Christ (Full Poem)

So they led him away;

Heaven’s Keeper,

The Unblemished Divine Wisdom

Curled in every dew drop.

He was betrayed by his closest friends,

He who gives us sunsets and silver birch

That ache with magnificence.

He who confided his most precious secrets to us,

Who with the authority that comes from gentleness,

Silently broke upon the brutal darkness of man,

The shimmer of Dawn’s Justice.

Him, our friend, in whose gaze we ate with,

Who peeked at us behind dancing eyelashes,

To tell us we were loved in our squalor.


He loved us with the docility of a small colt,

He even chose one to ride into Jerusalem,

That Magnificent King.

He sought to meet us where we were,

So he chose just a little animal.

And that little colt, crafted by Heaven’s Keeper,

Bore with laden tread, he who knows each star.

‘Hosanna!,’ ‘Hosanna!,’ we clapped for him,

‘We give you our hearts,’ ‘ we trust in your way’ we said,

We basked in His Holiness as if it was our own,

But even he, humble Crafter of the cosmos,

Looked to the Light – Heaven’s Keeper – saying;

‘He, He is Holy,’ ‘Why do you call me good?’ he said.

So with our feelings of holiness,

And basking in our prideful hearts,

We praised our association with this King.

‘I am a King like him we said’ –

‘My crown is almost like His’ –

‘Now I possess his Wisdom, I grasp it, I process it,

Now it is mine to fuel my gluttonous heart.’


Little did we know that his Richness – His treasure of Compassion,

Came from the moments he spent broken-hearted in prayer to Abba,

Crying in the wilderness,

Which Heaven’s Keeper – Amighty and Holy – kept tending;

Every blade of grass, every stone, the chanting chorus of the birds,

Heralding the silence from which they were born.

‘Abba’ he used to cry out we have been told,

His heart crushed like a frightened beggar; squalid, alone, and aching

– a burning emptiness –

Yet brimming with the Ocean of God.

His Being was open,

Like a brimming cup


We drunk so many times from this oasis of companionship.

We knew he was Beauty.

You could see it in the gentleness of His eyelashes,

Like Heaven’s stars.


When he looked at us we could dance again like children,

And when we really knew His Heart,

We danced down the road after Him.

I left my job, my family, my securities;

I wanted to hear the sweet music that poured

From his lips like a misty seashore,

Like wind breaking off the nakedness of a lonely mountain,

Like the wild twisting passion of spilling flowers

And the frenzy of seagulls,

Mingled even,

With the story of

The garden sparrow’s footsteps.

He spoke our lives into us,

He declared us into being,

He screamed with gentleness – ‘Follow me.’

And with the entirety of my being I paced down the road,

I wanted to know where the light that pierced

Through his eyes came from.


Let me tell you what it was like;

You wouldn’t believe it.

I was born into religion you know,

I used to go to the rituals and pray on the right days,

Buy the books and read with greed for God,

So that I could possess Him,

Put Him back on the shelf and continue with my life.

I didn’t know how to slowly and gently pour myself – like new honey,

That most sweetly trickles from the press.

Honey always lasts you know,

It doesn’t have a sell-by date.

But this sweet man,

I don’t know how to say it,

He declared the Wisdom of God

With his body – soul’s speaker.


He was emptied,

He was a haggard beggar,

But filled with the Sea Wind,

He treaded through the world so thoughtfully and kindly,

That he emanated the Richness of Dawn.

When he turned to look at you,

‘You knew that this was it.’

You knew that time,

That compartmentalised idol,

 was not important,

You saw eternity in his gaze, it filled him.


You could see the Devil was after Him,

Calling Him to caprice and folly,

Beckoning him to self-admiration and fear or despair,

Cruelly jibing at His heart,

Whispering of broken mankind’s suffering,

And the pillaging of the earth,

That seduction hurt Him so deeply.

His Mercy looked like the fragile instant before weeping,

That empty’s the heart –

We his brother’s and sister’s saw that a lot in Him.

And still we insisted ‘we can drink your Cup of Innocence.’

How viciously blind we were.

How much our words and deeds hurt him we don’t know,

But still He smiled at us,

Greeting us with the friendship hearth of his heart,

A despised and ugly coal for us in the end,

But burning with fire’s Wisdom.


And when he spoke,

The Silence opened,

And breached and cascaded

With the tumbling ecstasy of sea turtles caught in a sudden wave,

Or feather’s and bells playing in the wind.

He was the best story-teller I knew,

His voice

like an ancient mosaic embellished the Silence,

By letting it describe itself anew in the world He let people see.

I was walking into a new world,

In my freedom he declared me into being.

As I absorbed the singing tune of his silent broken heart,

I was pierced by the same light He saw coming.

It was so close and He could see it,

And it hurt Him so much.

You could see it in the way

He sometimes trembled when He spoke,

Or broke into whisper,

As if blinded by the Authority of Silence.

That was the Heaven King that I followed,

That famished man who walked slowly,

Who danced with surging joy,

And let the cosmos’ hidden story

Distill into his voice that ached to bear it.


For He knew full-well

 That the poetic dance-beat of our freedom

Had led us to debase ourselves in lies and treachery,

Rather than to write eternal poems –

Guided by the angels.

I hear they painted fresh steps for him

 in the barren desert.

As his body ached in

 the Generosity of God,

in that rocky landscape.

‘Abba’ He knew,

 Was hidden in the silence of aching –

The aching of that famished

Thirsting man we all knew.


Let me tell you about a little thing

I remember about that Blessed One,

That Doorway of Mystery,

Hidden Fragile Archway of the Light-world.

He was…

Delighted by the kindly friendship of the little ones.

He liked to reach out his hand to them slowly,

Like the first waves of an incoming tide,

And grasp their little outstretched hands,

Twinkling like starfish.

He always cradled the babies with perfect delicateness,

You could see he felt akin to them.

The glee in His eyes was like ripe fruit or daffodils.

He skipped with the little boys and girls

 every time they asked Him,

I think He learnt most of His stories from them,

And the songs He used to sing in our company.


It almost breaks me to think over about it,

How we each chose to give ourselves over to the lying one.

We who drank the Friendship Cup gathered with Him in His hall of Mercy.

He who cradled us in each moment with kindness bountiful,

Like breeming harvest and summer festivals.

When the sun breaks through,

And all have to drink and eat,

And time is forgotten.


Many of us new that little man Yeshua.

Every moment was so little to Him,

That it was filled with immense mystery,

And a breaking chorus of completion.

He made himself so little,

That you couldn’t really find the beginning in Him,

And if you tried,

You’d be lost in His love.


There was so much love in Him,

Because He only looked out,

As if to make sure that everything was okay.

He let the people look in His eyes,

And they burnt like the last embers;

The seed of a new fire.

When from the slumber of night

Blazes a glorious dance,

As new stories are spoken.

When he met famished people that famished man,

He begged Father GOD to show his goodness,

And wasn’t surpised to see it,

Some called it a miracle,

But He knew Heaven’s keeper,

He was united

to that hidden symphony of the galaxies,

That freedom of the clouds,

And the surprise of ripples

At little insects you see.

He knew that only GOD was good,

 That famished one.

How famished he was,

How dry and salty was

His tongue on many days.


But Miriam told me

 wine erupted from golden chalices in Canaa,

He danced all night that Kingly man,

Gentle treads,

And moved his arms like autumn leaves,

Or birds breaking from the lakes,

And He blessed the hands of those He held.

As when Miriam had first taken his hands,

And gently curled them,

Seeing those of an infants and then a man again,

With opening of a bud.


As at Canaa she had cradled his ear,

To humbly point out the discomfort

She could see in the thirsty crowd.

She could see the thirst in other people’s eyes,

She was always looking in her silence at others,

That hidden woman.

She never kept the inner eye of her heart from the King,

You know,

And it seems to me that looking into her eyes,

I always found Him when I did.

Her being cradled Him,

She was given and found in Him,

Like the joy of naked tread finding morning dew.


We saw Him raise the corpse of a little girl,

And as her head raised with glancing peace,

It was as if

A Slowly forming mountain came forth

In the twisting currents of streaming rain,

As little saplings started to form in her eyes.

She was so beautiful that little girl,

When she looked at Him for the first time.

He raised Lazarus too, ‘can you believe it?’

They laughed and smirked at him,

That humblest of men,

Whose heart unfurled to embrace

Abba’s Kiss of Light in each moment.

How he suffered in knowing the treasury of GOD,

And with lips that carved the silence,

Spoke that riddled body out of the meaty earth.


In the weeping garden of nightfall

The Destroyer came

To break the apple sweetness of his lips

As his breath vapour rose like the last ashes of fragrant incense.

He implored the help of Heaven’s Keeper.

He who offered him the chalice of

Perfect Innocence.

The nectar of the angel beings,

Who nestle in the Light-realms,

Delighting in the honey of their king’s heart.

‘Abba’ he cried as that hideous being mocked his fright,

And took glee in the blood that poured from his sweaty brow,

Like frozen maple leaves,

Thawed by the snow-white winter,

The last remnants of a past autumn,

In that deathly time of the empty tree and

The plaintiff song of passing ravens.


They led him away,

Let me tell you,

That armed force.

They led the Cherished One,

Banded at the neck like a hangman,

Sold with a kiss.

We all left Him,

When time,

That peace destroyer,

Came to us.

Demanding our whole being

to stand for this gentle man.

He whose authority

was the Simple Path of Love.

That Considered Storyteller,

Who gave people their eyes back,

And reformed ears like glistening clay

To suckle the water of his words,

To be formed,

To hear again unnoticed noises –

Like the peace of the stars,

The complex story of a butterflies procession.

He who was all Sun Dance,

When we climbed a mountain together.


I ran away in biting fear, naked, forlorn,

Lost as time cut me from the Eternal One,

As I sheltered in an alien garden.

My tongue ripped from me,

Unable to look people in the eyes,

Scared of my freedom,

Violated by fear,

To an inner agony of hopeless separation,

Taken from the Path of the Masterpiece,

To the chaos of fear perpetuated by infidelity.

Stricken and lost in the Liar,

My being fractured,

And we all collapsed in dejection and terror.


We remembered how the Masterful One had commanded

The inner candles of our heartbeat to fall into time with his flicker.

That gentle force in his exclamation ‘Do not be afraid,’

As like a moonbeam,

He met us on the storm chaos of the whale-riddled ocean.

He himself had entered into the lower realms,

Had espoused us as servant in a tide of peace,

He who chose with His soul’s freedom,

To become our Lowly Helper.


Now at that time we were given to the pain of terror,

And the disjunction of our disloyalty,

Which made our closeness to death’s-hold so frightening,

And plagued our dissected footsteps,

As we failed to walk but one step in the Path of Life.

As we became all grief and inner biting.

It was only the fidelity of Abba,

Heaven’s Keeper,

Who cradled our being in the quailing time,

Which preserved us,

As we spat upon ourselves and the world.

Creating agony and bleeding for Christ –

Time’s own secret.


I heard they threw him to the deepest pit,

When they enrobed him in lies.

I heard when He was fastened at the neck

That he dripped in the heart,

A deep mourning prayer of painful anguish.

While an ugly circus parade pranced about him,

To drink and feast upon His fear.

To delight and gloat exceedingly

At his forlornness,

And to revel in his trembling,

Amidst that cold and dank cave.


Miriam I am told,

Lay stricken with agony as if her inner sanctuary

Had been torn and violently dismembered.

She streamed precious tears,

That only the moon’s constancy and nakedness

In the vacuum of the cosmos,

can speak something of.

Some say

Her tears fell onto the dark earth,

And were lost there.

But we must remember that Heaven’s Keeper knew of this.

And was Amazed and Well-pleased,

When He understood that she would partake in His –

Wildly Peaceful Plan.

He knew that the dark earth,

Which He formed in His treasury,

Was that same earth the human-folk would raise from,

We his Beloved Race.

The conifer field he especially tended to,

From the beginning of His thinking,

And that these same tears would be fruitful,

Nourishing from the roots as it were,

That simple copse of a newly risen man.


They took Him by the neck,

That little famished man with deep Ocean Eyes,

That knew all manner of secret things.

Indeed they kicked one in

So that they didn’t have to look at it.

They eyelid was cut and seared with tears of blood-water,

Just down the cheek side.

We all liked to see that,

Those of us who had the time

To be there of course.


We all chose to destroy Him,

The giver of Dawn’s Friendship Cup.

He who taught us to understand sunrises and sunsets by his memories,

He who had crafted good tables and some chairs for the local village,

In that carpenter’s place.

Where the saw-dust allowed light to play games within it.

When Miriam made soup and sung

Perhaps a song from his infancy.

I think he once told me,

They encouraged Him to work with His hand a little faster,

And to bring all things into precision in the end.

Knowing that the Mother would feed and nurture Him,

As He allowed Himself to be.

Just like a gentle farm animal’s gaze –

You know,

That sacred sweetness and truth

In the lope of a prancing goat

Or a running pony-horse

That plays amongst the fields.


Yes they kicked Him in many times,

Even after they had raped his body at the whipping post,

Cut him up like a sack of meat,

He was just a lump of flesh to their hands,

They beat up his back,

How we all wanted to see him thrown amongst the refuse,

Forgotten, dispensible, purchased for coinage passed round in our own hands.

You know he looked at me once,

When we were eating figs by the roadside,

And extended a thought that had come to him in frankness,

When he said with the delicate pain of realisation

‘You cannot serve Yahweh’s Fame and coinage in the same step’ –

‘Show me that step my friend?’

There he was that same man,

Below the source of the stars’ constancy.


When they had ached his bones with further fear,

So that his tears flowed to join His frothing mouth,

He feel dazed and deeply harrowed.

He was looking for Miriam I am sure.

She would have given anything to comfort him,

All in her was waling

To join him,

She bit her hands and shaked a lot.

I saw that with my eye’s own soul

when someone recounted to me

Of that hidden woman in the crowd.


When they handed him the tree,

Dispensed by the kindly hand of Abba’s treasury,

They hoped to make it a murder post of injustice,

One they had craftily conceived

 and had snuck into their law systems and religious piety.

They pressed it harshly into

 his butchered back beneath the azure sky,

Becoming gray-black.


We remembered that awesome speech He once uttered,

Which we had forgotten in time’s Lie and utterly dismissed;

‘You will see signs in the Heaven’s and in the stars.’

That handiwork of Abba’s display of delight,

And considered affection and placement.

Yes, they especially selected Him for that tree,

Which with fervour they had given their time to chisel its form,

With a sort of glee at the efficiency of its usage,

At how the killing would be fearful to all,

And especially degrading,

As he collapsed several times towards the murder post.

Liberally outpoured beneath the crushing tree into the dark earth.

His teeth clamoured against the barely paved way,

It helped press the thorny crown deeper into his skull we all thought.

Some even clapped and parodied his pained face,

Mimicking it back to Him.

It was the joke of the day and even for some days after.

He streamed tears in the emptiness.


He could not have been more famished in that carnival atmosphere

To meet one of his children,

As beautiful as he saw them and conceived them to be and become.

They danced around him that crowd,

Some leering,

Other’s embarrassed by the pathetic sight,

Other’s with a cold menacing gaze

Guessed at the number of strokes it would take

To maximise the excruciating pain of that hanging frame upon the tree.

That most public agony of the Time-Secret,

Freely chosen in a mysterious manner.


So they had formed grizzly nails from Abba’s kindly providence,

Those children afraid of their own glory.

Who preferred to silently dismiss the Gentle One,

Than be challenged by a return to peace.

Refusing their time-framework to be challenged,

For an inner gleam of ambitious crawling

Festered within their form,

Amidst that bountiful and complexly munificent world.


They preferred to lose themselves in the misery of nothingness,

Sold to the lie of Futility and the Absurd.

Now the Dark One thrived in absurdity,

Pulling apart the tapestry of life from its source.

That living, brimming, plentiful source,

Mirrored by this earth’s own ocean,

Riddled by whales and seals,

Which once gave rise to the imagination of faerie,

Within that mysterious body,

Whose lapping constancy refinds form in the harpist caress,

In the connection of stories handed and passed on,

In the contemplation of a wise bard.


Yes, they took that butchered ‘sold-man’,

Advertised His death at that embarrassing trial,

Which we can say in our heart of hearts we are ashamed of.

When they let that considered criminal ‘off the hook,’

For that lonesome man who looked on and out for any love to meet him.

I doubt he could see much in the frenzy of his advertised death.

Many took time off work to come and see it.

We hoped he would be dismembered and forgotten on that tree.

So that we wouldn’t have to think about anything he said or pointed towards.

Before we could make the most of things for ourselves and die.

How absurd.


So they took nails,

Freely and precisely forged from Abba’s treasury,

And hung his butchered trembling body on that bent tree.

Selected from Abba’s field for its strength,

To maintain this decidedly cruel practice.

There he hung that Masterpeice,

And many came along to profane Him.

Many shouted or muttered his name profanely – ‘Jesus Christ’ –

They said, ‘how absurd.’

And they blasphemed against the Holy One in many clever ways,

So that his hurt increased.


Their words snarled upon

Him like grimy exhaust fuel.

He was very forlorn,

Looking out from one eye.

He felt himself tearing and teaming,

He knew his lungs were unhinged,

His breath coughed repeatedly as he stared at the dragon.

Violated, bereft, put in the territory of eye’s corner,

At once leeringly ridiculed and despised.

It was the priests who had conspired this tragedy,

And one of his friends as I have said,

Who actually handed him over.

And one of his reliable followers left

 and disowned him publicly at Prison’s gate,

All those who were there knowing,

And can recount to all ears that shaming story.


That fragile form ached on the tree,


but for Miriam,

Who could not speak in the total nothingness of her heart,

As she ached for Him,

Thinking of the Abba who had secretly blessed her nectar womb.

This fragile form had been inside her,

But she had not reviled it like the leering crowd that bayed around her,

Some bowed in mocking reverent prayer,

Others clapping and dancing in that carnival atmposphere,

Others simply bored.

Miriam did not understand,

And she ached in the nothingness,

She could barely bring herself

to say ‘Abba’ as she held herself up against the murder-post.

‘Why have you abandoned me’

The contorted body below the graying sky spoke.


He, Yeshua, looked out,

From that battered unhinged eyelid.

If his eyes were the lamp of His body,

No-one will know in this life of the Light

He saw coming in that dejected forsakenness,

On that murder-post.

He died there.

Many forgot,

Other’s thought they had wasted their time,

As it was quick-killing –

Work no too prolonged.

Others went home happy,

Like many of the High Priest conspirators,

Who liked to speak religious words to others.

Miriam was so deeply alone,

I dare not think of it.


So dejected in the terror of our hearts,

We trudged a now smeared earth with greedy despair

That tore at our gluttony for malice,

We had left the sharer of the Friendship Cup for dead.

Him who had danced with us in such a lively manner

At the raising of the wine-cups at the spousal banquet of Canaa,

When He at Miriam’s promptings had brought forth with wild abundance

A flowing wine that bloomed from water,

When that loving couple had pledged the self-gift of their flesh –

In an adventure of intimacy.


It reminded us now of the action of that famished man,

On the eve of the looming death-post,

When beneath moon-beam’s gaze he had taken a little bread,

In those trembling constant hands –

That Miriam had many a time held –

And uttered,

Looking in the eyes of all present;

‘This is my body given for you.’

We ate it together,

His body.


On that same night he gazed at us all,

And taking a little chalice into those same trembling hands he said

‘This is my blood given for you.’

We drunk it together.


We still find him there,

As he himself said we would when we eat and drink together in this way,

Under His gaze –

That famished Restorer of Peace.

For what does it mean that a piece of bread

Is hungry for our own being?

For do we not all desire bread when we are famished?

Where and what is GOD in the cosmos?

I only ask you these questions

As I only have time for a few more vignettes,

And may choose but a few from a vast selection.

Yes we were in terror,

In our dissected forlornness,

One we had indeed chosen for ourselves.

Miriam we could not understand;

The Unspeakable was in her gaze.


Some say fiddle music was played by the angels,

As the famished one was fed by Life itself,

The Life of Abba came pouring,

Imbued by the perfect fidelity of communion.


As the fiddles twanged into a reel,

All melancholy melodies ceased entirely.


Indeed the gentle grasses revealed that they had been forever clapping,

And the loping deer revealed the Life it had been drinking.

Many of us saw him anew,

But it was only Miriam who was the completeness of Joy.

If we could see her gaze again,

We could understand a bit more,

And ache with passionate zeal for the famished One.

His Spirit came into us like a flooding sensation,

And now we ache in the world with Him,

Looking to bring our dismembered lives into a great unity,

With Him,

Who gives us our eyes and ears and hearts back to us

In an unimaginable manner.


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