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Advent Poems
Tuesday 22nd December 2020
ADVENT
By Jennifer Rowell
A very special time of year.
D istant music - church bells ring.
V isual imprints on our minds. But wait -
E mmanuel, Jesus is coming, angels are singing.
N o pretence this time.
T riumphant return of Christ our King. At last.
BONFIRE
By Elizabeth Fenney
Too many voices
alive and dead
profane the silence
in my head.
I rake in
memory's ache,
hoist high
thorny freight,
weight
of story
not told,
remembered;
plunge it into
bonfire's core.
Pungent as incense
rises the flame.
Blaze roars,
smelts gold
from soul's dross
in scorched embers;
calms itself,
sound gone to ground,
gash of ash
place of grace.
I step from my shoes
sole on earth
await
what God
will bring
to birth.
A POEM FOR ADVENT
By Sue Peachey
"The bells of waiting Advent ring"
Is how the poem goes,
But when will our bells ring again?
The answer - no one knows.
The year we've had has been like
Nothing we have ever known before,
But now we can look forward to
A treat we have in store.
For Advent soon is coming,
Full of promise and of hope.
The future will get better
Which will help us all to cope.
My favourite time of year is now,
When we are glad to wait
Expectantly to welcome Him
And He will not be late!
So let us all be certain that
His coming is assured
And await with joy and happiness
The coming of our Lord.
WHEN THE SUN HUNG LOW
By Janet Wilkes
In a cold stable, a couple, tired from
their journey, lay down beside animals.
It was the night before the Saturnalian
feast Rome celebrated to mark
the Winter Solstice - the shortest day - when
the sun hung low and men emulated
the God Saturn (the Sower) by lighting
windows in their homes and scattering seeds.
But in 4 BC the stable was dark.
Only in the corner's candles flickered.
There would be no honky-tonk, no dancing,
no ginger snaps, honey buns nor front doors
decorated with deep red-berried wreaths.
THIS Solstice would be marked by a newborn
Child on whom Orient Kings and shepherds
would gaze in wonder, wide-eyed and speechless.
Later the Emperor Constantine would
Call it - The Nativity of Christ.
HOPING
By Janet Wilkes
I have not come like a shepherd,
Wit scared at night to offer help
With nothing but myself. I have
Come laden with this moment's cares -
Mem'ries of Christmas long ago -
Hoping THIS year will be happy,
That the meal will go well, people
Will get on - that the bereaved, the
Divorced and the jobless amongst
Us can, for one day, remember
The dangerous road Mary trod
To Bethlehem and the dark, dank
Stable where Christ was born and those
Among us who still have nothing.
TAMAR
By Janet Wilkes
The nativity story, with
Its gritty tale of innocence
And harm, is not the only one
About a blameless child and a
flurry of anger with unkind
and dismissive speculation.
In Christ's ancestry Tamar's voice
Went unheard when she reported
Wrongdoing, being trafficked, tricked
And then by incest gave birth to
Perez - an ancestor of King
David - and eventually
(As mentioned in Matthew's gospel)
Jesus, the only Son of God.