Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
gave her on her deathbed.
Old wood and plaster.
The plaster peeling from
the hands of the Crucified.
Martha gaped at Him,
at His wounds, at the wound
in His side where the spear
went in. Forgive them for
they know not. They did so,
the bastards, she muttered,
putting her fingers on the wound
in the side. She had an ebony
rosary in her skirt pocket. Black
Christ on the small ebony cross.
She fingered in her pocket, said
the prayers, felt the stiff body
on the cross. Sometimes she
took it out and kissed it; the ebony
body, the head, the arms. Once
she had a cross around her neck,
silver, small, given by some old
codger. She felt it warm between
her small breasts. Lost it when she
took it off to wash and it slipped
down the plughole in the convent bog.
She knew her mother had this wooden
crucifix on her chest of drawers.
A dark wood, a fleshy plastered Christ,
nails through and hands and feet.
She kissed the hands when her mother
was out, her lips touching the smooth
plaster, the eyes closed, the feel of
smoothness on flesh. Not the real
Christ of course. Least not yet.
She'd wait her turn. The real thing.
See what death and Heaven bring.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
Maundy Thursday
Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had,
(And kissed the Body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea, kissed - my lips did cling.
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)
poem by Wilfred Owen
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The Iron Cross
THEY pass, with heavy eyes and hair,
Before the Christ upon the Cross,
The Nations, stricken with their loss,
And lifting faces of despair.
What is the prayer they pray to Him,
Christ Jesus on the Iron Cross?
The Christ, neglected, dark with moss,
Whose hands are pierced, whose face is grim.
Is it forgiveness for great sin
They plead before the Iron Cross?
Or for some gift of gold or dross?
Or battle lost, that they would win?
With eyes where hate and horror meet,
They pass before the Iron Cross,
The Cross, that ancient words emboss,
Where hangs the Christ with nail-pierced feet.
His hair is fallen on his face.
His head hangs sidewise from the Cross —
The Crucified, who knows all loss,
And had on Earth no resting place.
'O world of men,' he seems to say,
'Behold me on your Iron Cross!
To me why kneel and tell your loss?
Why kneel to me and weep and pray?
'Have I not taught you to forgive?
And bade you from my Iron Cross
Believe, and bear your grief and loss,
That after death you too may live?
'You have not followed at my call!
You keep me on this Iron Cross,
And pray me keep you from all loss,
And save and comfort you withal.—
'You ask for love, and hate the more! —
You keep me on this Iron Cross!—
Restore to me my greater loss,
The brotherhood of rich and poor.'
They pass, with weary eyes and hair,
Before the Christ upon the Cross —
The Nations, wailing of their loss,
And lifting faces of despair.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Cross
Two fallen twigs when kept across
Can form a cross;
Two blades of grass just put cris-cross
Becomes a cross.
Two fingers placed atop the next
Looks like a cross;
A wire-mesh has umpteen crosses,
Like stars the sky across.
The cross is symbol of Christians;
The cross is pride of all baptized;
The cross instills love of Jesus;
The cross is feared by all devils!
The cross is sign of faith in God;
The cross means sacrifice like Christ;
The cross reminds of victory over death;
Carry your cross and follow Christ.
The cross can save the worst sinner;
The cross is sign of after-life;
The cross means Christ is Son of God!
The cross leads always to heaven.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-30-2009
poem by John Celes
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Maundy Thursday and Later.
Maundy Thursday. The church
Was packed. Full of incense.
Miss Dogberry sat at the back.
Mudrift watched her. He studied her.
The way her hair hung black and long.
Her broad bridged nose. Sat next to her.
She unaware. Priest proceeded with
The service. Miss Dogberry smelt Mudrift’s
Scent passions were stirred. She sniffed
Heavy her nose breathed deep. A bell
Was tolled. Candles were lit. Mudrift felt
Love or was it lust? Moved closer his thigh
Touched her thigh. Priest’s hands were
Raised host lifted high the Crucified the
Bloodied lamb. Miss Dogberry whispered
Softly do you sense it? Mudrift nodded
His loins stiffened. The last supper the Judas
Gone the Magdalene followed him out.
My place or yours? Mudrift muttered.
Mother’s at home Dogberry said no privacy.
Mudrift took her his hand in hers. I live alone
Mudrift muttered no disturbance. His room
Was warm smelt of old smoke and beds unmade.
He offered drinks and put on jazz with lights
Turned low. She undressed slow hand holding
Out each small item. Mudrift watched her
The nakedness revealed the plump body
The broad bridged nose the soft flesh lips
The melon breasts. Is that Stan Getz?
She asked Mudrift that baritone’s his
Saxophone. Mudrift nodded his mind on
Sex not saxophones or soft jazz tones.
He kissed her lips his arms embraced her
Ample flesh. She didn’t mind his lack of hair
On balding head or bearded face rubbing
Her chin. She wanted sex and saxophones
And him within. Maundy Thursday.
The Crucified above the bed upon a cross
Nailed hands out wide eyes looking down
Head to one side. Mudrift made love the
Magdalene Miss Dogberry gazed up above.
poem by Terry Collett
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Good Friday and More
Good Friday. Dark purple over
All the statues. Grimstock stares
At windows coloured glass light
Shines through. Kim Keltis on his
Right dressed in black mind in prayer
Standing there. Crucified on a brass
Crucifix a Christ hangs the eyes
Closed arms stretched out the hands
Nailed. Grimstock's eyes lower down
To the slim waist of Kim and lets
Eyes move over firm buttocks fleshy
Thighs her dark dress caressing.
Unaware of his eyes her eyes closed
Holds to prayer talks to God confident
God is there not knowing Grimstock's
Stare. Grimstock's eyes like feelers
Reach and touch suck and feed in mind's
Eye greedily the prayer book in his hands
Clutched tightly becomes part of the girl's
Fleshy thighs becomes this becomes that
His dark eyes moving up rest upon her
Brushed hair. Kim standing still in prayer
Not aware Grimstock's there with finger
From forehead to her breast from shoulder
To shoulder makes soft sign of the cross
Imagines her own sweet Crucified hangs
For her in pain there Sweet Jesus she mutters
Like eased breath. Grimstock dreams she's
Undressed beside him in his bed making
Love passionate utterings sexual soft touches.
Kim opens her dark eyes sees Grimstock's
Greedy stare travelling over her standing
There his rough eyes like fingers touching
Her ravishing her soft flesh raping her in his
Mind and knowing that deep down that this
Man pushes hard onto her Jesus' thorny crown.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Crucifix
"Into thy hands I commend my spirit."
[This very ancient crucifix is sculptured on the exterior wall of the Abbey Church of Romsey. Its characteristic is a hand reaching down from the clouds, over the cross. It is said to be unique.]
In a quiet nook it standeth,
Which careless eyes might miss,
That image of Thy sorrow,
And fountain of our bliss.
Low within reach it standeth,
Close to the old church, door,
And by the common pathway,
Appealing evermore.
Low on the wall, that never
The dimmest eyes may miss,
And the lips of the little children
May reach the feet to kiss.
That humble, simple image,
Wrought by the hands of old;
Good hands! that so many ages
Helpless have grown and cold.
That blessed, sacred image
Born of the heart of old
That through the endless ages
Shall nevermore grow cold.
In the common stone rude-carven,
By no great artist's touch;
Yet never the wide world over
Will you find another such.
You may search the wide world over
From freezing to burning zone,
You will never find another
Quite like this only one.
Deep, deep the nails are driven
In the hands they crucified -
So deep, the nails you see not,
But only the arms stretched wide.
And over the head, so weary,
Bowing itself to die,
An open hand down-reaching
Forth from the clouded sky.
The torturers' hands have finished;
His hands are nailèd fast;
"Into thy hands my spirit -
Father, thy hands!" - at last.
. . . . . . .
Lord, ere thou call our spirits
Within thy hands to be,
Give us some such dear likeness
To leave behind of thee.
Hid in some quiet corner,
Cut in the common stone,
Poor, yet our best, we pray thee,
Our best, and our very own.
. . . . . . .
Dear Lord, our hearts grow bolder;
We dare to ask much more,
Knowing the more we ask thee,
Thou art hut pleased the more.
Give us to be that image
By the common paths like this:
Low, where the dimmest vision,
The features need not miss;
Low, where the lips of the children
May reach to cling and kiss.
Where the nails to the cross which fix us,
So deep in the wounds may hide,
That men see no more the torture,
But only the arms stretched wide.
A humble, simple image,
Cut in the common stone;
Like thee, yet like no other,
Because thy very own.
poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles from Littell's Living Age, Volume 131, Issue 1693
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Is God In The Picture?
Is The Lord God in your picture, or is God just a religious fixture?
Friend is Jesus Christ real to you, involved in all you say and do?
Or does The Lord God have no part, in your life or in your heart?
Has Jesus Christ become your boss, or just an Icon on a cross?
God dear friend is real indeed; who’s there for all in time of need.
You may still have Him on a cross, where He died for all the lost,
But He’s no longer upon that tree; He rose again for you and me.
God dear friend is Jesus Christ, who died to bring us Eternal Life.
Jesus Christ became a Sacrifice, to pay for men an eternal price,
The price was God’s Only Son, who paid sin’s debt for everyone.
For on that day our debt was paid, when all sin on Christ was laid.
God did this so men could know, God in Heaven who loves us so.
Christ does not need you or me, to rule and reign for all Eternity,
God is truly real dear friend; Christ is the Beginning and the End.
And even if you don’t believe, Christ loved you friend on Calvary,
However, you must believe in Him, for God to forgive all your sin.
Why turn your back on the love, of God who’s reigning up above?
Why not trust Christ who died, now reigning at The Father’s side?
Won’t you today embrace The One, God who gave His Only Son?
Why don’t you friend believe today, in God’s only everlasting way?
(Copyright ©06/2006)
At the Foot of the Cross
At the foot of the Cross stood the Magdalene
with Mary, his mother, and John.
Jesus was now in extremis-
the curious people had gone.
The mark of the whips were upon him,
an ugly bruise under his eye.
Blood filtered down from the crown made of thorns.
dripping down from his face to one thigh.
Mary watched as her eldest was dying.
Bore her pain with incredible calm.
She wished that, his agony over,
She’d hold him once more in her arms.
With breath that was labored and shallow
He spoke with his life nearly gone
He commended young John to his mother
And commended his mother to John
He looked at the Magdalene sadly
With a love that’s ineffably rare.
Then with loud voice he cried out to Heaven
A fool might think this was despair.
Joseph of Arimethea
came with a ladder near dusk
With the help of the Priest, Nicodemus
He took the crucified Son from his Cross.
Mary was silently weeping
at the body of Christ in her arms.
She looked at the King Pilate murdered.
Whom the people had greeted with Palms
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Good Friday...
Behold the wood that went to make the cross
That bore the Saviour Lord, King Jesus Christ:
The holy cross at Calvary on which
Was hung, the Redeemer of mankind race!
That man was only Son of God in flesh,
Who suffered, shed His precious blood as price
For every sin of everyone on earth,
Of Adam and of Eve in lineage!
It wasn’t about the cross that Jesus bore;
It was about the One who hung on it!
He came to earth as Mary’s baby boy,
And gave to men the Good News, peace and joy!
The cross of wood assumed significance
When Jesus died upon it for our sins;
The sacrifice supreme was love of God
For creature man of clay whom He had made!
When Christ resurrected upon third day,
And won o’er death and satan for all times,
The holy cross became the weapon sole
That scares away the devils back to hell!
The cross became the symbol of Christians,
Reminding man of Salvation for all,
As Christ had paid the price on our behalf,
And turned to be the Truth, Light, Way to God!
The holy cross beckons each one of us
To take up each one’s cross and follow Christ;
It is the only hope for all mankind
As life on earth becomes so meaningful!
God’s Love was born on Christmas day as Christ!
Man’s sins nailed Him to death upon the cross!
Christ’s obeisance to Father freed mankind
If repentant, from Fiery Pit of hell!
Reflect on passions Christ had undergone,
Before He died upon the holy cross;
Follow His teachings and precepts for man;
Heaven is nigh for sinners penitent!
(22-04-11)
poem by John Celes
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Poem: Song to the Holy Cross
The cross of love:
The cross I love:
The cross I'd loved all life;
The wooden cross:
The holy cross:
The cross that bore man's strife.
The oaken cross:
The heavy cross:
The cross Jesus carried;
The cross on which
Christ Lord was nailed:
And bore man's sins indeed.
The cross of death:
The blood-stained cross:
The Savior, man, redeemed;
The cross of life's
Victory o'er death:
That souls on earth must heed.
poem by John Celes
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A Love So Pure
Always did it on my own then one day I realized
I was blind,, nothing I could do on my own
Turn, we have found a way to see, look up... feel the Almighty
Take control as we gaze into your eyes
We're just the tool you use to bring this world to you
Oh, Lord, how we love you
With your grace, take away the hurt and the bruises inside,
reach down let your glory reside
The cross carried for all of us, paint the image in my mind
So I will never think I am something,
but nothing am I but you, you are something
Lord you keep me alive, you give me rest at night
When there seems no way to find calmness in the storm you come and
take me in your arms and then the waves drown me no more
With you I'll last this battle and many others
Through the ages your name will reigh forever... never to be replaced
In these trials I face, I pray you humble me
Humble me I want to be like you Jesus more and more like you
I was crucified on that day with Christ
Nailing you there with sin, accepting you
I nailed my soul to the cross and now my life begins
This world so cold but your love keeps me warm
My father holds me in his nailed scarred hands which I put there
But for some reason he still loves me with all his heart
Even through I betray him constantly
He always keeps his arms open waiting, till I give up my old was
God my father, you are the only one that can give me comfort
You touch my heart in such a way that all I can do is cry your name
Jesus Christ I love you
My heart aches for your love
song performed by by Underoath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holy Saturday Gains and Losses
Holy Saturday. Lulu softly rubs her
Black rosary held between fingers.
The church cold and dark. Waiting
For the light. The candle brought by
The priest and others of his ilk to bring
Light to the darkness. Rudandoff stands
Still silent in shadows watching her
Outline in candlelight's glow. Lulu feels
Smooth wood on fingers and thumb
Mutters her pure prayers watching
The candle light up the darkness.
Rudandoff smells her the scent
Touching him the shine of her hair
Caught by passing light her profile
Moves him her moving fingers stirs
His dark embers stiffen his manhood.
The holy candle brings light to the
Church. The priest and others chant
Out the long prayers. Lulu's soft lips
Kiss the crucified Christ on her crucifix
Warm lips on smooth wood. Rudandoff
Wishes those were his kisses his manhood
Between her moving fingers her tender
Body beneath his hot frame. Lulu closes
Eyes imagines her Christ blue bruised
And beaten hammered and battered
Gazing through eye slits bringing her true
Love never forsaken. Rudanoff's hot lust
Swells in the darkness his sausage fingers
Want to reach and touch to squeeze and
Fondle to greedily suck her female juices.
Holy Saturday. She finds her love's light.
He loses lust's kiss and burns in darkness.
poem by Terry Collett
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Mother Goddess
a circle of stars over
her head
hands holding white
flowers
her feet on top
of a snake
her long black hair
smooth skin
wavy eyelashes
slender fingers
virgin
pure
mother of all
in plaster of Paris
painted and revered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Sheaf Of Snakes Used Heretofore To Be My Seal, The Crest Of Our Poor Family
ADOPTED in God's family and so
Our old coat lost, unto new arms I go.
The Cross—my seal at baptism—spread below
Does, by that form, into an Anchor grow.
Crosses grow Anchors ; bear, as thou shouldest do
Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.
But He that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,
Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.
Yet may I, with this, my first serpents hold ;
God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old.
The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be ;
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
And, as he rounds the earth to murder sure,
My death he is, but on the Cross, my cure.
Crucify nature then, and then implore
All grace from Him, crucified there before ;
Then all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown ;
This seal's a catechism, not a seal alone.
Under that little seal great gifts I send,
Works, and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend.
And may that saint which rides in our great seal,
To you who bear his name,* great bounties deal !
poem by John Donne
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Some Days After School
Some days after school
having slipped by her mother's vision
she met you in the back woods
by the pool
and you were there
in the your tee shirt and jeans
and she stood there
for a moment
in her blouse and skirt
and you stared at each other
taking in the beauty
you saw there
enjoying the moment
the big now
shutting out the bird song
the rabbits by the trees
the far off sound of traffic
and she broke out and said
had a job get by her scanner eyes
had to slip out
before she gave out the chores
and she came over to you
standing there
and stood real close
so that you could sense her body
just about touching yours
her perfume teasing
your nostrils
stirring your body
and then she closed her eyes
and kissed your lips
and it was like
a first day of creation
as if God had said
there you go
feel the love
sense the glow
and you did
and it seemed an eternity
but was merely minutes
glued and touched
and wet and warm
then you sensed
the rain coming
and distant storm
and then the raindrops
hit the pool like small bullets
and grabbing her hand
you ran through the trees
away from the pool
carrying the memory of a kiss
and a bird's lone call.
poem by Terry Collett
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Real Meaning Of Life
The real meaning of present life, begins at The Cross of Christ,
The cross on Mount Calvary, where Christ died for you and me,
Anywhere you travel on this sod, the Cross points men to God,
With a meaning far much higher, than any human earthly desire.
The Cross, purposed in this life, for man's Savior, Jesus Christ,
For the earthly life of Christ Jesus, not for Him, but for all of us,
His purpose came with a price, which was to be God's sacrifice,
As The Lord God purposed for Him, to be The Lamb for our sin.
Christ's example is for all men, in this world, God did condemn,
After sin had entered the earth, then The Lord put down a curse;
With a plan God had initiated, in a place where Christ was hated,
Crying for Him to be crucified; for them and All, Christ had died.
The Lord had left Heaven's majesty, to die for sinners at Calvary,
Surrendering His life for sinful man, all part of God's eternal plan,
Where Christ became sin for us, so we could gain righteousness,
This that through Jesus Christ, fallen man could attain eternal life.
For believers now on this earth, our present life has eternal worth,
Now with that promise of paradise, we are to be a living sacrifice,
Surrendering to God, all our life, to be witnesses for Jesus Christ,
So others, by the Cross of Calvary, may also secure life eternally.
The Temptation of St. Anthony
-After a design by Félicien Rops-
The Cross, the Cross is tainted! O most Just,
Be merciful, and save me from this snare.
The Tempter lures me as I bend in prayer
Before the sacred symbol of our trust.
Yea, that most Holy of Holies feeds my lust,
The body of thy Christ; for, unaware,
Even as I kneel and pray, lo, She is there,
The temptress, she the wanton; and she hath thrust
The bruisèd body off, and all her own,
Shameless, she stretches on the cross, arms wide,
Limbs pendent, in libidinous mockery.
She draws mine eyes to her--Ah, sin unknown!
She smiles, she triumphs; but the Crucified
Falls off into the darkness with a cry.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Julie and You and Christ
Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you
one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding
a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke
and said
pushing smoke
into the world
do you think Christ
ever came?
of course
you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world
is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply
and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don't like that dress
it's too darn middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress
in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?
you asked
she'd wear it
but I wouldn't
be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on
squeezing your hand
reminding you
of the quick grope
and sex in the small cupboard
off the ward
where she was staying
while trying to kick
the drug habit
she spread out
amongst brooms and boxes
and you there gazing at her
wondering if some domestic
would find you there
well? do you think
Christ really came?
she asked
yes
you said
he split history in two
he made people
either love him
or hate him
and want to destroy him
and what he stood for
she laughed and said
you certainly got him
under your skin
I don't think he came at all
she said
before inhaling
her cigarette smoke
I think it was all
a big joke played out
on the Jews
to get them riled
she inhaled
her cigarette smoke
and was silent
as you walked on
down the Street
it was no joke
being crucified
no joke hanging there
on that cross
you said
she pulled you
into a shop doorway
and kissed you
and said
oh forget about him
and his crucifixion
I've had enough
of the parents
ramming him
into my brain
over the years
and she kissed you again
and you looked
into her dark eyes
where you thought
many a dream comes
and drowns
and dies.
poem by Terry Collett
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Through The Door
You don't like when I speak Truth, I don't like when you teach wrong,
And when you think about God, there's no question what side He's on.
You may think that I'm just arrogant and filled with my own opinion.
But friend, you won't find anything wrong in God's Eternal Dominion.
Even when Christ, bearing all of our sins on the cross was crucified,
His Father, who could not look at sin, had to turn away as He died.
Christ came to give us New Life in Him, and gave us proof as He rose,
This is a fact for all to know, even if you keep your eyes closed.
Friend, I had my choice and followed men, but, then I met The Lord,
Being gently nudged by The Holy Spirit of God, He led me to The Door.
Standing at The Door with childlike faith, a small voice spoke to me,
Open The Door with a childlike faith and The Lord will set you free.
And Jesus died for the whole world that day on the cross at Calvary,
But, opening up The Door and entering through was totally up to me.
So, I went through The Door that day and I have never been the same,
Although I felt no difference that day, my life sure began to change.
God began to cleanse me in The Word that day and gave me eyes to see,
My life down here is but a mist my friend, and I focused on Eternity.
As man continues to focus on the world through religious innovation,
God patiently waits for all who will, to come to Jesus for Salvation.
(Copyright © 03/2003)
Every Knee Shall Bow
One day every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess just how,
Jesus Christ is The Lord of all, men and nations both big and small.
For The Lord has raised His name, above the earth’s greatest fame,
The name above Heaven and earth, that for man is of eternal worth.
His name friend is a strong tower; a sure refuge in the darkest hour,
The place where the righteous run, preserved forever by God’s Son.
A name we can call on any hour, for His grace and sustaining power.
Christ humbled Himself on the cross, to save a world of sinners lost,
From that cross that He endured, God reconciled sinners to the Lord.
Upon the cross Christ took our place, saving sinners by God’s Grace.
This Grace is offered to everyone, through the atonement of His Son.
Now all authority’s been given to, The Son who died for me and you,
The One to whom we now gratefully, call our Lord upon bended knee.
Judgment’s now in Christ’s hands; God’s Judgment upon all the lands.
Jesus Christ’s Power and Authority, will reign throughout all of Eternity.
Christ, who on that cross had died, is now seated at The Father’s side,
Seated in Heaven as we speak, but is coming back to close that week,
The week of wrath God will start, witnessed by every unbelieving heart.
Even then men won’t bow to Him, because of hearts hardened by sin.
While others will end those days, with bowing hearts of eternal praise,
Those others will bow in deep regret, knowing they face eternal death.
(Copyright ©09/2006)