Christian, What If?

What if, she’d listened 10 years

Ago, listening to Tenor David M.

On Christmas Eve, she actually

Listened to his voice command

What’s more of Grace, yes fashioning

Grace, the real surrender to Power

Greater than one’s self, not machine

Nor explosion, Power behind each

Natural or non-natural event,.

The Great God as opened in His

Christ, following Christmas, spring

The Resurrection, of John’s acceptance

Of Lambs, more than any, Mary Magdalena,

More this woman like her soul,

Believing as one saw rock rolled

Away, this Christmas tree, then she

Seeing truth in every green branch

Our beautiful ornaments, tradition

In Small wooden harp, glass child, star

hanging delight, of God for us Emanuel,

Day of God changed as Saturday

Sunday,  our Christmas Ave Maria, song

Bright Messiah we worship progression

To her cross, her land, her place, her honor,

Her spring in winter did not happen,

Lord we pray for her; all women unsure

As she corrects me not athiest, her agnostic

Unsure, she waits for her own salvation

In sureness already no after thought

Belief, like flag unfurled upon Sky clear. 

“Make me believe.” That night

She came close to worship,

Until David’ tenor voice left her hanging

Misunderstanding rumors of wars

Leading to storms, then Peace

Proclaimed each Christmas day

Peace  not ever removed, works
Not beheld, spirit imbued, less
Carried into visions saint of lasting
Begun in morning celebrated as King.
He is King dwelling in my heart, she
Rests, I watch as more the evidence
Resulting from change, oh let her
Find Him, let her be with me
When as as we both are in Him,
Can this but happen? I grow older.

Now Lord, my visions grow dim,

I will die before letting us all

Exclaim “I believe,” As Bill Bates

Encouraged, “Chuck, our faith,

Faith for all, falters often, rebuilds

Outside human constraints.” Always

Bill would say as Pastor Jan came

Slowly into my life, for me,

Solemn oath not required, but souls

Placed before my heartfelt memories

Of Ash Wednesday, everlasting pageantry,

Did she refuse showing me our delight

Quickly gone, what became of young Christmas

Eves, Tim, Jacki, Jack, Steve, Tomas,

Unicorn unfurled in $100 prize worth

Four hundred more than I had, for her

Arthur gave Christmas, she gave it back.  

Published by elgwynone

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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