#passover
We are in the night
Each behind doors shut
And marked with blood
Innocent blood spilt on the grounds
That it would give protection.
And protection it did give but
The cries of pain that laid over our city
And rattled in my room, filled me with regret.
I pray if it was necessary with no divine response.
So we let the ghost of loss pass over our home,
feeling it, yet letting it take nothing
And when the sun rises on the new day and
Brings us our deliverance of love—
For us there will be
A future.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 12:40 PM UTC
the inherent harmony of the Arthurian phrase,
always charmed me, and by it, herein employed,
to wrestle/rassle it to the ground, like two preteen boys,
in a do or die, which prohibits ****** harm but releases
the testosterone that helps them moves them to the next,
Once and Future
stage, more a platform, to leg up further, to the next step,
that will be the once and future reforming, for are we not
always wrestling with our Once, this imprecise but prescient
point when we have arrived, knowing intuitively, it is not
a terminus, but just another way station to I-do not-know,
but knowing with genetic certainty that
when you get there,
that you have reached and met the requirements of what it means
to be, to exist as, to be so noted on the continuum of a
Once and Future
existence.
Apr 22, 2024
Apr 22, 2024 at 4:57 PM UTC
“Why seek the Living One among the dead?“
asked angels to a few who‘d watched the Lord
be crucified—His blood and life outpoured,
“He is not here! He‘s risen as He said!“
In days before these women wept in grief
as Jesus‘ lifeless body, wrapped in shroud,
lay buried, guarded, sealed from Paschal crowd,
but by God‘s plan entombment would be brief!
His slaying served full payment for the debt
incurred against Himself by mankind‘s sin.
His raising proved His sacrifice the win
to satisfy God‘s wrath, my debts forget!
Because Christ Jesus died but ever lives,
the sin of all who trust Him God forgives!
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 4:42 PM UTC
The King and the prince went up to the city,
the King to make peace, the prince to get tricky,
one lived to love and one loved to hate,
one gave his life and one took the bait.
The King and the prince went up to the city,
one stood condemned, the other stood guilty,
one spoke the truth, the other just lies
one knew the plan, one got a surprise.
The King and the prince went up to the city,
one filled with tears, one empty of pity.
The prince had his Friday, ‘thought the war had been won.
The King rose on Sunday, his reign just begun.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 2:55 AM UTC
Seasons change
and daylight burns
and shadows move
across the world,
and if you yourself
don't move as well,
those shadows may
pass over you.
If you yourself
don't move as well,
those shadows may
pass over you.
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
the yearling roasted on the spit
its drippings crackled the fire
huddled in a smoky closed space
family with a neighbour, or two
bags packed, shoes on, ready to go
the meat carefully carved
its skeleton intact, unbroken
with endives rolled in flatbread
unleavened as we had no time
meal's remains destroyed in the fire
we're ready to leave at any moment
from where we're born and always lived
to a place known only from ancient tales
outside, shrieks and wails, of horror and utter terror
inside, goosebumped, hair standing, we waited, in silence
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 9:02 AM UTC
"Wash your hands before eating
Your bitter herbs, figs, and unleavened bread,
Cause it ain't gonna happen.
No Sir."
Moses
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 2:22 PM UTC
You long for us to look back
Upon Your great love
The mercy You have shown us
And Your covenant of freedom
Your shield surrounds us
As we mourn and weep
Silently remembering
The hands and feet
Once bowed before
And anointed with oil
Now covered in blood
And like your clothes, soiled
You hang there, a victim
Of humanity’s curse
You pay for the ones
Who have sinned since their birth
Your head bows low, weary
As once ours did for You
And Your brow bleeds from the
thorny crown that marks Your abuse
Your feet bound and broken
With Your arms stretched out
You carry every burden
As we scream and shout
Shaking our fists
At the Innocent Lamb
”Blasphemous! Hypocrite!”
While you take the punishment of man
You sigh with a grieved spirit
As you bleed out from the holes
And our words continue taunting
Your meek, martyred soul
They echo in Your ears
Our sins final, black “amen”
And Your eyes fill with tears
As you whisper: “Father, forgive them.”
Your scarlet blood seeps down
And touches our ***** feet
Yet still we want more
Crave a delicious defeat
We use You as our mockery
Our Canvas to paint
Our faces filled with scorn and guilt
As we use You as bait
You are like a Lamb
Led silently to the slaughter
And now You hang there
Mourning for Your sons and daughters
Your goodness was shown
In the works You did
Healing the lame, the blind
The ***** and the sick
You brought the dead to Life
Yet we doubted still
Your ability to cleanse us
From the bleak, deadly chill
And, now scanning the crowd
Your eyes fall on mine
But I turn away, guilty
For my rage and defiance
But instead of the hatred
I think the eyes will bring
They are filled with love and grace
Overflowing like a Dayspring
And my spirit is lifted
As my eyes meet the One
Who has suffered for me
While I scorn His gentle love
And His eyes, sharp and piercing
Bring fear to my heart
For who could stand persecution
And still forgive the scars?
Who could hang there looking
At the ones who cause Him pain
And have nothing against them
Not desiring to cause shame?
I am shocked as I return
My gaze once again
And find You’re still looking at me
Your eyes have not left
The love has not ceased
The blood has not stopped flowing
Now pooled at my feet
It’s red radiance, glowing
I gaze down and discover
A golden chalice in my hand
And looking around me there are none
All the others have left
And then You speak Your first words
To me on that cross:
“Drink, child,” You call
“For all is not lost.”
I am shocked at the words
But I kneel in the dirt
Fill my cup to the brim
With the liquid rebirth
I look doubtfully at the cup
And then back at You
You nod for me to do
What You have asked me to
But I shake my head violently
And form the words in my mind
“I cannot accept this offering
My own way I will find.
He has already done
Far too much for me now
And I cannot repay Him.”
So I pour it out
On the dirt it splatters
And makes pathways in the mud
But I look up and His face
Is now grieved for His love
“Child, for this you do not pay.”
And He implores me with His eyes
To try once again to accept
The free gift He supplies.
I shake my head in disbelief
“But, how can this be?
For I have never done anything
To make you love me.”
And still His eyes search me
Waiting for my choice
As I struggle within
And listen again for His voice
But now it is silent
As all Heaven gazes down
The earth holds its breath
The blood thickly coats the ground
I am crushed by the weight
Of this glorious reality
That although I deserve nothing
Still this Stranger gives it all to me?
“I do not know You,” I stammer
“But I do know one thing.
All my life, no one has ever
loved like You love me.”
So I crumble with the weight
Of this realization
And dip the burning gold chalice
Into the crimson oasis
I kneel on one knee
Lift the cup to my lips
And as I drain its contents
He speaks softly: “It is finished.”
Now He takes a deep breath
His body shudders and sighs
And as I watch, trembling
My Savior peacefully dies
I have no words to speak
But the warmth of the blood
Fills my veins with a strength
That I know is His love
And the tears fall silently in the dirt
And mingle with the Red
As I stare at my Lord’s broken body
And think of how He bled
And now every day
I cannot help thinking
Of the death that He died
And the tomb He left singing
And because of the blood
My Lord’s suffering is ended
And His hands pull me in
To the glory of Heaven
I remember His words
Resounding in front of me:
“Drink My blood, poured out for your worth.
Do this in remembrance of Me.”
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
The faithless believe in belief
The idolatry of his will to believe
Preyed upon by Balaam the prophet
Anointed but evil, speaks truth but lies
Promised escape when Tribulation comes
For a fake ticket, the faithless sold his soul
Does a soldier flee when war arrives?
Was not war the call he obeyed?
When sun’s hidden and moon’s fallen
Light shines most bright on darkened Earth
The Covenant is not of bread alone
But surely all shall drink the Cup too
Israel was embittered against Moses
They’re yet slaves, and their burden heavier
Pharaoh hardened, proud and defiant
Egypt ravaged by plagues and ruined
Israel ate unleavened bread and bitter herbs
Unseen, the Angel of Death passed over
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 10:45 PM UTC
Israel foreshadowed in Egypt
Untouched by the Plaques
Passed over by the Destroyer
Egypt broken and bowed
With strangers, Israel walked free
Handsomely ransomed, a nation is born
So shall Israel again be in the Tribulation
As light for sight and salt to taste
And again with strangers
In haste and with bitterness
Come out of the World
Raptured as the First born of God
Jan 23, 2020
Jan 23, 2020 at 5:23 AM UTC
Good heavens!
Good Thursday on a Tuesday?
On a week of Good Friday?
But whatever!
The sun has set, Today is here.
We have eaten, and are ready to go.
Shoes on our feet,
House on our backs;
We have no bread, but thats OK.
We are ready to go.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 11:09 PM UTC
Passover or Easter or Happy Any Ole Thing, Sam I Am
she
asks me good naturedly
which to wish me - a happy this or that
and a poem’s immaculate conception is instant arisen arising
hot ****
rueful smile and unruly reply
a solid out loud Ha!
neither either or he writes and so believes
for I am a god loving man,
whom we’ve -Him/It/Me have agreed
that I may call
Sam I Am
and the answer to your question is
why not
for most quests and questions can be well-answered
why not!
my genes my historical beings my ancestors and my issue
all declaiming that I am a jew who left egypt, no defaming, a slave to no man who cannot love another like his own self
but some in all that I write, this deity boss slips in quietly unseen in one of his jokes-on-us-disguises like singing ave maria
and thus whose to say
his rightful name, is not
Sam I Am
my choice and the big D
(a self-employed informal his choice, nom-de-guerre)
has agreed via his acknowledgement in his normative style of
low volume taciturn tacit acceptance
so wish me a u happy
anything you want-to-call-it-day
don’t matter. but know this u were there
when, all on that happy day where, @ the manger,
when this Sam-Approved-Appeared
poem was born and Sam blessed it with a
hot ****
she laughs, tosses back in my face, some schematic I
prior penned that I can’t recall the when or where or my
nom-de-guerre employed but fits this ex-slave perfectly
“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
Who believes what we’ve heard and seen?
Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was ****
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn’t say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten ****** for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn’t true.
Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.
Out of that terrible travail of soul,
he’ll see that it’s worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
will make many “righteous ones,”
as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I’ll reward him extravagantly—
the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn’t flinch,
because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
he took up the cause of all the black sheep.
~ Eugene Peterson
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
When you come
you’ll reach to take what
I’ve clutched tight
You’ve done it a lot
— especially lately
You did it to that unsuspecting lady
when she stepped off the bus
on Philpotts Road
To that sleeping girl
with the mousy hair in
the children’s ward
To her father three months later
To my own dad while he prayed
by the bed and slumped
To that old pope who shook
like a wet dog in a sou’wester
I read again last week how you visited
the homes of those who wouldn’t
splash blood on their doors
Now that’s something!
I know what you want and I’m onto you
When you come I’ll be ready — I hope
and I’ll hand it to you without protest
But I have a request, if I may, and I hope
you’ll ask on my behalf:
Please don’t visit her before you call on me
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 3:42 AM UTC
it’s Passover and my boyfriend sneaks wine
from a Gatorade bottle in a neighbor’s dorm,
gets a pack of vanilla scented candles on loan
and a Bic lighter from a friend who uses it
to smoke their **** behind campus on weekends,
and we light a pair on a rain soaked bench where
the wind keeps blowing them out and the lighter
burns my fingers as I cup them around the flame.
it’s Passover and I sit in the campus café, listening
to two girls on guitars crooning into the mikes
“If you’ll stay with me, then I’ll make it worth
your time,” while my iced coffee melts and
the spotlights turn their hair red and blue.
outside the April rain drizzles down and I
wonder how old I was the last time I went to
Confession as I smell the wine on my boyfriend’s
breath while tasting the coffee souring on mine,
and I think- are these are the best days of our lives,
then, Passover on a rainy Monday night while
guitars hum and our reflections in the windows
flicker and warp, faint like candle light.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Passover Moon's
****** hue
eclipses
the ordinary
in veils of
miraculousness
obscure
rouge
halos
illume
elliptical arcs
guiding
footsteps in
a righteous
exodus
across
troubling
waters
forsaking
hovels
with
painted
doorjambs
dripping
lambs blood
Mezuzahs
bleat
memories
holy
murmurs
bespeaking
lamentations
of ancient
hosannas
our
desperate
supplications
flesh out a
distressed
humanity
seeking
deliverance
from the
vengeance
is mine
Elohim
may it
be nigh
we wait
watching for
an always faithful
Good Deliverer
to honor the
covenant
to lift
despair
with a
liberating
yoke
lugging
leaden
burdens
Oh Holy
of
Holies
banished
in the wisp
of a bitter herb
our
distended
bellies
fill with
unleavened
grace
sweet
droplets
of manna
consumed
with extreme
gratitude
arriving
at journeys
end to
promised
lands
fully
satiated
and free
to rest in
sanctuaries
of radical
hospitality
luxuriating
in an infinite
abundance
for all
sojourners
Selah
Music Selection:
Big Mama Thornton
Go Down Moses
Oakland
4/15/14
jbm
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC