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with His stripes
infinite love
gift-wrapped in burial clothes
unblemished sacrifice
upon the altar
born to a world of
beastly offal stench
Good Shepherd
midst His lost sheep seeking shelter
a lowly feeding trough
cradles the King
a feast of slight appeal
to gluttony
Lamb to the slaughterhouse
of brutal men
persona non grata
dark litany
a cup that will not pass
by Sovereign Will
till every bitter drop
congeals the blood
a crown whose thorns must first
impale His brow
a sword whose blade must spill
His vital flood
He fancies not my gold
this King of Heaven
this Babbling Infant
soon my Royal Priest
sweet alabaster frankincense
i bring
to season up
the Sacrificial Feast
with myrrh embalmed for
vile Jerusalem
no beauty that we should
desire Him
we hide our faces from
His solemn grief
yet Agape would
thus inspire Him
His cradle is His grave
no lullaby
has future agony
from Him concealed
wounded for our transgressions
torn and bruised
that with His stripes
the broken may be healed…
© Copyright 2018 December 09
by Clyve A. Bowen
gift-wrapped in burial clothes
unblemished sacrifice
upon the altar
born to a world of
beastly offal stench
Good Shepherd
midst His lost sheep seeking shelter
a lowly feeding trough
cradles the King
a feast of slight appeal
to gluttony
Lamb to the slaughterhouse
of brutal men
persona non grata
dark litany
a cup that will not pass
by Sovereign Will
till every bitter drop
congeals the blood
a crown whose thorns must first
impale His brow
a sword whose blade must spill
His vital flood
He fancies not my gold
this King of Heaven
this Babbling Infant
soon my Royal Priest
sweet alabaster frankincense
i bring
to season up
the Sacrificial Feast
with myrrh embalmed for
vile Jerusalem
no beauty that we should
desire Him
we hide our faces from
His solemn grief
yet Agape would
thus inspire Him
His cradle is His grave
no lullaby
has future agony
from Him concealed
wounded for our transgressions
torn and bruised
that with His stripes
the broken may be healed…
© Copyright 2018 December 09
by Clyve A. Bowen
Published 17th Dec 2018
Author's Note
This poem, "gift of love," title marked "with His stripes," is a gift at Christmas to readers who are minded to contemplate the everlasting irony of the Creator and King of the world (a) finding no shelter in a palace or even among typical human lodgings at birth, but delivered amidst the cries of animals in a smelly barn; (b) dressed in burial clothes at birth to signify that He was born with the sole purpose of dying, not for Himself but for fallen humanity; (c) cradled in a feeding trough, a sacrifice of brokenness offered up as a feast of love to make the broken whole.
He was offered gold by wise men, signifying His Kingship and Divinity; frankincense, a prophetic reflection of His Royal Priesthood; and myrrh, a prophetic foretaste of the bitter anguish He was to face.
He was offered gold by wise men, signifying His Kingship and Divinity; frankincense, a prophetic reflection of His Royal Priesthood; and myrrh, a prophetic foretaste of the bitter anguish He was to face.
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17th Dec 2018 8:31pm
17th Dec 2018 10:56pm
Thanks for your kind comment, Cocoa. No need for "sir": I am yet to start working on my knighthood!
I didn't realise you were just arriving here today. Welcome to DU Poetry! And what a way to start: two lovely poems of your own and time to share your observations about someone else's work. Your brevity appeals to me.
8th Jan 2019 6:46pm
Yes, nothing could be stranger, than God in a manger. A line that I heard in church at Christmas time.
8th Jan 2019 8:19pm
So right, DouglasWayne! The thought embodies the irony of love abolishing hate, humility making the humble great, poverty making the poor in spirit rich, and the death of one guileless "Son of Man" restoring life to humanity.
