Jesus

There Are No Small Gifts On Christmas Day On Partridge Island

Christmas Day is like
Any other day at
The Partridge Island Lighthouse.

Ya gotta trim the wicks,
And renew the oil.
So, I went about my business
At the usual time, only noting that
Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as soot

With one white mitten,
Had abandoned me.
‘Mice’, thought I.

For there are always mice
On Partridge Island.
But, I found out

(After my chores were done),
That wily Paw had used stealth
– and his sensitive hearing –
To scurry to my Lighthouse-keepers house.

When I returned, as darkness settled,
I saw twinkling lights
Through the windows,
And smelled the delightful warmth

Of roasted fowl, and sweetened baking,
As I walked through the door.

Sister Darling, of

The Rarified Church of the World (Reformed)

Had hired a fishing boat to
Bring her to the Island, whilst I

Was occupied in the tower.

She had put her pre-baked goods
Into the oven, and
Stoked the fire.

A bottle of red wine, and
A bottle of white,
Sat upon the kitchen table.
And

Paw, the cat/kitten
Had a red red riband tied

Around his neck,
With a key attached.
I took it.
When I turned,
Sister Darling removed a small casket.
And handed it to me.

I used the key
To open a tiny lock.

I Opened it,
And looked inside.
Oh, My!
Oh, My!!
It GLOWED.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

12/25/2024 0

Christmas Eve Approaches With Suitable Anticipation On Partridge Island

As arranged,
I met the fishing boat
At my Lighthouse dock,
Within the first hour
Of sunlight,
With my cat/kitten,

Black as coal in your stocking,
With one white mitten,

Perched on my shoulder.
To which he has taken
Right well.

Aboard was Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed).

I told the Captain,
Before even speaking to
The religion-professing Darling,
That he need not retrieve her
Upon his evening return.
And wished him
A most
Auspicious Christmas.

She carried a hamper of Christmas fare
And good cheer.
As we together walked
Up toward the Lighthouse Keeper’s
House,
My cat/kitten,
With one effortless leap,
Transported himself
From my shoulder
To hers.
He is perhaps anticipating
Some culinary miracle
In addition to
That of Christmas Eve.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island / 1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL

12/23/2024 0

Christmas Eve Promises A Most Auspicious Christmas

As arranged,
I met the fishing boat
At my Lighthouse dock
Within the first hour
Of sunlight
With my cat/kitten

Black as coal in your stocking,
With one white mitten,

Perched on my shoulder.
To which he has taken
Right well.

Aboard was Sister Darling, of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed),

I told the Captain,
Before even speaking to
The religion-professing Darling,
That he need not retrieve her
Upon his evening return.
And wished him
A most
Auspicious Christmas.
She carried a hamper of Christmas fare
And good cheer.
As we together walked
Up toward the Lighthouse Keeper’s
House,
My cat/kitten,
With one effortless leap,
Transported himself
From my shoulder
To hers.
He is perhaps anticipating
Some culinary miracle
In addition to
That of Christmas Eve.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL

12/24/2023 0

Jesus Has Doubts On Good Friday

Unicorns are mentioned in The Bible nine times:

Job 39:9 “Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?”

Job 39:10 “Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee?”

Psalm 22:21 “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.”

Psalm 92:10 “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.”

Deuteronomy 33:17 “His glory is like the firstling of his bullock, and his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together to the ends of the earth: and they are the ten thousands of Ephraim, and they are the thousands of Manasseh.”

Numbers 23:22 “God brought them out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn.”

Numbers 24:8 “God brought him forth out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn: he shall eat up the nations his enemies, and shall break their bones, and pierce them through with his arrows.”

Isaiah 34:7 “And the unicorns shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls; and their land shall be soaked with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness.”

Psalm 29:6 “He maketh them also to skip like a calf; Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn.”

In my novel, A Lost Gospel, Jesus (Yeshua) has human doubts about being executed. On the eve of his Crucifixion, he escapes into the trees from those sent to arrest him. There he meets Glarus and two unicorns, who had been present at his birth. Symmetry. She shows him that the night is this night.

“We won’t be going further.” Glarus reigned in her horse, and slipped from its back. “There are voices.”

“Is it Yeshua?” Ogma was quickly on the ground.

“He is at hand.” Glarus walked toward the unicorns. “They await me.” She touched Bettine and Sirona. “They take me.”

“They frighten me.” Sirona stepped back.

“Your task is done.” Glarus walked past the women. “Stay here with the others.”

“What of you?” Cowin reached out his hand, although she was not close enough to touch.

“The unicorns lead me to Yeshua.”

“Is this for you alone, Glarus of the Mountains?” Ogma took a step toward her.

“It must be my voice he hears.”

“We’ll remain here.” Belenus put a hand on Ogma’s shoulder. “Do what is necessary, my sister.”

Glarus joined with the unicorns. They walked through the grove, toward the voices which rose and fell on the night breeze. The animals were in front, a pallid moonlight reflecting from their white backs. Glarus paused to listen, and the unicorns stopped instantly, their ears twitching, and their gaze fixed before them. The voices were confused, and yelling at cross-purposes, creating a jumble of noise in the distance.

Glarus touched the haunch of each animal, solid and silent in the dark. She could hear someone moving through the olive grove, much closer than the clamouring voices in the distance. She was surprised, because the person approaching was not making the sounds of someone concerned with pursuers. She had assumed there would be haste, but now realized there was only uncertainty.

Glarus lifted her hands, for the unicorns had become hot to touch. She breathed deeply, and loosened her cloak, closing her eyes as the warmth penetrated. Stillness filled the olive grove, and when she again opened her eyes, the unicorns were gone.

She followed them, her feet seeming to make no noise on the earth. The branches touched her cloak, and the moon revealed the secrets of the night.

Ahead of her, between two thick trees, a man stood before the unicorns. He had his hands outstretched, and brushed his fingers across their manes. They stepped forward, and rested their heads against his legs. They had closed their eyes. The man looked up from them, and gazed into Glarus’ face.

“This is the time.” Glarus spoke softly.

“I know your voice.”

“You may give yourself.” Glarus stepped closer.

“My father takes this cup from me tonight?”‘

“Yes.”

“They won’t kill me in this place?” Yeshua glanced around the olive grove.

“I have but followed the unicorns.” Glarus touched them. “They have led me here to take away your doubt.”

“We’ve met before.”

“A baby in a stable.” Glarus smiled at him. “You have become more than memory.”

“Do you still have spice upon your cloak?” Yeshua turned from her. “Behold. These men and their hatred approach.” He put a hand on each of the ivory shafts. “You must be gone.” Yeshua stepped aside. “Call them.” He smiled. “They are yours again.”

“Haah.”

The unicorns pawed at the ground near Yeshua, then went toward Glarus.

“More than memory.” She looked at him closely. “And more than just a man.”

Glarus put a hand on each unicorn’s back, and together they returned the way they had come.

04/07/2023 0

The Pagan And Jesus Christmas Has Stood The Test Of Time

Christmas is a fake that has taken root like the holly. It survives tenaciously. It has become a goodies grab fest, and helps keep our commercial society stable. Perhaps reason enough to exist.

The wily Christians conquered the outnumbered Celts, and supplanted their winter festival with the birth of their God. The wily pagans live on in the numerous traditions the Christians stole, so perhaps it is a fair trade. And no doubt those wily pagans chuckle over their cups of mead, noting that this celebration of reverence has become a surfeit of greed.

I have been no fan of Christmas for decades, but its mixed legacy encourages me not to abandon it. My Christian background enhances my enjoyment of the music and traditions. Most commercial intrusions can be muted or turned off. I do have some personal traditions I follow religiously.

I do not even rail against Santa Claus. I heard his sleigh bells one Christmas Eve, when I was four. I saw his sleigh runner tracks in the snow a couple of years later.

I have even been mistaken for Santa Claus a couple of times.

Once, in the line-up in a bank near Christmas, a two-year old pointed at me. Unfortunately, my presence terrified him, and he started to scream and cry. I was wise enough not to go Ho Ho Ho.

Another time – but this happened in early fall – a family approached me as I walked in a park. A boy, who looked to be six or seven, stopped in his tracks, then ran back to his parents. “Santa Claus!” He pointed. Happily he did not cry. They walked past me in silence.

Also, for decades, I lived close to a residence where one of the very first recitations of ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas happened. The author of that stirring piece, Clement Moore, who wrote it in 1822, sent a copy to his godfather, the Rev Johnathan O’Dell, of New Brunswick. However, the poem was not published until 1837.

And, most recently, I heeded the whims of Christmas Present, who snicked me up the side of the head in a grocery store. I went looking for milk, as the in-store sound system blared “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. When I took out my container of 2% partially skimmed milk, and looked at the best by date, it said December 24. Christmas Eve. Still magical after all these years.

I hummed along about Mommy and Santa and then purchased a personal Christmas treat, which I would normally get a week before the day. Italian Panettone Classico, a fruit cake chock-a-block full of raisins, candied orange peel, eggs and sourdough and (they tell me) natural flavour. I have already had a generous slice.

Why wait for Christmas?

To show I am not a total Scrooge, I have written some Christmas tales. Here is a wee segment from The Elephant Talks To God:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I want to see you,” said the elephant, and the words raced from his mouth. “I don’t have to see you, you know that. I’ve believed even before you talked to me. But I want to see you, it would mean so much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I can’t explain but it would … “

“Go home,” said the cloud.

“You’re not angry with me?” said the elephant.

“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s an honest request.” The rain stopped falling. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” said the elephant.

“Sing some carols,” the voice was distant. “I like them.”

The elephant turned and started through the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach and the tall grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so he could join the singing he knew was happening later in the evening.

He turned along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noticed the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest. He slowed down and then stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush. There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp. Tears rolled from his eyes, and a golden trunk gently wiped them away.

12/23/2022 0

Christmas Decoration Exuberance

I walked around a few residential streets to look at Christmas lights. There is quite an array, as the 25th comes closer.

However, the one I would have given first prize to, (if I were doing such a thing) was an interior display in the front room of a modest single house.

There were two fir trees, fully alight, with strings of coloured lights. Between the two, up on the wall, was a big television screen with a crackling fireplace dancing away.

That is pizzazz.

12/11/2022 0

Christmas Eve Without A Peeve And Ample Celebration Achieved

As arranged,
I met the fishing boat
At my Lighthouse dock,
Within the first hour
Of sunlight,
With my cat/kitten,

Black as coal in your stocking,
With one white mitten,

Perched on my shoulder.
To which he has taken
Right well.

Aboard was Sister Darling, of

The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed).

I told the Captain,
Before even speaking to
The religion-professing Darling,
That he need not retrieve her
Upon his evening return.
And wished him
A most
Auspicious Christmas.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL

12/24/2021 0

I Saw Ships Come Sailing In Before Christmas Day

(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL

It’s the full moon before
Christmas Day
With a heavenly glow,
On the water.
I’ve often wondered if
The Star the Three Kings
Followed,
Was really the Moon,
‘Cause I bet those old
Translations
Were really buggered.
Any way, I have unfurled
Swaths of red and green
Sail canvas,
Down the side of
The Lighthouse,
To be festive for
Approaching ships.
And if
– if –
Anyone comes to visit,
I have a red riband
Necktie
For Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as the space between stars,
With one white mitten,
To wear by way of
Jesus celebration.
I’ve tested him with it,
He doesn’t mind,
Though, by now,
He knows there will be
Extra fish in his dish,
Whenever I
Tie one on.

(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL

12/18/2021 0

The Elephant Wishes Baby Jesus A Happy Birthday On Christmas

I am not a total Scrooge, and have written some Christmas tales. Here is a wee segment – though a huge event – from The Elephant Talks To God:

800px-elephant_near_ndutu

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Go home,” said the cloud.

“You’re not angry with me?” said the elephant.

“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s an honest request.” The rain stopped falling. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” said the elephant.

“Sing some carols,” the voice was distant. “I like them.”

The elephant turned and started through the woods.

He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach and the tall grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so he could join the singing he knew was happening later in the evening.

He turned along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noticed the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest.

He slowed down, and then stopped in his tracks.

He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush. There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp.

Tears rolled from his eyes, and a golden trunk gently wiped them away.

(Image) https://geographydirections.files.wordpress.com/2014/11/800px-elephant_near_ndutu.jpg

[The Elephant Talks To God] https://www.amazon.ca/Elephant-Talks-God-Dale-Estey-ebook/dp/B003ZUXXEM

12/25/2020 0