Best Oxen Poems
Christmas with Christ – Melchoir’s Story
Wondrous symbols and signs appear in the heavens,
heralding that an amazing event is about to happen…
the birth of a royal child in the town of Bethlehem,
one who will transform the world and make it whole again.
Guided by the light of a strange brilliant star,
I and my companions travel by night from afar.
We come to pay homage to this newborn Jewish King,
this Prince of Peace who will save our world from sin.
We wonder, how can this be, when all we see
are such wretched signs of abject poverty?
Joseph, Mary, and Lord Jesus, the little Baby,
sheltered with oxen, sheep, and lamb in a stable.
But we three kings humbly fall on our knees in wonder,
bowing our heads and giving our hearts to this Babe so tender.
Sensing we’re in the midst of a divine, royal presence,
Gaspar, warm brown eyes aglow, gifts Him rare frankincense.
Noble Balthazar, his dark chocolate skin glistening,
presents Him with aromatic, rich myrrh, for anointing;
and I, Melchoir, entranced by this miraculous sight,
bring precious gold to worship Him, this Child of Light.
Holding the Babe in my arms, there're no words to be said;
but as I cuddle Him closely, I’m overcome with intense dread.
For in a vision, I can clearly see Him suffering years ahead;
He’s nailed to a wooden cross, wearing a bloodied crown of red.
Impulsively, I’m tempted to hide Him in my warm cloak of gold,
and help Him escape from a fate that’s been foretold.
While history will see me as only one of Three Wise Men,
none will ever know that I could’ve changed fate right then.
But wisely I realize that it’s not for me to decide
whether this innocent Child shall live or be crucified.
I only know I must not interfere, but leave Him to fulfill
His Messianic destiny, by carrying out God’s divine will.
So while sadly, reluctantly, for the Orient I must depart,
I also leave with happiness and great hope in my heart,
as my vision also revealed, there’s redemption in His blessed birth;
and there'll be good will toward all men and Peace on Earth!
11-22-2015
(This a new Version created using many editing suggestions from Linda:)
I picked you up
like a “shiny” newly minted copper penny
it was your kitten fur voice
O how you would hate that...
the avocado texture of it
with which
no matter what wild wicked hour I would call you
you would answer
You shimmered like sunlight
on the forest floor of my needles of neediness
glinted off the shiny chrome and twilight blinders of my
“made to order” searcher’s soul
You were the perfect portent
with your torrents of torment
to wash clean my jet and emerald caves
Or was it you who found me?
a white gem
silent, hidden behind my poetry
sitting in a seat in that Inn
listening to the hues of blues
stenciling the deep red shards of my heart
onto the unlined pages
of a blank black journal
I wore cool light blue and soft sheet cotton
like a cloud-kissed sky
I was light as air and as deep as “a thousand leagues under the sea”
You became my heroic touchstone,
my one true thing sapphire-sparked rock of glory
I hung you around my neck
oxen yoked myself with the weight of you
I hung myself
faithfully -to “my cross to bear”
your endless denial of our love.
You were lithe…thin as a straw… tall as a poplar
white as ash and grey as coal
except for the orange hot fire in the center ring
....of your cigarette
I mistook it for the flames of our unearthly love
It was just the firmament of your eternal coolness reflecting back
the stars of my own piercing need
Yoked by my own wanton weave … I drove on blindly
mind spider webbed
the ghost of your emotion-less carcass draped around my neck
“Leave no man behind”
I know you laughed and told them
that it was just a fire pit left in a cave
by the Queens of the Stone Age -Some loud, angry band you loved
Less real to you
by far more ethereal and ever lost in time to me
than the new found “writing on the wall”
New Future Of The
Internet
Cable cost are up
too high
You turned to the
internet and so have
I
My Youtube channel
is the way to go
Now I can even make
video shows
I group the videos
to make a show
To bring you the
best of where I go
For kids the mower
and stove videos
I also have vehicles
and some scarecrows
Kids can watch from
morn til night
with lots of things
for a kids delight
Light houses, ship
building, and horses
too
Antique barn yards
and tractor pulls
just for you
Aviation, taxidermy,
and crafty wood
works
Viewwithme Youtube
has all the quirks
The historical homes
make a great tour
Contest and oxen
pulls are never a
bore
Animal friends, I
haven’t forgotten
you
I have horses, dogs,
cows and sheep too
Plenty of petting
pens and milking for
you
And a simple click
is all you have to
do
A lot of shows with
a mix for all
Like demolition
derby or a stunt so
tall
So if you dropped
the cable and you
have a need
I have three
channels for you to
see
By: Doris Anne
Beaulieu
https://www.youtube.com/user/Viewwithme
A
hot
meal for two
a
new
hat, coat and shoes
a
home
with a door and
a good roof to stop the rain.
and keep out the sound of bombs and bullets
a
safe
place to bear my baby
and a warm crib to lay him down to sleep
with love and hope for a future that will not crucify him
so not
a lot
to ask
is it
Santa, as you fly around with your sleigh and
Rudolph and the rest of your reindeer set
Not too much to ask for just a little peace
for a little justice - in a dangerous world
for a star in the sky to call the wise men
and shepherds, oxen, asses and angels.
As I hide from you in the dark,
I extinguish my little spark.
Your dog looks to the moon to bark,
but my place is not lunar -
ditch your radio tuner.
I'm in the distant universe,
ain't red-shifted - quite the reverse.
I have no photons to disperse.
You wanna ask, "Where you been?"
Why not ask Vera Rubin?
Na na na na na, can't find me,
no matter how you try to see,
with yer telescope, hee hee hee.
Wanna try using Hubble?
g'head, get on the double!
To scientists, I fascinate
and positively captivate.
My hobby is to gravitate
from the place I'm residing
in space where I am hiding.
Are you still wond'ring who I am?
If, 'scuse my French, you give a dam*,
without this guy, dear sir or ma'am,
the galaxies would splatter,
Sincerely Yours, Dark Matter.
Ollie ollie oxen free!
The Galilean sun smiled down
upon the dusty little town
and lingered o'er one humble spot,
a peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
to lay bright carpets on the floor
where children played in perfect peace
about the shop. Their joy increased
each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
the carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
and as He worked, He did not mind
their ceaseless chatter, endless play
nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
they scattered sawdust with a broom.
the wood chips falling at His feet
became for them a fishing fleet
or beds and chairs for little dolls,
a manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
and yet, uncommon was the grace
with which He faced each daily task
as if all Heaven lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
the wood responded, unafraid.
beneath His hands each piece was formed
into an object to perform
some deed of usefulness or skill,
the needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
from oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
to couches for a nobleman;
he was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
no painful splinters could be found
to pierce the flesh of those who bought
the items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
suspended between earth and sky,
upon two rugged beams of wood,
this carpenter whose work was good?
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
Cumulus steam blot
Capsule void hordes (inclined path)
Needle oxen fields
The walk down freshly gravel road
kicking up stones seeing how far they roll.
Note a huge ox cart pulling heavy load
of dried kindling and dark black coal.
The ox cart struggles over new laid stone
with its immensely oversized cart lade.
Oxen soon tire as they heave and moan
kicking up stones on the downgrade.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Laborer and oxen are drawn
to slumber and to toil.
trodden fields of dawn
through basalt seeded soil.
A consistent daily chore
broken and blistered skin
farming out of folklore
the spirit from within.
An iron age passes by,
ploughed by tools of wood
Faces etched, livelihood.
(The traditional farmers of Nicaragua)
Oh that I could speak with the Northern Lights,
And commune with the Spirits therein.
Or dance to the tunes of the Arctic wastes,
Return to a life - sanguine.
Oh that I might commune with Wolf and Bear,
And hear of the tales they could tell!
To share their life in the cold barren North
Which Southerners think of as Hell!
Oh to swim neath the ice of the Arctic seas,
And fish with the leopard seal:
To cavort with Orca the Killer Whale,
On a hunt for his daily meal!
Oh that I could bask in the Midnight Sun,
With a Walrus taking its ease:
Or soar with an Eagle through ice blue skies,
On a flight to wherever it please!
Oh that I could run with the Caribou,
Or watch the Musk Oxen grazing.
That stoically stand with backs to the storm,
And show patience most amazing!
Oh that I could play with Sea Otter pups,
Or feast on the flesh of a clam.
Or watch a litter of Arctic Fox cubs,
Play close by their vigilant dam.
Oh that I could see flocks of Geese and Ducks
That feed on the lush Arctic grass.
Or to quench my thirst from waters cold,
That flow from an icy crevasse!
Oh that I could return to that pristine land,
Which my anguished heart calls home
To the land where I was born and raised,
That calls to wherever I roam!
Oh ‘tis true, my travels of far and wide
Have shown me worldly delights,
But the Arctic is where I’d rather be,
Under the glow of the Northern Lights!
Rhymer.
Meticulous melancholy Moody
Molly had a mole.
On her belly melon CHOCOLATE
Jelly swelly
Molly Maloy was her name.
Long grew her mane.
Called her melancholy Molly
Olly olly olly oxen free
Molly had a twin named Dolly
Dolly was a dream. Dazzling
Dimpley delightful. Dolly
Could she scream especially
Exciteful .
Something and something
Else. Those two
Dolly and Molly
Spry and coy
Molly and Dolly
Sigh and joy
Yoga, a Sanskrit word, an abstract noun meaning oneness
It points to the meeting of soul and the Absolute or Godhood
To attain this oneness one has to go through eight stages.
Five kinds of mental anguish associated with ignorance
Ego, attachment, hatred, and fear of death to be discarded
The way is to practice yoga and total renunciation.
Renunciation is to do away with all thoughts and desires
That arises out of direct perception or indirect knowledge
The practice to perfect renunciation is Ashtanga Yoga
There are eight stages of this Ashtanga Yoga of Patanjali
Yama-moral codes of behavior, Niyama- self-restraint
Asana-physical postures, Pranayam-breathe control.
Pratyahara-sense control, Dharana-concentration
Dhyana-meditation, Samadhi-absorb in thought-free trance.
To attain final *Samadhi, the Sage Patanjali advises God’s help.
If one overlooks the first two stages of Yama and Niyama
It is a wonderful exercise of the body and the mind
Hope for the heaven but at least you will reach the clouds
***********
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest Epic by P.D.
6th place win in the contest
========================================
**Yog kchhamam Vahamyaham- the Sanskrit phrase meaning I carry the Yoga safely
which is the sum-total of the Yog in Hindu Scriptures
The word yoga is derived from the Sanskrit for "plow," which is also the source for the
word "yoke" -- which joins the oxen and the plow. From the spiritual point of view, yoga
means "union with God."
*Complete absorption in thought-free trance
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free
by Odin Roark
Corners to peer around
The harlequin of angles
Where peeking
Reveals
Where being stuck
Confines
Where feeling trapped
Separates
Our remembered child stands
Eyes squeezed shut
Face buried where two walls meet
Counting to one-hundred
While confidence sought
To play out our innocence
Beneath
Behind
Beside
A trusted game
Waned
Time passed
Shorts became pants
Pants became suits
Nostalgia echoed once more
“Ollie ollie oxen free”
Still we remained
Unwilling to believe
The forged sincerity
Baited with fiendish smile
Enticed with charm
Was but to set up
The next furtive trap
Suddenly
Acquiescence lay naked
Villainous schemers
Knowing but numbers
Who lured
Cajoled
Seduced
Our reluctance to cave
Are…
Later
We dragged ourselves away
Kicking and screaming
“We only wanted to play the game
Not be the game”
Emptiness invaded
Freedom to respond
To return home
To trust a voice
Wasn’t so
Anymore
Ollie ollie oxen free
So simple
So everlasting
Now but an epitaph
Princes dart to take cups and cups run away very very fast. Fear not a well trodden cat and bear not a bead or a pillow when journeying across the lands. Knock at wooded glades. Taste the dew from a Moulton cup and throw two hundred buds into the sky. This will surely be worthy of classical clapping. Geese attend opera houses and listen very attentively to the performance of heifers and bulls who twirl with arias to thrill the crowds. Organising a creature is not clever. And dusting should only ever be carried out in a mile long queue. It gives great pleasure to greet distinguished guests at a banquet of vegetables. Unseen underneath undergrowth uniquely unified. Tailored not. Trained not. Tempering not. And noted are the teaspoons travelling like nomads over the bridges. Headstone head heading home. Radiantly watching a nine foot mineralised rugby ball smiling on a train. Hahahaha and now a dance for the floors and ceilings. Hahahaha rapidisation raiding radios racing. Hahahaha decentralization decorated dogs. Hexagonal oxen. Xx philosophically z
I was in the company of my
siblings
Enjoying the comforts of my
sisters,
When they came at me
Armed with axes and machetes
determined to grind their oxen
They struck blows upon blows, cuts upon
cuts.
My limbs first, then my trunk came tumbling
down.
I shouted and cried all to no avail, none
came to help me;
Subdued,
I submitted to my fate like
Others
Gone before me.
Then calamity for our maltreatment
began;
Like a curse in due season.
My muffled cry earlier stripped of a voice
began to be heard.....
As temperatures increased by
one degree,
As appointed seasons altered
their course.
Floods and droughts became
synonyms.
The snow banks of the Arctic and
Antarctica,
Began to reach out in protest, not
unmindful of the depravations' of
the Polar bears and its ilk's.
Ozone, grumbling about the partitioning
due to the unholy alliances with Carbon,
Hurting the harmony that once kept them
in bonds.
But now some kind hearted kindred's have
given voice to my,
Cry.
They have taken note and are beginning to
act to save my other siblings.
(I hope it is not too late to save our forests, to
reduce global warming and preserve our earth.)
Written on the 4th November, 2015