Will I Know Them?

 

—Poetry by Stephen Kingsnorth, 

Coedpoeth, Wrexham, Wales

—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

THE HOST

Angels from the realms of glory,
are you passing in the street?
God, creator and sustainer,
you’re met in the cattle shed.
In the scent of ordure birthing,
refugees in pregnant pause,
I would meet not wings or haloes,
but true messengers of God.
Will I know them if step by them—
would I know the stable God?
Do I hear the voice as speaking,
when I see the dispossessed?
Recognised by irreligious,
filthy shepherds in the fields,
met by train, tracking conjunction,
foreign, alien in this land.
Those who knew promise their birthright,
for their lore had certified,
blindness seen in those most certain,
those whose wondering at an end.
Am I ready for the holy,
recognised, unlikely shift,
or is faith, unstable, moving,
powerless baby, needing love?
Hosts, it seems, are all around us,
but we wait for glory’s shine;
realise the kingdom waiting
for those sitting in the dark.

____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Stephen Kingsnorth for today’s fine poem! Between his work and Lynn White's poetry yesterday, we've had a Welsh Christmas in the Kitchen! 

 

And Merry Christmas to you all. May we "realise the kingdom waiting for those sitting in the dark...", whatever grand kingdom that may be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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