Take all your hope and longing;
cover it in blood, urine, faeces, straw.
Cut the chord to your dreams
with a field knife or clenched jaw.
Here lays the King of the Jews.
Crowned between thighs,
Held in arms of exhaustion.
Bathed with tears, sweat
and the soft tones
of a mother
as the King of Glory
feeds folded at her breast.
What newborn would you not
bend a knee for? What labouring mother
would not make room for? Here’s how God
chose to be with His beloved;
in a state of utter surrender
making His way into the world
through a uterus. Trading a heavenly crown
for one of mucus. Later, finding
woven thorns pushed in its place as,
once again, God surrenders
to the fulness of humanity’s mess –
reconciling it all
counting no soul’s sin
pic by Ben Moses – Pexels
It’s taken me a few readings to even start to be ok with this poem. It’s to raw. To ‘in your face’. To real. This is God ‘crowned between thighs’. It breaks me open and makes me face things I struggle to deal with. Thank you.
well said Sir Andy… we are among friends & I echo your giving of thanks. Excellent piece David.
Do you have this poem written in any of your books? I would like to share it with others.
It is in Winters Never Last
I found this last night on IG. The image shared with it broke me. I loved it. And I live facing reality. It’s very difficult because my elders don’t do this.
They are deeply asleep. I am, too…but at least I’m aware of my state. I’m working on waking.
Thank you for this poem that keeps me grounded and reminds me from whence I came and to Whom I belong.