REMEMBERING THE CRUCIFIED.

[dadio]

There was the huge crucifix
On the wall in the porter’s

Lodge of the convent Martha
Remembers the large Crucified

With half-open eyes and screwed
Up palms where large nails pierced

Hands and feet. She was a novice
Nun then and would find any excuse

To enter the small room just to be
Able to see Him hanging there staring

Out between the semi open lids at
The coloured glass window by the

Wall and the old nun saying you
Ought not to be here this is no place

For novices and leaving disgruntled
She’d take a quick glance at her

Crucified sucking in the five wounds
And storing them into heart and mind.

She sits now on the edge of her bed
Holding a small crucifix with a silver

Christ with screwed up eyes and a
Moulded crown of thorns and brings

Him to her lips a kisses Him to begin
Her day while some light years off in

Some distant galaxy a small star burns
Up and out and blows up and away.

[Steve Plonk]

Great passion poem about the cross & obsession.

[dadio]

thank you Steve.

[joel]

Christ with screwed up eyes and a
Moulded crown of thorns and brings

Him to her lips a kisses Him

Jesus with a beergut: that’s whom I adore—
Jesus with a hairy back, but on his scalp no more.

Jesus full of freckles— moles— and skin-tagged-skin:
Jesus, God embodied, with a body matching sin.

Jesus’ grimace: yellow— teeth unbleached and real;
Jesus born in Bethlehem of flesh and blood, not steel.

Jesus’ claw-like toenails fronting fractured heels—
Jesus solely matching life to whom my soul appeals,

Jesus who’s a brother, Jesus who’s a friend,
Jesus who would reconcile beyond a mere pretend—

Jesus with a drippy nose and Jesus with a cough,
Jesus with an average crotch when all his clothes are off,

Jesus who is Jesus, holy dissing myth:
Jesus on the cross of God whom hope would struggle with.

[dadio]

thank you, Joel.