Tuesday poem: My selfie on Calvary
November 3, 2014
My selfie on Calvary
I had to squat,
haul up his head
but I like the way
the thorns look like an effect —
‘trembling halo’ —
and the crimson
just nailed it lol
P.S. Cottier
I was shocked, the other day, to hear of people taking selfies in front of car accidents, and the idea that people would take a selfie as Jesus carried the cross came to me. The poem attempts to capture this spirit, in appropriate flat-pack language.
Let’s face it, some people would climb up over someone on the cross to get the right photo. Not that that ability to ignore suffering is new; remember the soldiers gambling under the cross as Christ died. But the need to capture our images all the time, and the idea that sensation of viewing the images overcomes compunction is a new manifestation of this way of thinking, it seems to me. An unlovely mix of vanity and cruelty, which is to art (see Raphael above) what Twitter is to literature.
Pornography and self perception are becoming more and more linked, and the production of images through any means is approved.
Now I promise to be new light hearted next time.
Light as this feather. Tap it and read more poetry:
That image is sometimes not appearing properly, but please, click anyway.
1. My song is love unknown,
My Savior’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I, that for my sake
My Lord should take, frail flesh and die?
2. Christ came from heaven’s throne
Salvation to bestow;
But people scorned, and none
The longed-for Christ would know:
But O! my Friend, my Friend indeed,
Who at my need His life did spend.
3. Sometimes they strew His way,
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the way
Hosannas to their King:
Then “Crucify!” is all their breath,
And for His death they thirst and cry.
4. They rise, and needs will have
My dear Lord made away;
A murderer they saved,
The Prince of life they slay,
Yet cheerful He to suffering goes,
That He His foes from thence might free.
5. Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King!
Never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend, in Whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.
OK, it’s more a hymn than a poem as such (whatever that may be), but it is quite lovely, with an interesting use of rhyme. And what a perfect name for someone who wrote hymns! If that happened today we’d think it was an advertising slogan, but this work dates from 1664.
The image is rather strange, as Jesus looks a little like a football player who has just scored a goal, or a cricketer who is appealing for a wicket. A tad arrogant? Mary Magdalen looks totally inspired; as you would be, being the first person to see the resurrected Christ. Or in this case the elbow of the resurrected Christ.
The first apostle with eyewitness news about to run off and spread the word. Amazing that some churches still don’t have women priests. I think they’d rather that Jesus appeared to a man. Silly mistake for the Son of God, what?
I had a quiet Easter and a chocolate Easter. Hope all my readers, whether atheists or religious in some way, also ate their weight in chocolate.
I’d hate to be the only fatty.
The painting is by Johann Heinrich Tischbein the Elder: Resurrection, 1778. Snatched from the vaults of Wikimedia Commons.
Take a moment to read some other poetry. Simply use this feather:
My next post will have details of the Canberra and Melbourne launches of The Stars Like Sand.
Tuesday poem: Prayer
December 17, 2012
Prayer
Let me kill the cynicism
that dogs me, toothily.
Let cleverness die
just for today;
let me believe
with simplicity,
that hope was born
that hope is with us
that hope will come again.
Let me lie down in pillowy hay;
no more maybes and yets
and tired, half-hearted smirk.
Or better still, blow me, now, full-sailed
and squalling, billowing onto faith.
P.S. Cottier
May I wish all my readers a Merry Christmas, whatever their faith (or lack of faith).
And, to get away from simple faith and back to weird curiosity, note how two of the wise men in Jacques Daret’s painting seem to be talking into their sleeves, like security guards looking after a VIP.
For the last time this year, click this feather for further poetic gifts. It’ll all be happening again next year, from January 22nd.
Tuesday poem: All the blond Jesuses
November 12, 2012
So, I’m improvising here. You’ll have to click this sentence and be taken to the journal Verity La, where my poem was just published. It came about after I noticed how very blond Jesus is in many stained glass windows. He’s like David Gower…If a little chubby in this version:
From an early age, his abilities in slip were manifest…Batting came later
If you like this poem, there are lots more in Triptych Poets Issue Three…
Or, click this feather, dropped by an angel, and head to New Zealand, where the mud bubbles and the poems are more than luke warm. (Little biblical pun there…Sorry.)
Modern Jesus
August 5, 2010
Ten moments in the life of modern Jesus
1. At the bowls club, selling raffle tickets;
2. Not voting for blustery Christians;
3. Trying to eat vegetarian (locusts were never much chop);
4. Sipping light beer and saying it’s just as good;
5. Riding his bike (unless delivering meals);
6. Going Anglican to hear the chicks (vocational guidance systems lock on all sorts);
7. Walking the dogs on Canberra winter mornings (but not always picking up poo);
8. Buying The Big Issue and reading it;
9. Studying obituary column poetry and not even thinking of laughing;
10. Making sure that widows and widowers win the chook raffle (see 1 above) and sharing the meal (despite 3 above).
P.S. Cottier
PS Cottier 