Joseph Spring's Blog, page 7

December 11, 2018

Census in Bethlehem (Version 2)

With Christmas fast approaching and my family already in holiday mode, I took to revising a poem for the season. Here it is, dusted off with line breaks improved and some phrasing reconsidered. I’ve kept it in 4 voices. Enjoy!









Census in Bethlehem





JOSEPH





My older cousins got here first and even filled the shed,





but uncle says he’s got a cave where we can lay our heads.





He cleaned it out, but had no other place to put his ewe,





but that’s okay, we’ll be alright; we’ll leave ‘fore Mary’s due.









JUDEAN





Aha! The gods have smiled on me; the gov’ner’s called mankind





to gather here in hungry hoards; my profits come to mind:





They’ll pay for nuts at twice the price, they’ll sleep behind my stall.





Ah, David! It’s a providence that softer beds are full.





It’s money time, salvation’s here, the night is swelling loud.





I hear that some are even letting stables to this crowd.









SHEPHERD





I’m glad we’re on the skirting hills beyond the city’s wall,





For though the thrum and music drifts, it’s quieter, all-in-all.





And here of course we see more stars – their gentle, painted light –





Yes, this we have, and richer sleep – not so the urbanite.





But now! What terror, growing star, is falling to the ground!





An angel and a heav’nly host! So bright and closing round!





And so at last God’s wrath has come to splay us on these rocks.





As payment for our daily sins He’ll feast upon our flocks.









ANGEL





No, no, dear man, be calm and still: Fear not, for you dear men,





are first to hear our news of joy that lands in Bethlehem.





Within that town, that bustling place, there comes a treasure true;





“The heel that crushes and is bit” is given now to you.





Look down into the yellow streets beyond the loud bazaar,





and find a babe in cloth and trough beneath the newest star.













Then filling up the skies they sang: All glory be to God





and peace to all with whom he’s pleased upon this earthen sod.





The shepherds ran through town and found that blessed stable ward





with newborn child, Emmanuel, called Jesus Christ: the Lord.

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Published on December 11, 2018 02:08

December 6, 2018

Please buy my first book

Hello followers,





Thank you for your support in reading my poetry published on http://www.joespringwrites.com. I hope you enjoy it, and I really appreciate your comments. 





I have published some poetry in a short kindle book, which is now on sale. Some of the content will be familiar if you’ve been following along over the past two years, and some are previously unpublished.





I’ll really appreciate your support and ratings!





You can get it here, for about the price of a cup of coffee! http://a.co/d/7jDRSSb 





Let There Be Light: Collected poems about the world and the God who made it



Thank you!





Joe

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Published on December 06, 2018 00:24

November 29, 2018

The Axe is Recovered

The prophets’ sons were making house when one had cause to shiver:
while chopping trees, his borrowed axe head flew into the river





and with a splash his heart sank deep for somewhere in that wet
the axe was lost! The Jordan plunged him into crippling debt.





Appealing to the prophet strange, “Elisha, help me please!”,

he pointed to the river running past the fallen trees,





“It fell in there and surely sank in mire and mud so deep

that I will spend my rest of days the payments up to keep!”





Elisha, filled with holy power to heal, that men would note

that great salvation comes from God, then made that iron to float.





The man rejoiced, and fetched the axe head, hauling it to shore-

the Holy Scripture ends right there. He doesn’t tell us more.





And so we’re left to ponder why this miracle took place.

like many of Elisha’s works, it’s such a baffling case.





To me it seemed a kindness odd to help a single man

with such an individual grace. But isn’t that God’s plan?





He chose that man before the axe had ever tasted lumber

just as he saves specific souls by name or ID number.

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Published on November 29, 2018 00:15

November 12, 2018

Transhumanism

Somewhere about there’s a slithering sound of man’s enmity,

causing excitement and casting the seeds of calamity,

claiming enlightened revision of old postmodernity.

Oh! But the thought is as novel as man in eternity.


Lewis and Ransom have shown us to view the transhumanists

in the same light as Mark Studdock and Feverstone’s futurists:

some are as wholly committed as Babylon’s atheists;

others are following blindly the lure of these dataists.


Tempted to self-exultation, they’re striving for deity;

how can this hideous fate be the talk of society?

Dreams that dilute all the values and truth of humanity,

genuine glory exchanged for a dead singularity.

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Published on November 12, 2018 08:19

November 1, 2018

Forgive me, Dactyl

(see Pentadactyl)


Thinking again about dactyls and how they don’t tolerate

stress out of place or the sneaky insertion of syllables,

gladly and humbly I wonder, perhaps I should moderate

poetry calling them dinosaurs, bigots and imbeciles.


P’raps we should think of a dactyl as champion of chastity,

raising the banner of vehement structural sanctity,

hating the sin of iambic compulsion of poetry,

leading the poet in pathways of diligent purity.


 


 


dactyl (/ˈdæktɪl/Greek: δάκτυλος, dáktylos, “finger”) is a foot in poetic meter…. In accentual verse… it is a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed syllables (SOURCE)


 

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Published on November 01, 2018 03:01

October 12, 2018

A Sonnet (The bear and bull make stomachs lurch)

The bear and bull make stomachs lurch

when headlines hold the hopes of men.

Some will kowtow, or kneel in church,

anything to put Martha in power again.

For Martha’s scurrying sustains the world,

is the creator of life, civil and modern.

Until upon their beds are curled

half of humanity, work forgotten.

Then what invisible hand makes beat

the hearts which sleep to wake at morn?

Who binds the sky and grows the wheat

and rolls the earth on which we’re borne?

    Give praise to Jesus, read what he said

    and ask the Father for your daily bread.

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Published on October 12, 2018 02:30

September 19, 2018

An Intolerable Sound

Feel, how softly down the throat

this morsel with its sugar-coat

slithers! It’s like an antidote

to all the things the apostles wrote.


Their words are foul, a ringing sound,

but here’s a cure our team has found

– a world of doctrines, gathered round –

a constant dose til their words are drowned.


OUT with the droning of ancient apostles!

What we hanker for is something novel:

something mystical, Pentecostal,

stories with vigour and moral muscle!


And – ah – a teaching to cure the itch

in our ears and feed the dreams of the rich.

It’s a pleasing plan without a hitch,

a passionate, pragmatic religious pitch.


So come, let’s lie where the sea wave beats

to swash our ears clean of bleats.

We’ll feed on low-fat milk, and sweets,

all sorts of soothing pills and treats.


We’ll share with all who wander there

in easy, light, permissive air

where no one judges, and none forbear

and life could lead us anywhere.


This is freedom – feel its chains!

This is where the individual reigns

where no supposéd truth constrains

our steering hearts and creative brains.


We’ve come so far.


Recall those trapped

in squirming seats as preachers yapped?

Where are they now? More tightly wrapped

in the grasp of God! How very apt.

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Published on September 19, 2018 09:00

September 7, 2018

Randburg Harriers Road Race

The road rose up to meet…

(Is that a blessing at all?)

Well, on the mountain, our feet

did up from heaven haul.


The syrupy hills kept turning,

the tar did backwards tug

but, hearts and lungs burning,

we onward, upward dug.


Breathlessly we lamented

’til, after a lengthy while,

the harrying road relented

for a single treacherous mile.


Then up it loomed again!

And hot the sun did shine.

Our minds and legs did strain

to picture the finish line.


Spurred on, we did ascend,

the mountain lost its fire,

we fought it to the end

and won the runner’s desire.


And now with slopes behind

knowing they did not smother

our hopes, we are inclined

to sign up for another.

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Published on September 07, 2018 02:00