“Why seek the Living One among the dead?“
asked angels to a few who‘d watched the Lord
be crucified—His blood and life outpoured,
“He is not here! He‘s risen as He said!“
In days before these women wept in grief
as Jesus‘ lifeless body, wrapped in shroud,
lay buried, guarded, sealed from Paschal crowd,
but by God‘s plan entombment would be brief!
His slaying served full payment for the debt
incurred against Himself by mankind‘s sin.
His raising proved His sacrifice the win
to satisfy God‘s wrath, my debts forget!
Because Christ Jesus died but ever lives,
the sin of all who trust Him God forgives!

(Hebrews, iv.2)

Israel in ancient days
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which thy saw a Saviour's face.

The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.

The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,
Whose blood of matchless worth
Whould be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of His own.

The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our surety seem'd to say,
"Behold, I bear your sins away."

Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.

Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of Thy grace,
The same in every age!
Oh, grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!

Blessedly, funerals,
don't have to go to too many,
though went to one
just this day,
for our next door country neighbor,
the nicest dour-looking,
rascally dearest man

The Catholic church full,
the hymns lovely,
the priest spoke
simple and beautiful,
about the paschal lamb
and the
Judeo-Christian Heritage
and
Life Everlasting,
an interesting concept,
that I had long forgot about

Must have conjured up
three minimum ideas
for poems,
not even including
this reportage

maybe I will write some,
tho the normative jelly of
Manhattan bus shaking
mine own recipe for inspiration,
when combined with
my peanut buttered
sheltered island by the Great Peconic Bay,
both, will be my swirled
inspiration everlasting

Can't write about
moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies,
the way I write is
just the way I think
writ out loud

so to the essay at hand,
funeral of a man,
mine all planned,
the invites ready,
awaiting the correct postage stamp
of a future time and place

the date, more or less sketched,
the poems, selected, notated
for whoever shows,
pick a read,
win a free trip to the cemetery
and maybe one back to his "parlor"
where food, drink and bon mots are
vous parlez'd and his spirit,
now a parolee, will be watching

smiling, for funerals are camaraderie,
so longs and fare-thee-wells,
and the hands of friends embracing,
celebrations in their own way,
and a time to tell stories of what
treasures they have left you,
silver linings of a life well writ,
and tho someday,
they'll be time-tarnished,
even half forgot,
the stories and the love poems
are the seeds of life everlasting



Passover/Easter
March 2014

Considering Eve
Male and female created he them; and blessed them, and called their name Adam, in the day when they were created. (Genesis 5:2 KJV)
From the moment you breathed
Dust disturbed across this barren earth
I was clothed in radiance
Infusa lux Dei
Skin and bone and soul
As one we walked in the still of the morning
Tender blooms un-bruised by the weight
Of flesh pressed soft
Fertile ground I found
The fatal embrace
Sinister beauty
And choices begat consequence
And consequence begat the lie
Never the two shall become one flesh again
Desperate we search for the God shaped hole
In our hearts
Filling the emptiness with poison
Until the acid bleeds from my tongue
Suckling the ******
Of Babylon
I will burn forever and never be free

Trace the letters set in stone
Echoes etched by the hand of the Paschal lamb
Qui sine peccato est primus lapis sint eiecti
And still the ******* would sell my daughters
To sons for a goat and a gold nose ring
And consider Eve the mother of all imperfection
Yet you named us Adam…we were one…

Forgive them Father for they’re too stupid to understand
Angels with flaming swords a metaphor lost
On sheeples and E.C. Wannabes
Intervention is a painful consequence when haughty children
Cleave bone and souls to succor their own crave
This crumbling throne is transient
I will walk in the cool of the morning with you
Clothed in light
Again.

TL Boehm
2014

On the Western side of the Sea of Galilee
between Tiberias and Capernaum
the apostle of the apostles was born.

O holy myrrh-bearer, Mary from Magdala
the red egg in your hand Tiberius Caesar's debacle
would be of "Speak now or Forever rest in Peace"

* The poem is based on the Paschal eggs' tradition. During a dinner with the emperor Tiberius Caesar, Mary Magdalene was speaking about Christ's Resurrection. Caesar scoffed at her, saying that a man could rise from the dead no more than the egg in her hand could turn red. Immediately, the egg turned red. Because of this, icons of Mary Magdalene sometimes depict her holding a red egg. Also, this is believed to be an explanation for dyeing eggs red at Pascha.

I WITNESSED IT

Death roared himself a king
In a time I know not-- how
He again touched a vow
And made himself a stupid king - still

Yes, I witnessed it
As the day turned night
Everyone were in sight
At the requiem mass of Late Mr. Paschal

I saw his soul won by heaven
The angels I heard were rejoicing
I heard the smooth voices
Mourning not but singing with sweet melody

Above the hills was felt a cool breeze
And the zephyr presence of Late Mr Paschal
Yes it came with a thunder
Making hearts battle in wonders

His words.... filling the air... entertaining ears
Lo! His words...  something more than gold
Brought down heaven legs
And joy was given again as a proof.

#Je suis McNevets

Silent she slips in
Resolute the new day
Steps of eiderdown
Path rendered muted echoes
As sparkled snow sugars tongues of lovers
A petaled hand extended
Fragrant cherry blossoms
The blush
The rush
Will cupids lacquered eros wax
When the breeze of romance
Roars ferocious
Lions prowl on taloned claws frigid
Before the frail Paschal lambs
New birth awaits the cadence of spring rain
And jonquiled mornings pregnant with dew
Little girls skip minuets
Plait the maypole
Festive in buttered eyelet, whispered taffeta and crisp dotted swiss
Dreaming of castles and gilt armor
Bind this heart of mine in gold and champagne roses
Love and gunfire burst on the palette of the night sky
Sonic color settles shrieking freedom
The haze of summer days
The wind warm, your breath warmer
She languishes heavy lidded
Pine pitch fragrant in her hair and sweet strawberries in her mouth
Fireflies flit teasing
Tepid water waits for stain glass wings to grace the surface
Taut the day holds her breath
As rumbling thunder promises the cool monsoon
Chase away the dog days when the atmosphere clings heavy
Sleepless nights of croaking toads and the drone of mosquitoes
Breathless for the heady patter of rain
Herald the skies of burning blue
Above a cacophony of color
Cottonwoods in petticoats sunflower yellow
Crimson maple and dusted ash
Dance beneath the harvest moon
Thankful
Life is a gift to be unwrapped
Surprise exquisite
Like the first star sparkling on your horizon
At the end of the day.
TL Boehm
02/01/10

Tongue tied, brain fried
through the trials been tried
Mammon's law defied
In the wild I cried
To the Lord that I confide in
Who washes me from sin
When I play this game
I play it to win
When I say His name
I say it with a grin
His light fills me to the brim
Guides me at a whim
Through this flood He helps me swim
Even with a broken limb The Paschal Lamb
That the world calls a sham
Is the One that laid the land
That you raise your fam on
From eons by gone
By peons that once shone
Amidst the dark landscape
Of this flat earthen plate
Now met untimely fates
While trying to satiate
The wild fleshly tastes and desires
For warmth comfort and fire
All for which it can make you a liar
A buyer of false security
From divine insecurity
That you lying to your inner purity
Lord knows that you've heard of He
But it's fear that stops the start to your belief
In the only source that could ever give you the relief
That you seek He calls the meek
Before the eighth day of the week
As the signs of His coming begin to leak
Look at the sky for itself it speaks
Of the coming labours and havok that shall wreak

With the proceedings completed,
What remained was recollecting:

1, A Vigil

Where the mourners aligned themselves to weep or stare
Into the casket, amazed by the skills of the mortician,

“She looks at peace,” they said to us, calmly brushing her cool
Head before walking back to their seat, thinking about when they



Last saw our mom alive, something her
Friend Rhonda remembered vividly,

Barley able to walk from the diabetic neuropathy, Rhonda worked her way
Over to the couch where my sister and I sat, leaning heavy on her right
Crutch to outstretch her left hand:

“If I close my eyes, I can still see Kitty thumbing the tab of her Coke can at my dining table.
We were going back and forth about our New Years plans. She was a good woman, your mother, and a great friend to me. She will be missed by so many. I’m sorry.”

She was sweating and had swollen eyes, we smiled and
Nodded and squeezed her hand back, we said thank you and
Took the first opportunity to run downstairs,

Sarah McLachlan’s version of “In the Arms Of An Angel” played as
Theme music to the eulogies. One given by our dad, who reminded
Everyone that our mom worked nights at the hospital. He said by his
Count, she had probably held over 10,000 babies before she was sick,
10,002 if you included my sister and me. The thought lingered,
The silence persisted, and the song played again,

Now the background to a tribute given by our mother’s parents, who remembered
Raising a daughter that bought a motorcycle and decided to visit
Them on it as often as she could, no matter how much they disapproved, she was
A rebel but they loved her, they said they had six babies go to God
Before she came into the world, in the arms of an angel was the chorus of the song,
And they believed this is where their daughter was now,

In the parlor basement I overheard these snippets in between
The fizzy sounds of Coca-Cola being poured into my cup,

2, A Funeral

Everyone together in mass, listening to
“On Eagle’s Wings,” sung by the choir,

Everyone smelling the Holy Smoke being wafted
By the priest as he approaches the casket, now
Positioned below the altar and colored by the
Dappled light of the sun piercing through
The stained glass,

In sermon he says to double-down on worship, and rejoice
That Kathryn will soon be in the halls of Heaven, a sorrowful
Blessing, a product of the paschal mystery,

“It was her time,” he said,

Everyone prayed the Apostles’ Creed and the priest
Asked for us to focus on the part about ascendance
And everlasting life, how we will see her again when

It’s “our” time,

I focused on the part about descending into hell and
A three-day resurrection, I wondered if there was
Any way my mom could be stuck in purgatory,

Leaving me without her in that other world,

With my family and I in the center pews, we were
Surrounded by stares, everyone consoling from their
Various positions in the church, friends I played
Recess football with were now looking up at their
Parents crying for us,

Instead of meeting their eyes, I gazed straightaway at
The six-foot crucifix looming above my mother,
Sullen and skinny, pale and bleeding,

I wondered if it had ever fallen from its place,
And if so, whose job is it to remount our savior?

As the pallbearers lifted mom from below the
Altar and headed toward the door, my dad noticed
Me crying and said to not wipe the snot on my sleeve,
So I sniffed it up and proceed to leave with the congregation.

3, A Burial

In a five-car procession, all my family drove
From our house to the cemetery after a breakfast
Of sliced and sugared grapefruit, in memoriam  
Of her favorite way to start the morning,

Her casket was already on the lowering device
When we arrived, the wind was strong, pulling
The grass in between the headstones from left
To right,

I decided to wander around the
Other plots, spelling out the names
Of the dead and feeling in awe about
The fact that I’m standing over someone
That was buried in the 1910s,
I started to hear the bagpipes play “Amazing Grace”
When over my left shoulder I noticed my dad calling me
To throw a fistful of dirt as the grinding gears brought her
Casket down.

sacred songs, the aroma of Christ
  paschal moon, I pledge my life
       Als Ick Kan, truly twice

There once was a rogue rabbit,
Met a hoodie Paschal hermit,
She overcame all her fears,
Munched tail to ears, begone furry fake ***!

His words will be the revealing lamp to our curious feet
The world whispers, “Follow what feels right”
But God’s Word says, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path”

He is the calm before the storm
The world screams, “Peace is impossible, chaos rules!”
Yet in God’s whisper, and in Jesus’ command, the storm obeys
When you walk into the water you might drown
Yet Jesus walks on it and calls you to trust

The fire in the burning bush
The world thinks, “Power is raw; it consumes everything”
When you touch that flame, you burn
Only God’s hand can guide it without consuming the pure

The author behind the parting of the sea
God instructed Moses: raise your staff, part the waters
Turn the Nile to blood, bring frogs, gnats, and locusts
Turn the staff into a serpent on the ground
Strike the rock, water gushes for the thirsty
Manna falls from heaven, quail fills the camp
He saves Israel from slavery, leads them through the desert
All by His command, all by His will

Elijah calls fire from heaven on Mount Carmel
Elisha multiplies oil, raises the dead, purifies poisoned stew
Daniel in the lions’ den survives, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the furnace walk untouched
Isaiah prophesies, Jonah survives the great fish, Job stands firm through suffering
All wonders, all power, all glory belong to Him

He works wonders
The world calls them luck, coincidence, or show
But Isaiah cried, Daniel saw
The blind man sees, the ***** is cleansed, the lame walk, the deaf hear
The woman touches Jesus’ garment and is healed
Jesus turns water to wine at Cana, feeds five thousand with loaves and fishes
He walks on water, calms storms, raises the dead
He casts out demons, heals the sick, shows mercy to the lost
All wonders, all power, all glory belong to Him

We are judged by the world only to see that they crucified the perfect, sinless man
The world says, “Innocence is weak, success is power”
God shows the Lamb who suffers, who redeems, who saves

We are freed and forgiven, cleaned and renewed by the Paschal Lamb, Jesus
The world demands payment, effort, merit
But Jesus gives it freely
When you touch Him, you are reborn
When you embrace Him, your chains fall away

He is the same yesterday, today, and forever
All the wonders of old and new testify His glory
The world may mock, may doubt, may demand proof
Yet His power remains, beyond the storm, beyond the flame, beyond the sea, beyond death
We stand in awe, we believe, we follow
Not the world, but Him

He is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end
The Lion of Judah, the Root of David, the Lamb who was slain
He is the King of kings, Lord of lords, the bright Morning Star
He holds the keys of death and Hades, the One who makes all things new
Every tribe, every tongue, every nation will see His glory
He is the Revelation, the eternal Word, the One who was, who is, and who is to come