New book out: The Mind of This Mirror: Poems of the Passion. Available from amazon.com

Hold Me

The refrain is from Song of Songs 8:6
The Christchild to Mary


    I am tired of the hay,
    tired of my manger bed;
    hold me in your arm instead,
            there to stay.
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm.

    Hold me close against your breast,
    against milk and honey's fount;
    pillow me on that soft mount,
            there to rest.
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm.

    Hold me tight within your heart,
    and keep you my spirit warm;
    and your spirit I will charm
            with love's dart.
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm.

The God of Gods

The refrain is from Song of Songs 3:5.



The Pagan to the Daughters of Jerusalem




      Pagans we, yet know the truth
            which trumps our ruth:
            all gods are one,
            the idols done.
            I bind you by
the demons and deities of Shaddai.


      The god of gods lies in a trough,
            his glory off.
            A member he
            of trinity.
            I bind you by
the demons and deities of Shaddai.


      Pagans we, yet worship he
            the magi see
            here where they come.
            Worship that sum.
            I bind you by
the demons and deities of Shaddai.

Moan

The refrain is from Song of Songs 2:5.
Mary speaks.


Within my belly jumped my God
with each step that our donkey trod,
each jar, each kick, each twist, each plod.
It ground my groin and I did groan.
My misery made me to moan,
and yet it was not mine alone.
I shared it with the tiny kid
that in my belly big was his,
for he went through all that I did.
    Revive me with raisins.
    Refresh me with citrons.

And thus we journeyed on and on.
It seemed forever and anon,
only the tax from us to con.
Each road-bend promised a new bend.
I thought we'd never reach the end,
the winding road would ever wend.
When I could do nought but survive,
uncertain if I was alive,
in Bethlehem we did arrive.
    Revive me with raisins.
    Refresh me with citrons.

No room in inn, we stayed instead
where cattle board became our bed,
on which I did collapse as dead.
And yet my babe won't let me sleep,
as in my belly he does leap.
He may be born when dark is deep.
He may be born, but I may die
if I've no charm to close ,y eye
as on this reserved hay I lie.
    Revive me with raisins.
    Refresh me with citrons.

Beautifully

Inspired by Song of Songs 1:5-9.


I am beautiful, though I'm not
        white as a gull.
            The hot
sun burnt my face and neck and back.
  I am beautifully black.
  I am blackly beautiful.

Black Kedar's tents made from the coat
        of deep (not dull!)
            black goat—
fine as hangings on Shlomo's rack.
  I am beautifully black.
  I am blackly beautiful.

My brothers' vineyards were my lot
        to keep; I full
            forgot
my own, beneath their whip's sharp crack.
  I am beautifully black.
  I am blackly beautiful.


Why should I cover with a coat,
        or a veil pull
            o'er throat
and face, with but an eye-crack.
  I am beautifully black.
  I am blackly beautiful.

With my black goats I'll seek your spot,
        past the white skull
            I'll trot,
following the white sheep's track.
  I am beautifully black.
  I am blackly beautiful.

The White Wait's Song

This is a parody of Lewis Carroll's "The White Knight's Song".  A "wait" is a caroler.

I'll tell thee everything I can,
    And I will not be mute.
I saw an aged aged man
    A-coming down a chute.
"Who are you, aged man?" I asked.
    "And how is it you give?"
And his answer trickled through my head
    Like water through a sieve.

He said, "I overlook the elves
    That makes the Christmas toys:
I make them put them on the shelves
    With elegance and poise.
I give them unto kids," he said,
    "That behave very well,
"While they are sleeping in their beds—
    I give, and do not sell."

But I was thinking of a plan
    To paint the evergreen
 Pink, and put it in a can
    So it could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
    To what the old man said,
I cried, "Come, tell me how you give!"
    And thumped him on the head.

His accents mild took up the tale:
    He said, "I go my way
Through snow and sleet and rain and hail
    Driving a flying sleigh;
And then I go from roof to roof
    (Avoiding the church spire),
And tumble down the chimney—poof!—
    And hope there's not a fire!"

But I was thinking of a way
    To feed on snip-snap-dragons
Until too fat to fit a sleigh
    Or fit the largest wagons.
I shook him well from side to side
    Until his face was blue:
"Come, tell me how you give," I cried,
   "And what it is you do!"

He said, "I teach reindeer to fly
    To a tremendous height,
And reach the summit of the sky
    In the silent night.
And these fly all around the earth
    Carrying Christmas toys,
Their work is to spread joy and noise,
    But with but little noise.

"I sometimes put candy in socks
    And clothes beneath the tree—
But naughty kids get only rocks
    And coal and ash from me.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
    "By which I spread my wealth—
And very gladly will I drink
    Your Honor's noble health."

I heard him then, for I had just
    Completed my design
For making snowmen out of dust
    To give my valentine.
I thanked him much for telling me
    The way he spread his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
    Might drink my noble health.

And now, if e'er I chance to hear
    Jingle bells softly played,
Or madly shoot a leaping deer,
    Or kiss the dairy maid
Under a sprig of mistletoe
    Because she is so cute,
I laugh, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know—
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was was nothing like a crow,
Whose eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his "ho!",
Who rocked his body to and fro,
Who muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth was full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo——
That Christmas evening long ago,
    A-coming down a chute.

Beautiful Pine

This is a parody of Lewis Carroll's "Beautiful Soup".

Beautiful Pine, so rich and green,
Waiting patient to be seen!
How the lights upon you shine!
Pine of the holiday, beautifil Pine!
        Beau—ootiful Pie—ne!
        Beau—ootiful Pie—ne!
Pie—ne of the ho-o-liday,
        Beautiful, beautiful Pine!

Beautiful Pine! Who cares for you?
Everybody, that is who!
Those who see you with delight cry. N
obody hates you, beautiful Pine!
        Beau—ootiful Pie—ne!
        Beau—ootiful Pie—ne!
Pie—ne of the ho-o-liday,
        Beautiful, beauti—FUL PINE!