Haiku from the Cross
Father, forgive them
For they know not what they do
They don’t know……don’t know
Jesus said “I thirst”
They offered a sponge of wine
Instead of justice
The one Jesus loved
Lived with the one Jesus loved
So it was finished
My God, My God, why?
Why have you forsaken me?
Silence caressed him
Jesus, remember
The one who feared God as well
As the one who laughed
"My Spirit goes forth
As wine on a hyssop branch
To a thirsty church"
Paul
“Bow-legged” “hawk-nose” “half-blind”
tears and snot trailing like a comet’s tail
on the short run home.
Was anyone there?
The patriarch’s scowl
like the freezer’s draft
unthawed by mother’s nod
or just chores and lessons
and the pain of being young and strange.
Sharp stones killed Stephen
but none from your hand.
Words were sharper, better aimed
opening wounds still bleeding
through pen, tongue
mixing strangely with
faith-hope-love.
Your vision blinded you.
Did you ever regain sight?
Others took up your story
offered interpretation
but you shout them down
through your large scrawl
turned scripture by some odd
alchemy. The occasional
morphed into eternity.
A specific scolding turned
bludgeoning tool,
for countless generations.
You are not entirely to blame.
You told your story
and the violent bore it away
praising your name amidst
condemnations of those
created in the image of a
broken and bleeding god
in whose shadow they cast lots
for a divided church.
