Living bread

Haiku of eternal life

I am living bread,
Jesus says in John’s gospel.
Eat, live for ever.

The leaders dispute.
How can this man give his flesh
that people might eat?

I tell you truly,
Jesus says, Life is in me,
take me deep within.

In these words we find
Eucharistic overtones:
Come to the table.

My flesh is true food,
and my blood is true drink: Take,
eat, and drink of me.

Who partake of me,
live in me; and I abide
in them. We are one.

The Father sent me.
The life I have is from God;
I share it with you.

The bread from heaven
gives life that is fair dinkum.
Come to me and eat.

 

© Ken Rookes 2018

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Hiroshima Day

One must not let Hiroshima Day pass without notice.

I have no new poem to post, but here is an old one.

And here is a familiar (and favourite) linocut. On Hiroshima Day Jesus learns how to Fold a Paper Crane
Linocut 2008

The bread of life

Haiku for those who need to be fed

The Johanine Christ
calls himself the bread of life;
much consternation.

Is this not Jesus,
the son of the carpenter?
Claims to come from God!

The Father sent me,
and he draws many to me;
I will raise them up.

Learn from the Father
and come to me. I’ll show you
how to truly live.

Your ancestors ate
wilderness bread from above;
death still embraced them.

I am living bread.
Eat of me, receive my life;
you need never die.

Heaven’s living bread,
bread that gives life to the world:
this bread is my flesh.

 

© Ken Rookes 2018

Give us this bread

Haiku for those who hunger.

The crowd found some boats
and crossed the lake to find him,
at Capernaum.

Is it for the signs
or because you ate your fill
that you’re seeking me?

Food that perishes
is worthless; the Son of Man
gives the food that lasts.

His food leads to life.
His word brings life eternal;
God’s seal rests on him

They asked for a sign,
that they might have faith in him.
Like the desert bread.

In the wilderness
your forebears ate God’s manna;
this too, did not last.

The true bread from God
comes from heaven to the earth,
gives life to the world.

Give this bread to us,
they said, not really knowing
what it is they ask.

I am living bread.
Come, you need never hunger,
nor do you need thirst.

 

© Ken Rookes 2018

The crowd, hungry for his word.

Haiku of unexpected abundance

The crowd came to him;
saw the signs he was doing,
the sick getting healed.

Up on the mountain
the crowd, hungry for his word;
Jesus will feed them.

Where will we buy bread?
Six month’s wages, said Phillip,
Wouldn’t buy enough.

Five loaves and two fish
that was all they could muster:
a boy and his lunch.

They sat on the grass.
He took the loaves and thanked God,
passed the bread around.

As the story goes
they all had enough to eat,
gathered up the scraps.

Understandably
the people got excited:
He is the prophet!

He made himself scarce,
went further up the mountain
to be by himself.

When evening came
his disciples took the boat,
went out on the lake.

The lake became rough
and the wind blew against them;
they were terrified.

And then Jesus came
with words of reassurance,
Do not be afraid.

 

© Ken Rookes 2018

Promise and hope

Haiku for the shepherdless

They came back to him,
eager, full of their stories,
telling what they did.

We all need a break,
let’s find a deserted place,
away from the crowds.

They went in a boat,
trying to get clean away;
didn’t really work.

They watched them leaving
made haste on foot, got there first
to welcome the boat.

They were a great mob,
like sheep without a shepherd.
His heart ached for them.

And so he taught them
many things. Then he fed them;
meeting their hunger.

And then they sailed on,
landed at Gennesaret;
still more people came.

Wherever he went,
from across the whole region,
they came to be healed.

He came among them
with the prospect of freedom,
a promise of hope.

 

© Ken Rookes 2018

Sad Monarch Herod

Haiku of the powerful and the small

Sad monarch Herod
like his father before him,
achieved infamy.

Pathetic ruler
easy to manipulate,
a slave to his lusts.

John the baptiser
never could keep his mouth shut,
incurred royal wrath.

Herod’s vengeful wife,
Herodias, took offence
at his denouncements.

Cast into prison,
John was forced to bide his time.
Herod still feared him.

The stepdaughter danced
at Herod’s party. Sexy;
the men all lusted.

Whatever you want,
the king had said. Then give me
the Baptiser’s head.

The king grieves deeply,
not foreseeing this outcome,
but he has been caught.

A bloody triumph
on a platter. She, in turn,
gives it to mother.

John’s disciples hear,
and come to claim his body;
bury him with love.

© Ken Rookes 2018