"Song of the Angels" by William Adolphe Bouguereau‘After Christmas’ by Damian Robin The Society January 6, 2017 Culture, Poetry 2 Comments We may hear some Bible phrase and laugh. __That book has no monopoly on ‘goods’. Some words clang, we tip its old tin bath __and out rolls “Baby Jesus” with the suds. Like cliqué’d, much-repeated, ringtone rings __whose lyricisms lessen with their use, these old-time, evangelic heraldings __are squeezed of meaning in the modern noose. Yet clumps of Testament have been proved fact. __We know that tortured Jewish Christ did live. Despite becoming wounded, mocked, and cracked, __he had profound and sound advice to give. Recited words can be debased though true. Some quoted ones sound hollow — dulled, not new; __or bloated out in passioned fever pitch. Others, simply said, are pure right through. __It’s up to us to fathom which is which. Damian Robin lives in England where he works for an international newspaper and lives with his wife and three children. Related Post ‘The Old Westerns’ and Other Poetry by Linda Imb... The Old Westerns No more heroes on horses named Trigger No more rugged, chapped, white hatted figures The bad guys today do not always wear... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 2 Responses sathyanarayana January 7, 2017 LORD JESUS CHRIEST 1. A newest era dawned whence born was Jesus Chriest! As shivered gloomy sins oh virtue-flowers bloomed! On showering nectrous winter dew; the earth did feast and humans felt a curious thrust of Godly boom. 2. Whence sing his songs, whence praise his name, hallelujah, hallelujah, veins throb with sacred joy, nerves twang like Veena strings and oh mind swings in silent mirth! Hallelujah, hallelujah! O’ Chriest, thinking of thee, love flights on golden wings!! 3. That holy man in pallid robes from Nazareth became a thorn in sinners flesh! They condemned him to death through Pharaoh’s nails and crucified oh. But ruth is Godhead’s other name and love his brimming whim! 4. On lips that told that king isn’t God…a nail; two stabbing nails on palms that mopped the tears of suffering churls; on feet that blessed the frail plebians; piercing painful nails, a pair; on haloed head, that made the asterisks pale, one brutal, burly nail…oh nails, that dared into his body fragile! Nail, oh nails, those wicked nails, became his mortal gear, and gore that oozed from wounds anointed him as Lord of Lord of world and Savior of those abused and bruised in savage realms and heard were angels’ mourns from sky in choirs! Exploded a billion gayots in me oh watching that and choked was throat! Reply Rebekah January 8, 2017 “Others, simply said, are pure right through.” I’ve read this multiple times now and keep coming back to that line. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.