5)Seven Nativities by James Metelak

Seven Nativities

 

I.  Madonna with Child

 

When she looks into his little eyes

She sees the face of the accuser,

The face of her pain, rejection, judgement, and her abuser,

But when he smiles she also sees

The loving face of God.

 

II.  Christus Victor

 

What child is this descending from his billowing starship?
The Conquistador from across the sea,

An alien white face on a white horse

Bearing plague, spitting fire

He descends on the land

The people perish,
Face of a Roman father

Spreading terror

And then communion.

And eventually siring the divine mestiza.

 

III.  Incarnation

 

The first time she looked down at him,

She cried, when she saw his alien eyes.

Family said “Get rid of it,”

Saw in him only problem, disgrace, and pain,

Medical bills and defect,

She wandered in the mystery,

What’s wrong with him?

What’s wrong with me?

We struggle to understand

The divinity in imperfection.

 

IV.  The Annunciation

 

He came into a virgin womb;

She cried and tried to smile

And mask her shame.

 

Full of love and full of grace,

If they could only see her,

The divinity beyond her sexuality.

 

But like Augustine, they use her

Then discard her as vice and temptress.

 

V. Nativity

 

They call themselves the native sons,

The colonizer aliens,

Of course, there were earlier migrations.

To keep America great

We must keep out all Palestinians.

 

Here on the reservation or refugee camp, a baby is born

To be taken from its parents to be saved

At a boarding school, or in a foster family.

Son of God and son of man.

 

He will be crucified between the margins

Of the crossed staves of

Poverty and racist exclusion

But no one is listening, there is no one to hear his

“I am finished.”

And thus, we lose our salvation.

 

VI.  Immanuel

 

Jesus came to the US fleeing the Maras:

A Honduran wholesale murder of the innocents

Subsidized by the Empire’s glut for drugs and gangster presidents.

His F/father worked in construction.

Joseph and Mary were unable to get documents,

Deported twice, they then sent Jesus ahead:

Cages were prepared, then shelters,

But the locals said “not in our town”

And shut them down.

Too old for DACA, and born abroad,

He was unable to study officially, but learned

Drywall and Bible from his uncle.

One Sunday he walked up to the pulpit,

Started preaching, the deacons called security,

Asked for credentials, the cops got involved.

We deported God,

And his body lies in the shape of a cross

On the corner of a San Pedro Sula street.

 

VII. Orphaned God

 

We left you on the street

We left you in the system

We left you in the refugee camp

We left you at the border,

We left you, Imago Dei.

 

We searched far and wide for our saviour complex:

South Korea, Guatemala, Ethiopia, Kyrgyzstan,
We paid the bribes for an exotic baby

That fit our narrative.

 

But you, God, were too old.

You were too scarred.

Your nose was too big,

Your opinions, trauma, and defects too strong.

It didn’t seem like you would fit into our family.

 

So we offered you our bribes and tithes,

We built orphanages and group homes and juvenile facilities…

No nearer, please.

As innkeepers, we put you in the stable

Receiving God as animal,

For the Word to become flesh,

To keep it alive,

We must invite it to dwell among us

In homes and hearts.

 

 

*****

 James Metelak is a poet, activist, singer-songwriter, and photographer currently based in Colorado.  His 2 books of poetry are available on Amazon Kindle, his music is available on Bandcamp, and his photography is on Instagram. 

Day 2: The Union Forever by Stephen Carradini

The Union Forever, or Mostly The Third Verse of 'Hark! The Herald Angels Sing' for the 21st Century

We have never known the perfect union, 

the glory that Christ gladly left for us. 

Yet in the future we can rightly feel it, 

the perfect peace that our Prince sacrificed. 

He joined our rife divisions so that we could 

(Hallelujah!) share eternal union.

****

Stephen Carradini is a  researcher, teacher, and writer in Arizona.

5)Tidings by James Metelak

I’m starting to, believe the ocean’s much like you...

Comfort

Warmth

The deep inhales and exhales

The floodwaters rise and they recede

The planets align for a moment but again

Go their separate ways

The world is on fire, but then the desert blooms

And the Sequoias seed

The hurricanes come

And eventually someone comes to tow away the barge

On your lawn.

Diseases plague us

And then fade into the background

This too shall pass.

There is no cocoon or womb to hold us,

We like lighthouses against the storm,

Are battered, bruised, afraid, and frustrated

The news, bringing tidings of divisions and war

Rage, separations, and lockdown orders.

You too shall pass

And you hope it’s not the cough come to get you

But you feel the sting, why weren’t the others so lucky?

Emmanuel rings a little hollow

When you’re alone for five weeks

And you still can’t breathe normally;

Virtual realities become normalities and

And I miss hugs.

 

Saturn and Jupiter dance in the sky

But all our dancehalls are closed.

We brush up against so many

Who are feeling under the weather--

But when it rains, you can grab an umbrella

Or dance in it,

And when it snows you can build castles

Or cuddle up indoors.

Each year the hurricanes come,

And the important part is not how strong they are

But how we weather them

How we respond.

When the wave comes, you can duck under, jump over, 

Try to ride it or let it give you a twirl, but you

Can’t stop the waves from coming.

So if you find yourself isolated.

Alone.

Stressed.

Hurting.

Sure, reach out, fix what you can.

But take this time as an invitation…

And invitation to slow down, mourn, rest.

And invitation to write, to paint, to sing.

To write letters to the ones you’ve lost touch with.

To work on  those projects you’ve been thinking of doing.  

Or not.

Or find a front line and start fighting for people in need.

And to those of you who are fighting…

It’s okay.
It’s going to be okay.

This storm will pass.

A new year is coming,

And whether it is better or worse...

Is a decision that's yours to make.

The year is 2020,

And I have seen

Such sunrises and sunsets,

Love bursting through the seams, weddings whose joy

Could not be robbed by mask orders or social distancing

Or even being capped at 16.

I have seen people around the globe

Reaching out to those left without work and hungry

I have seen teachers whose love for their students shines through

The sometimes farce of online teaching

And doctors and nurses giving their lives,

Risking their lives

To try and save a few.

I have seen communities and friends who in love

Gather around each other

And others who in love maintain their distance.

We are navigating uncharted waters, I mean,

Theoretically, every flu season,

Our cough could kill someone,

But we as a species are wrestling with huge responsibility

And our responses are many, and varied

And we mostly try to do our best, and

Try to maintain our humanity.

 

It’s Christmas, and

If there’s a God,

I believe He is with us.

Laughing and crying with us.

In this.

In all of it.

I wish the religious folks got that because if they did

They wouldn’t need politicians to validate them

Nor would they feel threatened by those who don’t

See them.

The manger story is a story of a human race

Loved.

Seen.

Embraced in its entirety

“The hungry He has filled with good things.”

His favour rests on humanity

And His word is peace.

 

Believe me, I hear you

I see the Hondurans on their rooftops,

And the Armenians and Azerbaijanis at each other’s throats

I see the Uighurs and the Belarusians imprisoned and the racism

And the rapists acquitted and

The callousness and corruption of those in power.

I hear the conspiracy theories.

But there is still 

So

Much

Joy.

 

Feel free to re-celebrate Thanksgiving,

To go back and count your blessings.

Yes beloved, you have lost

And you are going to lose everything.

Every peak and valley eventually flatlines

Into the sea.

But it’s a wonderful life

And the views from those peaks!

And oh, the things we find in those valleys!

You can count it all as loss or try to analyze

The ups and downs and see which one comes out on top

But I think that misses the point of breathing.

So put up your lights.

Sing out loud.

Dance, even if it’s in your living room by yourself.

Play games.

Give thanks.

Write letters.

Make cookies.

Celebrate.

Taste and see.

Life is today.

Joy is today.

And joy is here. 

 

 

 

*****
James Metelak is a poet, activist, singer-songwriter, and photographer based in Central Asia.  His 2 books of poetry are available on Amazon Kindle, his music is available on Bandcamp, and his photography is on Instagram. 

10)Robert Best "Eat the Weak"

 

I saw a documentary on wolves,

In Yellowstone, reintroduced a few Decades ago.

They're doing well, it seems.

The winter's tough in Yellowstone, the grass

Is far below the snow, the hungry herd

Is easy meat as winter takes its toll.

 The wolf, of course, could not be less concerned

By how unfair the feeding frenzy seems

To prey hit hard by winter's frost who then

Cannot defend their sick and young but see

Them struggle, fall, to unrelenting jaws.

It's in their nature, born to eat the weak.

I saw a stat in a rag on the road

Up to Christmas. Paper said, a hundred,

Thirty five thousand young humans homeless

In time for Christmas. Highest number since

Two thousand seven. Just zero point two

Percent the British population, though.

Around the size of Newport or Colchester.

The wolf, of course, could not be less concerned.

An apex beast has fought for every piece

Of winter's banquet. Gorge upon success,

You've earnt the right to celebrate yourselves

And if another's young must freeze for yours To feed.

The parent should have been a wolf.

*****

Robert Best works in IT and lives in Wales. He loves running about in the hills, archaic stick sports, and traditional folk music. At some point he may actually finish one of the many novels he's started but until then you'll struggle to access any of his artistic outlets unless you make a habit of checking out the folk clubs in South Wales.

8)Jeff Hinton "Roses in Deserts, Flowers in Concrete"

After José Olivarez and Isaiah 35

The call goes out that the desert will bloom
And it sounds hopeful
That this inhospitable wasteland will turn into something beautiful
Something lovely
These sands with the heat that chokes out all life
Will become soil that nourishes a new paradise
That’s what we’re told, that’s what we’ll see, eventually
But what if the desert blooms and it’s still a desert?
What if this miraculous event occurs and then these lush carpets of flowers 

shrivel and die
Just like everything that came before?
What if it needs more than hope and desire for love to bloom in a wasteland?

Maybe it’s like the rose that blooms from the crack in the sidewalk
It’s once again the metaphor for hope, for persevering in the face of adversity, 

for overcoming the odds
And yet beneath the foot of the ruler walking by, it’s the same as the concrete around it
The flower and the stone feel the same beneath a boot
It’s easily ignored
Or worse, after all the work it takes to grow in such a harsh environment
Someone decides that the rose doesn’t belong
And plucks it up before it can be anything at all

Maybe we need to realize that it’s not enough to plant orchids in the sand and call it a miracle
Maybe we need to stop celebrating small signs and wonders as if they’re the end of the story
When really they’re a call to renewal, to a new order of all things
Maybe what we need to do is transform the sidewalk into a garden
To terraform the desert, rearranging it entirely so that it might hold paradise instead
That it might provide a home for those who have none
instead of drying out the hope of anyone stranded there
Maybe that’s what this season of preparation is for
Not that we might be ready to see something unlikely
But that we transform ourselves so that we might make the unlikely the ordinary
So that the desert blooms for more than a fleeting moment
So that the rose doesn’t just fight its way out of a crack in the sidewalk
So that we don’t just wait for God to show up
But we make the path that God takes through that wasteland that was once so 

imposing to get here
Lined on either side with roses in full bloom

 

Jeff Hinton is a pastor, writer and musician in Oklahoma. You can find his work at Irrational Confidence and his most recent EP here.

5)Carli Lewis "Labour of Love"

Carli Lewis is an artist, designer, and musician from Ponca City, Oklahoma, currently based in Kiev, Ukraine.

Design: http://www.carlilewis.com/portfolio/

Music: http://carlilewis.bandcamp.com/releases

3)Stephen Carradini "The Eighth Christmas"

The Eighth Christmas

Or, The Text of a Children’s Book 
Concerning the Eighth Birthday of Yeshua Bar-Joseph

Mary dancing in the foyer.

Joseph turning wood.

Sisters chirping “miracles” while

James takes in the mood.

Jude is singing in the bathroom,

Neighbors bringing food.

Aunties hugging everyone, and

Uncles say “he could

grow up to be a carpenter,

working for his father.”

“Maybe take up fishing,

and then go out with his brother.”

“I hope he won’t take taxes and

shame his humble mother.”

“I pray he joins a rabbi.

Maybe Hillel, or another.

Or maybe something else, I guess,

he’s still got some boyhood.”

“Maybe Mary’s right.” “What’s that?”

“Messiah.” “Ah, she would.”

Stephen Carradini teaches, researches, reviews music, writes poetry, and sings in Arizona.

 

2)Kyleigh Dunn "God in Flesh"

This is my body, broken for you.
His slippery flesh bursts from the womb
Her anguished cries that had pierced the night
Now echo in lungs of the one true Light.

This, This is Christ the King
Joining the sorrow of the suffering
The infant crowned
Blood and sweat on the dust of the ground.

This is my blood, shed for you.
Hers was spilled, bringing Him here,
His poured out rebirthing her soul
Torn apart, making wounded whole.

This, This is Christ the King
Yet arms ‘round their innocents cling.
To earth descends, not sterile creche,
God has come, and in the flesh.

Kyleigh Dunn resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two toddler daughters, where she spends her time reading stories, dancing in the kitchen, and sneaking in blogging and music when she can.

Check her Blog: www.thesojourningdunns.wordpress.com
Or check out her book The Christian Musician on Amazon.

22)"Redemption Knocked" Krista Kahsen

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

Throughout that day

I washed and cleaned

scrubbed and swept

My Inn - From top to bottom

Preparing for

The native travelers

Who worn and tired

Needed a place to lay

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

One by one

I welcomed each guest

Offered them water

And a key to their room

Pristine and perfect

Were each of their spaces

Lain with clean linens

And bowls - To wash their faces

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

Retired to my bed

At half-past ten

I contented myself

With the work I had done

Each guest now lies

Quite comfortably still

In the beds and the places

That I crafted for them

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

Knocked.

Knock.

Knocking.

That persistent knock- who could it be?

The rooms are filled

The door has been shut

I cannot possibly take another

From out of my slumber

I walk to the door

To open and behold

A young couple - Standing there

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

Asking for a corner

Maybe a crumble too

Of my possessions to share

I shook my head -

And said I had nothing

The man pleaded and begged

Telling of the child

That was nearly due

“I don’t have room” -

Was all I could say

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

I thought for a moment

Of the bed where I sleep

Surely I could give up

One night for these travelers

But no!

I hadn’t washed my linens

Nor swept my floors -

I hadn’t dusted the corners

Or patched the lingering holes

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

I mustn’t let them in.

I mustn’t let them see.

Me behind -

My generosity

So turning they went

Away from my Door

To settle in the Stable

On the straw-strewn floor

Redemption knocked

At my door

It was a normal night -

and nothing more

Krista Kahsen is a young photographer, church pianist, and hometown missionary in Michigan. She is currently studying English through CollegePlus and enjoys being a camp counselor when she gets the chance. Check out her blog and like her photography page below:

www.inksimpressionsandivory.blogspot.com

www.flickr.com/kristarosephotography

11)"migrant child" Kelvin Fowler

over a hundred miles they walked

refugees, foreigners

hungry, poor

suspicious, religious

tired, dirty, angry, hurting

they walked, they cried, they fled

one hundred miles, one hundred agonising miles

awoken in darkness

smelling fear

fled for their lives

fled for each other

fled for their child

fled

left behind

a madman, a tyrant

a home, toys, clothes, a cup

a dictatorship, death, destruction

left behind a life

death they fled

a lonely mother, lonely father

refugees walked

over one hundred miles

carrying their baby

their precious child

in their arms

a lonely refugee

Jesus

Kelvin Fowler is a Kiwi pastor, poet, writer, and artist who lives in Klaipėda, Lithuania. His exploits include numerous publications, poetry tours of the UK and Germany, and various adventures like those in his book Clueless in America. Check out more of Kelvin's work at supper.co.nz, including his latest book, Verses for the King.

10)"A Baby Was Born in Bethlehem" James Metelak

A Baby Was Born in Bethlehem

Cardboard pop.

Confetti.

Ribbons.

A baby was born today
A child was born in Bethlehem

His passport isn't recognized.

His home was bulldozed because his parents

Couldn't get a permit (systematic prejudice)

There was "no room at the inn"

Arabs didn't want him

Europe was afraid of him

Americans are arguing about who's the toughest on

Immigration

So he was born in a tent

In a refugee camp

They came bearing gifts and

Me, well,

I've got a bullet for you for Christmas

Mom and Dad aren't talking

And the presidents are telling us

Who can and can't be friends
Santa's naughty list

Depends on the news channel

You're watching

There's a bright light on the road to Damascus

A Mirage on the horizon

I was going to send you chocolate and oranges

But the sanctions just kicked in

Come New Year's we're praying

Our money will still be worth something

Dear mom and dad, we need your

Son to try to put back together the world

And one wonders how much difference there is

Between a jacket of C4 and a gun.

They came bearing gifts:

M-16s, AK-47s, Gas, Bombs

The drones are always watching

And the NSA's tracking your calls

The Saudi government wants your head

Cuz they don't like what your blog says

The tree is lined with barbed wire,

A flare on top,
Grenades hung from the branches,
A line of golden bullets wind around the bannister

And there's a Stinger launcher hung over the hearth.

Obama, Putin, and Hollande are laying an arsenal

Before the bassinet

Assad's bombing the village in hopes the baby won't grow up

And Rouhani and Saud and Erdogan are supporting their pet

Freedom-Fighterish Mobs

Asses bray violence,

Sheep baa-ing nationalism and fear,

Border fences and anti-Islamic sentiments

Angels sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic

There are not enough graves in the world

To hold the hate
And there's not enough water in the oceans

To drown the fear

My eyes are open and the answers are easy

And easily impossible

Goodwill to men,

Jesus, there will be no crown of thorns or cross,

No whip-streaked back for you

You're not gonna make it that far

The baby lies in ribbons on the ground

Rearrange the body's wreckage to spell out

Peace on Earth








James Metelak is a poet, singer-songwriter, photographer, and the primary editor of Headpiece.   Check out his book, The Great Word G-d, his latest album, photos, or a little bit of everything at his website.  He currently lives and works in an orphanage in Central Asia.  If you like this poem, look for his upcoming book, Reasons for Cutting the Power to a Large Section of America, coming 2016.   

8)"Suite Baby Jesus" Carl Nellis

***

Dear Jesus,

Is it better to put

Crap in the bible, or

Put bible verses on crap?

I can't decide, so I tried

Both.

Please let me know

Through my ROI.

Year-end is the

Best!

*** 

Dear Jesus,

I hope there are enough anxious

People to buy my book. If there aren't

Please scare a few more. THANKS.

***

Dear J,

Since I got

Away with this before I'm just

going to do it again. Glad

You approve!

***

Dear Jesus,

I didn't have enough

Plastic babies

In my house, so

I ordered

A few more.

They all have

Your eyes!
xo

*** 

Dear Jesus,

I really want

To be generous

This year, so,

God, I need to talk

With you about

Being emotionally

Manipulative

At the table.

God, I need to talk

About turning

People Into projects,

And vice

Versa.

God, I need to talk

About my slim

Leather wallet. That's

Where the problem

Lies.

***

Jesus, don’t stay in

that one. Come up to the

penthouse suite, baby,

we need to toast Q4.

I’ll give you a pour

of my Lagavulin 18

(the undertones are

incredible, it will blow

your dome!) and we

can look down on

the city lights. My

kind of Merry Christmas.

***

Happy Birthday, Jesus!

Please help me

Not to think about

The dirty warehouses

Where all this stuff

Was getting dusty

For like six months

Before I bought

It. I mean, insects

And rodents. Gross.

And plus, someone

Might have gotten

Germs on it or something

(who would work

While they are sick? Like

Why would you even

Do that? It's so disrespectful

To customers!).

If there's, like, some

Sweat on it, please

wipe it off before

He opens it. I just

Want to give

a convenient present

and like, the best

Way was a one-click

Order. So what the wages

Of ease is unrest

Out of sight. Just

Keep it that way

Okay? Anyway,

Happy Birthday!

***

Carl Nellis is a steadfast friend, an excellent writer, and a beardly literary editor based in Beverly, MA.  Having finished graduate studies at Boston College, he enjoys tea, music, frisbee, and all things Scottish.  His profound and beautiful poems can be found at: http://laughingoverthesea.blogspot.com/ .  Look for his book "Lesser Wheels" coming 2016.