poetry and prophecy

It’s two days before Christmas, and this will probably be my last post on the subject. So it’s fitting to end with a poem that my husband wrote, his reflection on the world we live in, our new neighborhood, and Advent in general. He makes me coffee every morning, gets up with the toddler in the middle of the night, listens to my every wandering thought, and writes killer poetry. I know. 

typical.

typical.

Advent

by the Maiden Name

Shootings, and sweatshops, rising regimes
sometimes it feels like your ever expanding
rule is nowhere to be seen,
like a seed in the ground that’s yet to start a sprout
you tend to sometimes circumvent instead of intervene
looking around as the almond branch turned the boiling pot north
and drained out the drowning lifeblood of the guiltless poor

it’s beginning to feel like the harvest is passed,
summer has ended and we are not saved
someone’s crying in the closet
for all our ill-mannered misbehaved
We’ve sown wheat, and we’ve reaped thorns
For the mountains and the wilderness I’ll mourn
So do not listen to your prophets, your dreamers
Until we break the yoke of the shorn

Our exile has been long enough to grow a bounty
that has been taken away, time and again, by country and by county
Are you coming quickly?
Please, tell me you’re coming with haste
Some say they’re patient, some say they can wait
But I’ve seen abusers go their own way, unchained
and I’ve seen oppression walk the streets midday
and the wolves live among the sheep without dismay
while we pine away

Flannel pajamas, soot-stained script
Candles in the kitchen,
I remember always watching that wax drip
As we sing songs of the one coming, and to the one who came
And it’s all sorts of awkward, the highs and lows that we sang

and I still practice advent, even in my own home
my daughter calls it a birthday cake, we say it’ a private protest against Rome
but we still fail and find ourselves at the mall and department stores
and a few other of places I’d tell you about, but I find it too embarrassin’
of all those who might have trouble falling asleep on Christmas eve
amongst all the children, it seems the empire should be most at unease

I tried my hand at Advent Conspiracy and at Buy Nothing Christmas,
But justice and peace seem to just be
unpurchased items on my wish list
Oh well, that’s how it goes, maybe I’ll get it next year
And I sing hallelujah as I
chug chug chug down the cheer
in the most jolly of fashions
but this can’t last, it won’t last forever
so our eyes are on you, King of the broken, ruling from a manger

 

 

Nothing like reading the prophets while we think about the babe in the manger.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. 

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3 thoughts on “poetry and prophecy

  1. Mtakano says:

    I keep typing a word and deleting it – fantastic, no… Incredible, that’s not it either… Beautiful, maybe… Provoking, yes but it’s more than that…

    This is really great. Oh, here we go: changing. This poetry is changing.

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