Rhyming Job, Chapter 5

“Call if you will, but who will answer you?
Which holy one, your question, you’d convey?
Resentment and vexation kill the fool.
The simple are, by jealously, then slain.

“I’ve seen the fool who’s slowly taking root
but suddenly, his house is cursed and ruined.
His children’s safety, very far away,
with no defender, crushed in court, are they.
His harvest, what the hungry have in store,
and take it even from among the thorns,
the thirsty ones, who, for his wealth, will pant.
Up from the soil, not there, grow hardship’s plants.
Where trouble starts? Not from the ground, arise.
Yet man is born to trouble ‘til he dies,
as surely as the sparks will, upward, fly.

“If I were you, I would appeal to God;
Before him, I would, honest, lay my cause.
The wonders he performs, no fathoming,
his miracles defy all numbering.
It’s for the earth, the rain that he provides;
he’s sending water on the countryside.
The lowly and downcast, he’ll set on high,
and those who mourn, to safety, he will lift.
He thwarts the plans, who make them with their craft,
so that their hands, achieving no success.
He catches wise men in their craftiness,
the wily’s schemes are what he’s swept away,
and darkness comes upon them in the day;
at noon they grope about as in the night.
He saves the needy from the sword inside
their mouth; the clutches of the powerful,
from them, he saves. The poor, with hope, are full,
injustice shuts its mouth. Now then, behold,

“blessed is the one whom God reproves; therefore,
despise not, that, his discipline, the LORD’s.
For he will wound, but he binds up as well;
he shatters, but his hands will also heal.
He will deliver you from troubles, six;
in seven, evil, none, to you will stick.
In famine, he’ll redeem you, his reward.
in war, saves from the power of the sword.
You shall be hidden from the tongue, its lash,
no fear that, it, destruction will, you, smash.
Destruction, famine, at them will you laugh,
no fearing beasts on earth whose teeth will gnash.

“For, with the stones out in the field, in league,
you’ll be with them, out there as well, the beasts
will be at peace with you. What you perceive,
that it, your tent, entirely is at peace,
inspect your fold, possessions won’t, you, leave.
You’ll also know, your offspring multiply,
descendants, yours, like grass on earth grows high.
You’ll come down to your grave in ripe old age,
like sheaves are, in their season, gathered, saved.
Behold, this, we have searched; for it is true.
Now hear this all and know it for your good.”

Rhyming Job, Chapter 4

Then Eliphaz the Temanite replied:

“If someone ventures just a word with you,
would you, impatiently, their words despise?
But who can stop, their speech to you, renewed?
Think how, on your instruction, men rely,

“the hands you’ve strengthened, feeble, too, and weak,
your words supported those with stumbling feet;
you’ve strengthened them, those ones with falt’ring knees.
But now, comes trouble, you, discouraged, feel;
it strikes you, and you are dismayed. Is not
the confidence you have, your fear of God,
your blameless ways, your hope should never stop?

“Consider now: which innocents you know
have ever perished? When, they e’er destroyed,
the upright? I’ve observed, who plow and sow
both evil, trouble, reap them, their reward.
At it, the breath of God, they’re perishing;
destroyed, his anger’s blast, from up above.
The lions’ roaring noises, growling-ly,
the lion’s teeth are now just broken nubs.
For lack of prey, the lion, hungrily,
will die, and scattered, lioness’s cubs.

“A word in secret, what was brought to me,
my ears caught whisper of it. In the night
amid dreams that disquieted, when sleep,
most deep, on people generally will lie.
Both fear and trembling seized me, made them shake:
my bones. A spirit glided past my face,
my body’s hair, all of it, stood on end.
It stopped, but it, I couldn’t understand.
A form stood there before me, ‘fore my eyes,
its voice did not, above a hush, arise:

“‘Can any mortal’s righteousness exceed
God’s righteousness; can that, his purity,
a man who’s strong, be greater than our God’s?
If he, no trust in servants, fallible,
their errors, to his angels, billable,
how much more so will he, to mortal men,
whose houses, made of clay, where they extend,
are their foundations laid down in the dust,
more so than moths, they readily are crushed!
To pieces, broken, dawn until the dusk;

“’Unnoticed, they forever perish, die.
Are not their tent-cords pulled so very high,
so, while they’re lacking wisdom, lose their lives?’”

Rhyming Job, Chapter 3

Then after this, out from his mouth, these poured,
Job’s curses for the day that he was born:

“Let that day perish, that one of my birth,
and too, the night that said: ‘A man’s conceived.’
That day, to darkness, black just like a hearse;
may God above, no thought of it, perceive,

“or cause the light to shine upon that day.
Let gloom claim it again, and darkness, deep;
May clouds drop, settle, blackness o’er it laid,
that day; that night—may darkness, thick, it, seize;

“may it be left from ‘mongst the days we count,
the calendar, nor, in the months, observed.
May it, that night, be barren; may no shouts
of joy be heard on it. May those who curse

“the sea, too, curse that day, whose central aim:
to rouse Leviathan. May they be dark,
its morning stars; fore’er it waits in vain
for daylight and won’t see dawn’s early sparks

“for it did not, the womb’s doors, shut on me;
the present trouble from my eyes, conceal.

“I ask now why, at birth, I didn’t die
and perish, when, the womb, I exited?
Why were there knees that for me, opened wide,
and breasts on which I nursed, was daily fed?

“For now I would be lying down in peace;
I would be sleeping, also, then, at rest
with kings and rulers of the earth, deceased;
their palaces, in ruins, they lie, distressed.

“with princes who had gold, with silver filled,
their houses. Why was I not hid away,
cast to the ground, just as a child, born, still-
an infant who ne’er saw the light of day?

“There where the wicked cease from troubling acts,
and also there, the weary, rest, enjoy.
The captives, slaves, they have their ease, relax;
no longer listen to the driver’s voice.

“The small and great are there, equality,
and there the slaves are from their owners, freed.

“To those in misery, why is light giv’n,
and life to those who’re bitter in their soul,
to those who long for death, it from them, driv’n,
who search for it more than for treasure, gold,

“they’re filled with gladness and their joy, convey,
when they achieve their final goal, the grave?
Why is life given to a man whose way
is hid from him, whom God’s hedged in, constrained?

“For sighing has become my daily food;
my groanings pour out like a water flow.
They’ve come on me, my deepest fears I knew,
the things I dreaded, first-hand, now, I know.

“No quietness of heart, I have no peace;
I have no rest, but only turmoil, feel.”

Rhyming Job, Chapter 2

Upon another day the angels came
before the LORD, as to present themselves,
and Satan, too, himself, he did display.
The LORD said unto Satan, “Now do tell

“where you’ve come from?” Then, Satan made it known:
“From roaming through the earth, I, to and fro,
run back and forth, from place to place, I go.”

The LORD to Satan: “Have, my servant, Job,
considered him, you? None on earth like him;
he’s blameless, upright, God, he fears within,
who’s shunning evil, turns away from sin.
He still maintains it, his integrity,
though you, ‘gainst him, no cause, incited me,
so lacking reason, ruin to him, achieved.”

And in reply said Satan: “Skin for skin!
All that he has, that what a man will give,
for his own life, but now, your hand, stretch out,
his flesh and bones, his body strike, within.
Then to your face, Job’s curses from his mouth.”

The LORD then said to Satan, “Very well,
then, in your hands I place him but I tell
you that his life, that thing, what you must spare.”

So Satan left God’s presence, out from there;
afflicted Job with many painful sores,
from them, his feet, their soles, up to its crown,
his head’s. Some pottery that had been shorn,
he took it, and with it, he scraped them ‘round,
as he, among the ashes, there, remained.

His wife said to him, “Do you still maintain
integrity of yours? Curse God and die!”

“Just like a foolish woman,” his reply,
“is how you’re talking. Shall we just accept
good things from God, but trouble, we reject?”

In all of this, Job kept himself from sin
in what he said. When they heard, Job’s three friends,
were Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad
the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite,
of all the many troubles that he had,
they set out from their homes to sympathize,
they by agreement, all together met,
to go and comfort him. A distance, yet,
away from him they were, when they saw Job,
and recognized him, there? As one unknown.
To weep aloud, was that, what they began,
they tore their robes, and on their heads, dust, sand,
they sprinklèd. For seven days and nights,
they sat upon the ground with him that time.
Not one of them unto Job said a word,
they saw how great his suffering, him, hurt.

Rhyming Job, Chapter 1

Once in the land of Uz there lived a man
whose name was Job, both upright and blame-free;
God-fearing; evil, from his life, he banned.
His seven sons, and daughters, numbered three.

In thousands, seven, sheep were what he owned.
Three thousand camels, and five hundred each
of donkeys and too, oxen that were yoked.
His servants, numerous, extend his reach.

The man among the people of the East,
the greatest of them all. They held their feasts,

his sons, their birthdays, what they’d celebrate.
Into their homes, their sisters, three, they bade,
to eat and drink with them. It would abate,
the period of feasting, then, Job made,

arrangements for them to be purified,
because, he thought: “My children sinned, perhaps,
and cursed God in their hearts.” How he’d abide,
Job’s custom, regular, that never lapsed.

One day the angels, to present themselves,
they came before the LORD with Satan too.
The LORD said to him, “Where, what you must tell
you’ve come from?” Satan, with his useless truth:

“From roaming through the earth, went to and fro.”
The LORD asked Satan, if these facts, he’d know:

“Have you considered him, my servant, Job?
There’s no one like him underneath the sun;
God-fearing, blameless, upright, evil shunned.”

”Does Job, for nothing,” in reply, “fear God?”
said Satan. “Have you not, a hedge, installed
‘round him, his household, all he does possess?
You’ve blessed the works his hands have made so that
his flocks and herds are through the land, disbursed.
But now stretch out your hand, strike what he has,
then to your face, his curses will, you, tell.”

The LORD then said to Satan, “Very well,
then to your pow’r, all what he has, conveyed,
but, on the man himself, no finger, lay.”

Then Satan left the presence of the LORD.

One day, his sons and daughters feasted, gorged,
their oldest brother’s house, there, drinking wine.
A messenger to Job with this report:
“The oxen plowed, the donkeys grazed nearby,
Sabeans came, attacked, and, to the sword,
they put your servants, livestock that they stole.
To bring this news, I’m the survivor, sole,
from them, how I escaped.” While he yet spoke,

another messenger brought them this news:
“The fire of God fell from the heavens, high,
and burned the sheep and all the servants too;
The only one escaped from there was I.”

Yet while he spoke, another messenger:
“Chaldean raiding parties, three, they formed
and swept down on your camels, stole those herds.
They put your servants, all, unto the sword,
and I alone escaped, this news, to bear!”

While he still spoke, another messenger
appeared and said: “Your sons and daughters too
were feasting, drinking wine, his house was where,
the oldest brother’s, wind, most vi’lent, blew,
most suddenly, swept in that desert air,
and struck the corners, four, the house, construed,
collapsed on them and they’re all dead in there,
and I alone escaped to tell, this, you!”

At this, Job stood and tore his robe, he shaved
his head. To ground he fell, as to display
his worship of his God, and this he said:

“My mother’s womb, from there, I, naked, came,
and from this earth, nude, too, I will depart.
The LORD has given, and he took away;
all praises to his name, the LORD’s, impart.”

In all of this, Job kept himself from sin
by charging God with doing wrong to him.

Into the Light

That space where they can walk into the light.
Each morning’s dawning following the night.
That with their wounds I strong identify.
What greater comfort? Hard to quantify.
I am attentive. Also, too, I love.
Capacity instilled from up above.
My children in the night, those terrors felt.
Who is it they might cry to for their help?
That willingness we have to look within.
To that extent our empathy extends.

The Prayers of Amalthea’s Horn, Part II

The sin committed, unforgivable,
I thought somehow I was superior,
to gain salvation through activity,
the Gospel good for everyone but me,
that somehow I’d convince through constant prayer.
No effort, out in public, I would spare.
A million words it seems I prayed out loud,
or minimal, in hundred thousands count.
It said don’t be like pagans when you pray.
I, unlike Balaam’s donkey, might have brayed.
In glossolalia, my thoughts would range,
in repetition, words are meaningless,
a mantra spoke with angels’ tongue, expressed.
Engaged in altered states of consciousness.
An endless stream, from out, they poured and poured.
My lips and tongue, with Michael’s words, adorned.
The repetitions, some identified,
I’d listen when some patterns might arise.
To think he hears the words you have to say,
he knows of them before, your lips, away.
No repetitions, vain, that you should use.
The many words just like the Gentiles do.

For meditation, “Maranatha” spoke,
in Aramaic, “Come, Lord Jesus”, note
the other meaning, this: “Our Lord has come,”
By constant practice, my salvation won.
For intervention, there’s no bargaining,
for that dimension, your tongue, loosening,
your foot upon the bottom ladder rung.
The witches’ Sabbath, echoes, whispered spells.
My spirit, up, from in my breast, it swells.
That single word, my mantra I repeat.
Inside my head, distractions to defeat.
My motivation zapped by my fatigue.
My loneliness suborned by my belief.
The rest that I can access in that place.
In spite of that, you go another way.

From off her head that curly-Q was torn.
The bleeding stump where Amalthea’s horn
upon her head until most recently.
When Jupiter had snapped it like a twig.
His god-like strength, an infant, not so big,
still broke it off, and too, he severed veins,
the gushing blood that couldn’t be restrained.
Why did the boy-god make such vicious act?
No more her milk sustained him, meat he lacked.
But in her death, supply was what he found,
a cornucopia, with food, abounds.

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The Widow’s Oil (2 Kings 4.1-7)

The woman’s husband, of the company
of prophets. To Elisha, then she cried:
“His creditors will take as property
my boys to sell as slaves now that he died.

“You know my husband gave unto the LORD
deep reverence.” Elisha, in reply:
“How can I help? What have you in your store?”
“My house is lacking much, I can’t deny.

“A jar of olive oil, what I possess.”
He said: “Go ask them for their empty jars.
Your neighbors, ask for plenty — an excess
of jars is what you need. Then go and bar

your door behind you, with your boys inside.
Pour all your oil into the jars they bring.
With each jar filled, then put it to the side.
What’s been before, this unlike anything.”

The boys, their mother, many jars, they brought.
Each one, into which olive oil she poured.
The flow of oil not stopping when it ought.
Poured to the jars until there were no more.

All jars were filled, then to her son said she:
“Bring me another one.” This he replied:
“The jars, the empties, all are full, you see.”
The flow of oil then instantly went dry.

She went and told Elisha what occurred.
“Go sell the oil; to your account, inure.
The proceeds, use to pay the debts incurred.
The balance then provides for you and yours.”