merciful man than He
Who could look at a Samaritan woman
A woman caught in adultery
And a lame man laying by a pool
And have utmost compassion on them.
And a Blind man, whom the Pharisees were 
Furious to find was healed.

I Hate This World

I hate this world. So much. Just… why? All of it. Why? You work, you get paid, you eat. That’s how it should be. Not people stealing from you, not people working in slave shops making iPhones and then exporting them to rich countries, not medical doctors breaking you with bills, not idiot interpretations of our stories…

Like, if people just had a few nice things, kitchen appliances, and work and good relationships, that’s really all you need. Not buying en masse new products, and throwing out antiques and replacing them with Ikea furniture. Like, imagine this: A person actually learns Carpentry, in a local town, and sells his furniture to people all over the world through advanced networks of logistics. And that man, in turn, pays local businesses and local food markets, and he eats. Is that too hard to accomplish? And somewhere, they have a sustainable forest, which they harvest for woods, and somewhere, they have an iron ore mining operation, where people are paid equitable salaries to mine ore, and a metal forger makes it into steel, and a nail company buys it, and makes nails, and a timber company makes raw wood, and that carpenter takes some of his money, buys those resources. which ship to you by that advanced logistics, and the carpenter shapes wood, and sells it all over the world at a profit, and no advertiser puts him to shame with their cheap shit. That’s my imagine song. And medical is a utility, therefore paid by tax funds. And you can have whatever religion or weird idea you want, and even write and talk about it so long as you aren’t physically hurting anyone or anything, and no abstractions of that, either, to make weird gray areas that don’t make any sense.

A Life of Poetry

Savior of the World,
Your life was a book of poetry.
Every action you did
Was meticulous and masterful.
Your sermons were not selfish
Nor were you unwilling to speak to fools...
You had compassion, and did
Live a life of poverty for us.
You were like Pythagoras
Or Kerouac, and then you asked,
"Eat my flesh, and drink my blood."
Living, you lived, and you died
With living waters pouring out of your heart.
You were perfect poetry, 
Living poetry, a life very very few ever live.
And you lived it for me,
For I am incapable of emulating it.

Oh Thou Simple Man

Oh thou simple man, lying at Bethesda
Crippled and in sorrow, and cannot be 
Put in the water. You are healed.
The Law is now not fitted
For no longer does the angel stir the water.
The authorities ask you,
"Who healed you?"
And you not knowing or understanding
Why they asked, learned who it was.
So, you went and told them.
But they were angered at Christ
For a thing of naught, and you
Oh simple man, not a villain,
But a naïve man who knows nothing
Of great ambition, power or prestige
Told them who it was that healed you. 
In that there is no condemnation for you
Though the Protestant calls you lazy
And a fool, you are simply a humble man
Who was healed, and broken, and unable
To understand the powers before you.

The Palestinian Woman

Christ came to her at the well,
And asked her to draw water.
She said, "I worship on this mountain
"And your people worship on that."
Christ said, "Verily, Verily,
"There will come a day when
"They will neither worship on this mountain
"Or that, but in the Spirit of Truth.
"For God is a Spirit, and those who worship
"Him in Truth are saved.
"For we Christians know what we worship
"But you Muslims do not.
"Therefore, Worship the Father in Truth."
And He told her everything she ever did.

Dedicated to Pashtmaj mac Umaill