Cold sun, hazy.
Resting sea, lazy.
Crafty breeze, creeping
through my coat seeking
warm skin to chill.
Why am I here?
The reason unclear,
moody and grey
not much to say
frozen and silent.
No-one about,
Tide has gone out.
Seagull is veering
as sky is clearing
Empty, alone.
Only last Sunday
we had a fun day
donkey and palms
quoting the psalms
King Jesus appearing.
Crowds getting stroppy
and Caiaphas snotty
Judas is thinking
of treachery stinking
to gain a few bob.
Thursday already
nerves are unsteady
Bound to be trouble,
They’re raising the rabble-
Supper could be my last.
Jesus seems certain
of his final curtain
Tables a-heaving,
serving then leaving-
on carpenter’s cross.
Soon t’will be Friday
“Good” is what we say-
lacking in justice
Jesus in my place
there’s blood in his tears.
A sad sabbath silent
no need to be violent
buried, forgotten
left to go rotten-
unless Death learns to die.
Promises, rumour
hope returns sooner
Mary hurries, devoted
Peter’s demoted
from first place at the tomb.
He is not here!
begone, faithless fear!
Jesus arises
God’s Son of surprises!
His Kingdom is here.
(c) Richard Starling, 2021
The Reflectionary 