Wrexham, Wales
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
COMING ARRIVAL
While patient waiting not my scene,
this celebration, birth we’ve known,
pretence that past a future gain,
a complement, to be soon seen?
So Advent rings, symbolic signs,
five candles for approaching weeks,
Christingles, calendars, and wreaths
around door knockers, room with inn?
Church cycling starts (in western eyes)—
thematic mix in pulpit talk
with Advent, though the world prepares
for Christmas, New Year, resolute.
The fast preceding season’s feast,
red letter when permission, eat;
but how’s the menu of delight
when cave birth, cowshed, fore in lore?
That pregnant pause, teen testing time,
full weight of truth in motherlode,
as folk alert, talk undermines,
‘no better than she should be’ words.
But there’s the Word in crumbled homes,
in Gaza and the Middle East,
whatever faith, or colour, creed,
the manger lies where rubble heaped.
Cold coming had, those training days
(as four explore what’s to be learnt),
for caravan well under way,
good news beyond old Zion’s walls.
Thus foreign wise or shepherd crew
(ill-disciplined, religious laws)—
more volumes hold (like Disney sold)
their angle (angels?), spin untold.
Each claims their bold theology
(their editorials behold!)—
is that why Advent mix confused,
unstable, as their focus stalls?
Now here’s the preparations laid—
a King whose power swaps might for love,
so lore from Eden, crossroad’s tree,
amalgamated in the One.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Advent is designed to show that the meaning of Christmas is diminished to the vanishing point if we are not willing to take a fearless inventory of the darkness.
―Fleming Rutledge
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Stephen Kingsnorth for his fine Advent poem today, starting us off on the crazy month of December! May we be willing to "take a fearless inventory of the darkness."
For more about the meaning of Advent, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Advent/.
While patient waiting not my scene,
this celebration, birth we’ve known,
pretence that past a future gain,
a complement, to be soon seen?
So Advent rings, symbolic signs,
five candles for approaching weeks,
Christingles, calendars, and wreaths
around door knockers, room with inn?
Church cycling starts (in western eyes)—
thematic mix in pulpit talk
with Advent, though the world prepares
for Christmas, New Year, resolute.
The fast preceding season’s feast,
red letter when permission, eat;
but how’s the menu of delight
when cave birth, cowshed, fore in lore?
That pregnant pause, teen testing time,
full weight of truth in motherlode,
as folk alert, talk undermines,
‘no better than she should be’ words.
But there’s the Word in crumbled homes,
in Gaza and the Middle East,
whatever faith, or colour, creed,
the manger lies where rubble heaped.
Cold coming had, those training days
(as four explore what’s to be learnt),
for caravan well under way,
good news beyond old Zion’s walls.
Thus foreign wise or shepherd crew
(ill-disciplined, religious laws)—
more volumes hold (like Disney sold)
their angle (angels?), spin untold.
Each claims their bold theology
(their editorials behold!)—
is that why Advent mix confused,
unstable, as their focus stalls?
Now here’s the preparations laid—
a King whose power swaps might for love,
so lore from Eden, crossroad’s tree,
amalgamated in the One.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Advent is designed to show that the meaning of Christmas is diminished to the vanishing point if we are not willing to take a fearless inventory of the darkness.
―Fleming Rutledge
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Stephen Kingsnorth for his fine Advent poem today, starting us off on the crazy month of December! May we be willing to "take a fearless inventory of the darkness."
For more about the meaning of Advent, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Advent/.
For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
