Jew. I call most turncoats fucking useless
But make a rare exception for this one.
The Living Prepuce
That sacred relic, by the way, was hid
And either kept in camphor or else iced.
It grew so precious it could not be priced.
And then one day His Holiness undid
A holy box and raised a holy lid -
Behold – the foreskin of our saviour Christ,
Shrimplike in shape, most elegantly sliced,
At last to profane eyes exhibited.
In eighty other Christian lands they show
This self-same prize for reverent eyes to hail.
You look incredulous, my friend. But know
That faith, though buffeted, must never fail.
The explanation's this: God let it grow
After the clipping, like a fingernail.
Joseph was doing bull-roars on his back,
A dream corrida crowd was yelling "Toro!"
He slept cut off from coming care and sorrow,
Making the stable shake with roar and rack.
But then an angel dealt him a rough smack
And said: "You know what day it is tomorrow?
The twenty-eighth. I managed, see, to borrow
A copy of the current almanac."
Herod announced the Feast of Childermass.
Joseph rushed out and had to pay a pretty
Price (how he cursed) for an old spavined ass:
A carpenter would rather gyp than be gypped.
And so they moved off mouselike towards Egypt,
Missing a lively day in David's city.
The Slaughter of the Innocents 2
King Herod now, to minimal applause,
Ordered the babies to be stuck like swine.
There was an uproar then in Palestine
And not, O Jesus help us, without cause.
Those who had seen this coming did not pause
To hide their babes, but let them croon or whine
As visible as laundry on the line,
While they had masses said to Santa Claus.
Their saviour (saviour?) halfway to the delta
Smelt nothing of the filthy bloody welter
Nor heard the parents curse or ululate.
The troops of Herod smote and did not spare
But with each crack a splinter sought the air
And feebly tapped on heaven's heavy gate.
When he was old enough for politics
Jesus went splashing on the Jordan's bed.
He ceased to be a Jew and joined instead
The Apostolic Roman Catholics.
Then he went dropping homilies like bricks.
"He who seeks heaven with an unwashed head
Will see the kingdom with his arse," he said,
Shouting the odds, wagging his crucifix.
Only his mother got there unbaptised,
Which proves she waved goodbye to mother earth
A good Jewess, staunch in the faith and steady.
Heaven had got her soul well organised:
Why rub and scrub a thing that came to birth
As white as someone's laundry line already?
A Wedding at Cana 1
The guests at Cana, vinously aswim,
Aroar for more, found every bloody butt
Was empty, and the liquor stores were shut.
The innkeeper, fired by a roguish whim,
Had three casks filled with water to the brim,
Then told each sozzled fuddled serving slut
To lug them where, importantly astrut,
The host was, and to leave the rest to him.
Christ was a guest, dressed in his best apparel,
But the host begged a sort of magic act
Through Mary: "Make him turn this lot to wine."
Mary replied: "I know this son of mine -
Moody. But if I speak to him with tact
You'll get, maybe, a quarter of a barrel."
And so she begged an instant grapeless wine.
But Jesus, who was hardly yet adult,
Sighed like a stone leaving a catapult
And scowled: "This problem's neither yours nor mine,
Mother. Permit me coldly to decline
To help these boozers. Easy or difficult
Is not the point. Let the fat host consult
Some other thaumaturge, the smirking swine.
Just so some soak can blurt a drunken toast
Or swill the teeth he's sunk into a roast,
You want me to work miracles and such,
To get a toothcomb and go combing out
The various troubles lurking all about.
I've troubles of my own, thanks very much."
A Wedding at Cana 3
Jesus, I think (Christ rest his spirit), chose a
Tantrum like that one not to be unkind
But to show off. A young man is inclined
To blow his trumpet oftener than his nose. A-
Las, Our Lady, so says the composer
Of this instructive rhapsody, repined.
She'd had maternal victory in mind
But now became the Mater Dolorosa.
I sometimes wish this story had not happened;
But heed its lesson, if you heed no other:
Try not to be the big loud man too soon.
God heard the answer that he gave his mother,
Determined on a right reproving rap and
Lathered his arse one Friday afternoon.
Jesus forgives all sins – or nearly alclass="underline"
Usury, anger, greed, the knife thrust under
The ribs, robbery, calumny, lying, plunder
Of land condoned by rogues in the town hall.
Only on one occasion did he fall
Into a rage that tore him near asunder
And made him roar with true Jehovan thunder
And bounce in bloody anger like a ball,
And that was when he saw the Church done wrong to.
He took a whip with many a knotted thong to
The moneychangers preying on those praying at the temple.
This is the only place in Holy Writ
Where Christ is shown as throwing a mad fit.
He aged with righteous rage and started greying at the temple.
Martha amp; Mary
Martha said: "Christ, I'm full up reet to' t' scupper
Wi' Mary there." She belted out her stricture:
"Rosaries, masses – it fair makes you sick to your
Stomach. Stations o't' Cross. I'm real fed up. A
Carthorse I am, harnessed neck and crupper
While she does nowt. About time this horse kicked you
Right in the middle of your holy picture, Mary.
Go on, now. Say it: What's for supper?"
"Martha, O Martha," sighed the blessed Saviour,
"You've no call to get mad at her behaviour.
She's on the right road, and you're out of luck."
"The right road, aye," said Martha. "Why, if I
Went on like her, this house would be a sty,
And she'd not see the right road for the muck."
With the Last Supper finished and the waiter
Ready to clear, Christ took a loaf of bread,
Blessed it, then fed it to the already fed,
Making each eater a communicator.
He even gave some to his darling traitor,
Proving his mood was rosy, not yet red
(Judas Iscariot, who lost his head
And went to play at swings a little later).
But, friendly as he was, the Master knew
His passion hour was coming, hot and hellish,
So made a good confession, to embellish
His church with not one sacrament but two.
There then remained one holy thing to do -
To eat himself, with little or no relish.
Christ amp; Pilate
After they'd knotted Jesus up with rope,
Judas assisting, damned and dirty dastard,
After the high priest's bullies, who had mastered
The spitting art, had given it full scope,
After the maids and grooms had heard the Pope