Inspired by a poem by Barthoromeopoet. a little more baroque perhaps.


Joseph

It's easier to laugh at him, poor old
Dope in Nazareth, a carpenter, who
Comes into the marketplace and
Falls in love with some young girl
Selling herbs. She had such
Devastating eyes, and sense enough
To understand she had no future
Where she was. He came to visit
Every day, and, finally, he dropped
Down to his creaky knees, and he
Proposed, and she, though really
Not in love, accepted. That's how
Things are done in battered towns
Like Nazareth by those whose lives
Leave them no choice. She gathered
Up the little that she'd hoarded at
Her parents' house, and brought
It on her back to his, and then,
For months, or was it years?,
They lived together pleasantly.
He was in love, and she, though
Not, was grateful to have married
Him, but, one day, he became
Aware that she was carrying a
Child. Chances were, it wasn't
His. She saw his face, the rage
And sorrow, heard him slam
Their house's door, and knew,
She didn't have to spy, that he
Would go somewhere to try to
Douse his rage with rotgut wine.
He showed up with the rising
Sun, and cried. She sat and
Cried with him, and, in the end,
His love was greater than his anger.
He said they should go to Bethlehem
Until the bastard kid was born.
Three kings from somewhere arrived,
And blessed the woman and the
Child. Our poor carpenter
Withdrew into the hay behind
The kings and livestock, and a
Miracle occurred, and he, forgotten
Hero, stayed beside his wife until
She died, and tended to his stepson,
Even as as the cosmos spun beyond
The boundaries he had known.
He still loves her. I love you.
Let the others laugh at me and him.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 56 times
Written on 2015-09-16 at 03:06

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text