Friday, March 18, 2016

Cracked Alabaster To Prepare Her Master

Cracked Alabaster To Prepare Her Master

by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)





An aromatic scent
costly and refined
perfumed the intrigued or comfortable presence
of Simon the Leper's guests dining
with their Master Divine.

His hair then feet oiled
massaged in love
dried
with gratitude sublime
boiled a controversial stew
of unthankfulness and greed
poisoned by the betrayal of one who
further righteousness declined.

“Why was this perfumed oil not sold
for 300 denarii and given to the poor?”

As if in sincere motive: A desire for giving more.

Yet, he consorted with religious leaders; thus Judas's thought:
to repay the score.

Thirty silver shekels
eventually tossed
in return
into the enemies door;

as Jesus and Lazarus's life
designed for Death
would eliminate a Holiness
they'd long ago
began to abhor.

“A pound of perfumed oil, genuine nard,” being the equivalent of about a year’s wage
bathed the Christ in lovely preparation for his burial

soon to be engaged.

A Lamb He portrayed
Like the Passover's
sacrifice;

though now in substitution:
His Highly Valued
Perfect Life.

A Ransom for the Many
who cherished His Father
and Eternity. 

Praying for Salvation.
An End to enmity and strife.

Yes, like Mary they show appreciation.
Her generous actions praised
in voice decidedly clear:

“Why do you try to make trouble for the woman? She did a fine deed toward me."

His words spoken for the World to Hear.

Can we imitate her thankful spirit
Jesus's Gift--Do Celebrate?

For this is the Due Season:
March 23rd to Internationally participate.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

An Enemy To Friend ... In Love Begins

An Enemy To Friend
In Love Begins

by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)





An Enemy To Friend
In Love Begins.

Simple acts
of smoothing oil--

precious gold,

comforts
bruised, tormented,
weary souls.

For where else is patience found
if not harnessed to Love and seeded in grounds of sometimes belligerent soil?

Or what of self-control, if hate is king and Love is sold?

Would not violence abolish
destroy
any loving, organized,
necessary
brotherly goals?

Shall we speak of joy?

No voice to sing
if Love is silent
then no bell rings.

The dove of Peace will dive to die
if lies persist
to rise then fly.

Long-suffering too,
long overdue,
will bury it's head
as ostriches supposedly do
if Love does not
tolerance
eagerly pursue.

Yes, Love lends kindness
hearts and hands
lifting all races in every land.

And goodness
Love helps to expand
not only to needy
on no legs to stand.

“A mild tongue" too "can break a bone"
to reset in Love and in faith hone
into skills of ambassadors
unity prone.

Love shouldn't
proceed alone
along lonely trails,
as hatred walks.

From
Qualities Divine
Love Won't balk.

So end tired
hypocritical talk.

From Enemy to Friend:
Let's earnestly stalk.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Tomorrow's Game

Tomorrow's Game

by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)





Overhead heard not a word
with brakes screeching
around the curve
sharp and bitter
to one's hearing
initially, a causing fear

the tracks casting
darkness long-lasting
as a breeze whips up
combined,

sublime fragrances
of business dames
toting all the famous
wealthy names,

as China-town
duplicates with dimes
slim fingers nimble
eyes squinting blind.

Yet under seat or underfoot
the garbage dirt and clinging soot
a rancid stench of homeless shame.

The trip began in hurried pace
a minor speck among the race;
then ends in twilight's
much the same. To begin again:

Tomorrow's game.

Monday, March 7, 2016

Sweet Sleep

Sweet Sleep

by Seah Greenhorn
(poem with copyright)



Young men,
you tender virgins,
those stillborn in death
too

Sweet sleep
your gentle passage
'til called in glorious renew

your days to endless splendor
your feet through golden sands;

though now: a time of danger
anxiety for imperfect man.

Yes, sweet your sleep,
you'll not remember;

as rising suns chase settling moons
seventy/eighty years
the living mourning

in cycles crying
these shortened
spans.





True Jubilee!!! True Jubilee!!!

True Jubilee!!! True Jubilee!!!

by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)



Men and women of every nation,
All the children--some Christian Be,
Of every tongue, in every station,
Even 'They' appointed "See,"

Intellectual, uneducated,
Third-world person, those wealthy,
The atheist or the agnostic,
Sun-worshippers on slanted knees,

Those bound to idols, who chant to spirits--

All experience
"No Liberty!"

We cry, then mourn in sorrow,
Feel utmost pain and agony,
Constant angst and sudden anger.
Sometimes, passive in slavery.

"O! How to right the wrong done?"
Help calm the stormy sea
Aggravated by darkening skies,
Turbulent, since none are free?

Since birth may bring celebration,
Life--joy, but, more misery,
Can we really talk salvation--
True Jubilee; True Jubilee?

We're all enslaved to This Thing
Threading us down in Tyranny--
Master DEATH--Puppeteer of Our Lives.
How Jubilee? What Jubilee?

Well, RAISE your Minds and Hearts to Heaven,
Though in captivity--we must agree!
To imperfection, sin; then Death,
Through one man's iniquity.

Our Lives extracted as to payment
To Death--OUR ENEMY.

Still, "Let us be Joyful and Rejoice"

In "True Jubilee!!! True Jubilee!!!"

For HE will "Swallow up Death FOREVER,"
This promised in certainty--
From ONE Who Can Not Lie or even DIE--
Who Gave His Son in behalf of Thee,

"His soul a ransom in exchange for Many,"
A Gift of inestimable quality
Guarantees
Eternity

To active Faithful--
Any and All

Impartially!

He tasted "Death for Every man,"
From your "Sea to Shining Sea."

"Death will be brought
to NOTHING!"

True Jubilee!!! True Jubilee!!!

"Let Us be Joyful and Rejoice!"
Wipe the tears
Of our impurities,

For NOW is the Time For Salvation!!!

True Jubilee!!! True Jubilee!!!

Sunday, March 6, 2016

There's Always Room

 
There's Always Room
 
by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)
 
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing there is a field

I'll meet you there.'

Yet, somehow I know
we'll arrive too soon,
since there,
under a hundred thousand myriad
constant moons
for you and me
there's always room.

And whichever road you choose to take:
the high lofty road or the low humble one

unfortunate rules do state:

the destination's the same, whether you are single or have taken on a name.

When you get there may be an untimely mistake.

When the “dust you are" becomes the "dust" to which "you will return” is the thankless gift you'd rather had spurned.

Since the "last breath,...
in that same hour"
when "all his thinking ends”

it didn't matter
if he'd been
a wicked foe
or kindly friend.

Because: "Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing there is a field

I'll meet you there.'

Yet, somehow I know
we'll arrive too soon,
since there,
under a hundred thousand myriad
constant moons
for you and me
there's always room.

 

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

To Be--Grateful Always

To Be-- Grateful Always

by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)




When dawn of day
It does arrival
I pry open my eyes
to peer inside
my heart to hear
a song of praise
of Gratitude
for Life
Always.

And then when night
follows the sun
and all is well
or finished, done
on my knees
I will then stay
to Thank Him for
His Help
Always.