Priceless Sunday

On this day of days, we reach the culmination of our Advent Series, with the day that all Advent Sundays look towards, what could be better than Gold Sunday?

Priceless Sunday

Beyond all hopes, beyond all dreams,
Beyond all human plots and schemes
To cure the ills that plague mankind,
The bonds that hold the weak unbind,

The wisdom of the world surpass,
To show the lost the way at last.
To shame the mighty and the strong
And show the proud where they went wrong.

To open up the narrow door
That leads to love for evermore;
All this through a baby’s birth
To reclaim corrupted Earth.

The fullness of divinity
Combined with full humanity
To be the Way, the price to pay
With unforeseen humility.

No eye had seen, no ear had heard
The mighty and incarnate Word
That cried our tears, that felt our pain,
So we could all be whole again.

The greatest enemy of all
Saw this would lead to his great fall;
He tried to tempt, to spoil, destroy,
But could not taint our source of joy.

At last That Day had come.

 


For more of my poetry, there are two of my collections available on Amazon:

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Bronze Sunday

We continue from last week with part two of this Advent series, inspired by the Bohemian folk names for the four Advent Sundays. Last week was iron, this week is bronze:

Bronze Sunday

Bronze shields and spears arranged in ranks,
To form the fearsome Greek phalanx,
Conquered nations far and wide;
Now there’s a new source of Greek pride:

Bold theories and insightful thoughts
That they debate in marble courts.
“Whose wisdom can outshine our own
Or that of our great pantheon?”

Twixt oracles and temples grand
In Athens a small altar stands
Placed there as a reverent nod
To an as yet unknown god.

But soon That Day will come.


For more of my poetry, there are two of my collections available on Amazon:

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Iron Sunday

As this is the first Sunday of Advent, I will be posting the short first part of what will (hopefully 🙂 ) be a five-part poem, each part themed according to the Czech (Bohemian) folk names for the four Sundays of Advent, Iron Sunday, Bronze Sunday, Silver Sunday and Gold Sunday, followed up by one on Christmas Day itself, which this year also falls on a Sunday (in the American/British tradition anyway, over here the evening of the 24th is the time for the Christmas feast and exchanging of presents. Since, being a British and Czech family, we celebrate both, I think I can get away with making the most of this conjunction of dates)

Iron Sunday

Nations crushed by iron wheels,
With gladii and oblong shields,
As far as human eyes can see
Reigns Caesar unopposed, supreme.

He sees himself as a great god
To rule all with an iron rod.
“My empire has been built to last
My might will never be surpassed.”

But soon That Day will come.

Wise Men

Declared by wonders in the sky,
Wise men saw a king was nigh.
Trusting in their ancient art,
They got ready to depart
Across the vast and burning sand
To a distant promised land.

A mighty convoy was prepared
To ensure they made it there,
With treasures, mounts, supplies and troops
To fend off nomad raiding groups.
Tents to shield from brutal heat
And nightly chills that oft repeat.

After months through harsh terrain,
Despite discomfort, cold and pain,
At last they reached the royal court
To see the newborn king they sought.
The old king flatters them a while,
With subtle knives behind his smile.

“Of course we’ll worship this new king
As soon as you’ve confirmed this thing.
In Bethlehem was prophesied
The birth of our great nation’s guide.
Pay your respects, then bring back news
That we can share with all the Jews.”

With joy refreshed and strength renewed,
And packs refilled with royal food,
They journeyed on to that small town
(Soon to be of great renown),
Above them that celestial sign
Guides them in one final time.

With reverence they find their goal
Beside the slumbering lamb and foal.
Despite the stench, the holy sight
Fills their souls with peace and light.
Their treasured offerings now seem
Paltry in that glorious gleam.

They stay a while, discuss the worth,
The meaning of this wondrous birth,
All that’s heralded this thing,
A pauper’s home for this great king?
What will he be and do for all,
That has the heavens so enthralled?

Their spirits countlessly enriched,
Return to where their tents are pitched,
And as they rest, a herald warns
Of plots against this pure newborn.
To thwart this foul insidious wrath,
They packed and took a stealthy path.

“This all our fathers saw and knew,
Most honoured gospel scribe Matthew.
We know their tale is one small part
Of a greater work of art.
Now we have helped you as we ought,
Please tell us all He did and taught?”

A Simple Gate

I stand before a simple gate,
Hoping it is not too late
To be summoned in to see
The answer to my mystery.

What power lies beyond those beams?
What images will haunt my dreams?
What truth too great for mortal men
Is housed within that stone-walled den?

I hope it will renew my mind,
Touch my heart with gestures kind,
Soothe my soul where it still aches,
Calm my hand when it still shakes,

Satisfy my deepest need,
Help me see, inform my creed;
Find my place in life and death,
Put the right words on my last breath.

The bolt unlocks, the panel swings,
My soul begins to spread its wings.
Filled with joy, my eyes behold
A baby wrapped in swaddling clothes.