Naked We Go (No Bunnies Allowed)
He Descended Into Hell

Good Friday Poems

Cross

Cross_1_1On my chest this Friday afternoon,
the elegant small signature
of violent death
swings as I walk, gold tapping my
deep heart, telling me I was there.
(I did not mean to do it; I did
not know.) 
I slump under the weight
of it; my pulse
echoes the beat of hammers

- Luci Shaw, from Writing the River

On the Way In From the Country

My wife urged me not to go, for
there were troubles, she said, and
it could wait. I went

anyway, carrying my goods,
hoping to make short of this
Cross_2_1 trip, to return soon before

Sabbath.  Coming near, I heard
shouts, angry voices, jeers and
at a distance, women crying,

a man, beaten, bleeding, falling
under the weight of a huge
cross, a criminal I thought.  I

skirted the crowd, averting my
eyes from the shame of the man
but the throng pushed me nearer,

where men, seeing I was from the
country, threw my goods on the
ground, threatening me.

I carried the cross for that man,
but He carried more.

- Steve West

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