Angelic Angles

 

 

Once in royal David’s city,
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her Baby,
In a manger for His bed:
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ, her little Child.

He came down to earth from heaven,
Who is God and Lord of all,
And His shelter was a stable,
And His cradle was a stall:
With the poor, and mean, and lowly,
Lived on earth our Savior holy.

For He is our childhood’s pattern;
Day by day, like us, He grew;
He was little, weak, and helpless,
Tears and smiles, like us He knew;
And He cares when we are sad,
And he shares when we are glad.

And our eyes at last shall see Him,
Through His own redeeming love;
For that Child so dear and gentle,
Is our Lord in heaven above:
And He leads His children on,
To the place where He is gone.

Christ Massed

Xma$ in Amuri¢a

Children drugged with truthless tales . . .
Unwise men embrace their treasure;
Algorithms urge the sales
In malls devoid of merry measure.

Plastic sparkles in the air;
Automotive ads turn festive . . .
Forced good nature everywhere
Makes the shopping crowds grow restive.

Corporate greed spins altruistic
Hyping goods, suppressing Christ.
Our Yuletide is their big statistic
Oversold and underpriced.

Secular beribboned fluff:
Peace, Goodwill . . .  but don’t say God !
And heaven knows you’ve had enough;
Just download the app—acquire the mod.

Coca-Colaed, Disneyfied,
You’re wrapping paper for their fire;
Eggnogged, Santa-ed, thrown aside
While Babel’s flames roar ever higher.

The godlessness shines right on through
Where Christmas lyrics die, unheard.
The Yule-log and the sparks that flew
Expire in embers long unstirred.

The old usurper carting toys
And Chinese knock-offs in his sled
Sets off a lot of empty noise:
Insanity in green and red.

The lurker leers and hauls his bag
(jolly antichrist distraction)
While flying Bishop Nicholas’ flag:
A winter psy-ops covert action.

Only message left: go drink!
And may your cup o’erflow with cheer
Before you risk to start to think
Yourself and God right out of here.

Hallmark haloes, bygone kitsch
enwreaths the memory of the years,
Kindling maudlin sadness which
wells up in melancholy tears

For Christian culture (rest in peace)
Long-corrupted by dollar signs;
For fa la la and fattened geese
And holly midst the ivy vines;

For Dickens’ gospel of the season
Anglican angelic ghosts
Pushing us beyond unreason
Toward the future’s spectral hosts;

For folklore now reduced to ash
Commercial blow-outs, dirty snow;
For Saturnalian urge to smash
the store-front windows where they show;

For useless manger figurines
Passed down from some more faithful time;
For hallowed and nostalgic scenes
No longer worth a Roman dime.

 

 

 

Elf Efficacy in Dub

THANK YOU, JASPA !

Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:
the sounds at that gathering.  Classical?   Rock?
Unending revivalist Christian refrains?
Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?
Psychedelic/psychotic . . . or  Handel and Bach?
(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.
You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,
and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)

full poem HERE