PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Everyone is talking about Jesus.
Everywhere, I go, I hear about Jesus:
Jesus of Nazareth, prophet, rabbi,
Galilaean; just another hick from
up North.  We have seen and heard them before---
here in the more sophisticated South,
Jerusalem, the center of the world
(despite Caesarea beside the sea).
I am tired of hearing about miracles.
I am wearied by repeated parables,
and pithy statements like ancient proverbs,
as if he were King Solomon returned.
Some did think Jesus was actually
John the Baptist, the slain prophet, returned.
(John was another one in whom plain folks
invested much confidence.  John lost his
head because of a young girl's barefoot dance
inciting the lust of Prince Antipas---
a prince of this world if ever one was.)
First day of this week, Jesus rode into
town on a mule after raising to life
some dead man in a suburban village---
Bethany? Bethlehem?  I am not sure.
Nosey people asked questions of his friends,
even of his mother and his brethren
(some of whom, so the gossips whisper, want
him to come back to the carpenter shop
he left behind, and resume the family's
trade . . . business as usual without all this
talk about new messages from the Lord,
the law fufilled, sick folks healed, corpses raised).
He plays to crowds on the temple's porches.
Lots of people have arrived for the feast.
I have much to do today; tomorrow
is the Sabbath, and a high one at that.
Pilate is here for the feast, as well, to
maintain the Roman presence in order.
(How that man brings a wife to this province,
in complete disregard of policy---
is anyone's guess.  Although they tell me
she is Asinia, the granddaughter
of the woman the Emperor never
stopped loving.  Asinina looks like her,
and likely just asked the old man's consent.)
Chatter on the street says Jesus has met
with Caiaphas, Antipas, and Pilate
in their respective offices---quite a
busy morning he has had.  I wondered
if he had prepared some presentation
for them, but what would they have to do with
the likes of him?  I will be very busy
too:  so much to do I need as many
hours of sunlight this day can afford me.
I hope no one bothers me about Jesus.
I simply do not have enough time left.
Please, if you want to talk about Jesus---
if you feel some need to talk about Jesus---
move along to the next shop.  My neighbor
will welcome someone to talk about Jesus,
as he likes to talk about Jesus, too.
Leave me out of it; far too much to do.

Starward

[jlc]