LAST DAYS
to shouts and songs of joy
and palmed ‘hosannas’
he enters on an ass
he’ll have his royal moment
despite what time dictates
he is a king about to die
some bread, a cup of wine,
beginning of a meal that
cannot end
blood, prayer and olive trees
tell me that
he finds it hard to die
a grey, dishevelled day
in the distance a tree
sways heavy with grief
a day out of time
even nature acknowledges
death’s brief victory
Resurrection
that sun-filled morning
of the third day
I went to the tomb
and rolled back the stone
out came the poor and
destitute, the prisoners
Travellers …
the old and forgotten
all blinking in the sunlight
all ready for a new birth
