Census

haiku for losing control

As the story goes

Augustus and his minions

decreed the counting.

A census gives us

the needed information

to order our world.

Numbering people,

keeping control and power,

imposing taxes.

The count brings the man,

along with his pregnant bride

south to Bethlehem.

But in this baby

God upends all creation;

here is the promise.

Humble mum and dad,

common tradesman and his wife;

folk the same as us.

Find them a stable,

a shelter for giving birth.

How appropriate.

No fancy cradle;

he can sleep in a feed trough,

there among the straw.

Invite some shepherds,

poor and lowly witnesses;

they’ll proclaim his birth.

Something about God

spurning grandeur and power;

these are good stories.

© Ken Rookes 2017.

A wondrous yarn

Haiku of an often told story

There are no records

of the birth of the Messiah;

just an old story.

An anxious couple

seeking a place of shelter.

The time is at hand.

In a crowded town,

a stable, strangely, becomes

a delivery ward.

A baby is born,

this thing of joy and wonder.

Happens ev'ry day.

Shepherds tending sheep,

angels winging in the sky;

a fabulous yarn.

Go and check it out!

The baby in a manger,

with his mum and dad.

The infant is found;

it was as the angel said.

They are all amazed.

The shepherds return

singing, “Glory!” praising God,

They tell everyone.

© Ken Rookes 2016

Nativity Haiku

Shepherds and angels

conversing in the shadows,

illumined by hope.

Good news pronouncement;

Great joy! The one sent from God

breathes earth's air today.

Down in Bethlehem

while everyone sleeps; at last

something has happened!

No room at the inn;

so the man and the woman

had to improvise.

Why do you delay?

You should get yourselves moving

or you'll miss the show.

Entrusting their sheep

to the angelic choir,

they went to find him.

A baby is born.

It happens every day;

what's special this time?

This feed-box cradle

is offered as a sign. Strange,

but appropriate.

The shepherds returned,

sharing their wond'rous story;

couldn't keep silent.

© Ken Rookes 2015

Bethlehem Ephrathah

The rich had taken the best rooms

in the inns, and the private homes too.

The moderately well-off took the rest.

The poor camped where they could,

gathered around fires, swapped yarns,

got counted, and made their plans

to head home. Bethlehem

had taken on the appearance

of a refugee camp;

the city fathers were not impressed.

Joseph and Mary had been among

the campers by the creek,

until the contractions

of the impending birth drove them

to seek a more substantial shelter.

In a stable the animals seemed to enjoy

a tolerable standard of accommodation;

they decided to join them.

There the child would be born

and God made welcome.

© Ken Rookes

The stable

Strangers are smiling,

it must be Christmas.

We wish each other well,

and wonder where the year has gone.

In recent years some houses,

seeking to upstage their neighbours,

have burst into twinkling light

with trees, bearded gentlemen

and flying reindeer; some

even affect a religious interest.

Others remain with blinds drawn,

meditating in the dark stillness.

Perhaps, deep within their recesses,

and inmost crevices, these houses

have heard the story of the child

born to rule over all creation

with humble love. Maybe

they dream of the stable,

the unassuming shed, chosen

ahead of other dwellings.

It has become an exalted place

where poor people, dumb animals,

and the almighty God

find their home.

© Ken Rookes