It's all about...The Lamb - Vol 17; Issue 3

September 15, 2014
Vol. 17, Issue 3

It’s all about…The Lamb

Maude Carolan Pych/Quarterly Poetry Letter

“Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches

and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.” Rev 5:12 NASB

It’s all about…The Lamb is a quarterly publication for lovers of the Holy Lamb of God, who also enjoy poetry. The purpose is to magnify our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and inspire an ever-deepening relationship with Him, the lover of our souls…

FELLOWSHIP LUNCHEON…

Saturday afternoon it was raining outside, but the sun shone brightly inside (and I don’t mean from the bowl of radiant sunflowers on my dining room table). I invited the women from Beth Israel Worship Center who are on my deaconess call list. A couple of the women, I have been calling for years, but never met face to face until Saturday. What a blessing! We shared, we prayed, we enjoyed lunch and then I took the opportunity to read selected worshipful poems. It was a perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon.

WOOSTER STREET TROLLEY JAZZ BAND…

Then on Sunday afternoon Bob and I ventured to the Ringwood (NJ) Library to attend a Dixieland concert by the Wooster Street Trolley Jazz Band, led by Ringwood icon, Bob Leive, former music director of Lakeland Regional High School. The band performed many old favorites including “When the Saints Go Marchin’ In”. I happen to have a poem about that song and will include it in this publication. The poem won second prize in the St. Catherine of Bologna Art, Photography & Poetry Exhibition in Ringwood, in 2006.

REMEMBERING THE DAY THE TOWERS FELL…

September 11, 2001…For as long as we live, the memory of what happened that terrible day will never wash from our minds…like the attack on Pearl Harbor, like the day President Kennedy was shot and Martin Luther King. Each jolting event, each shock is forever etched upon our memory banks. 9/11. We’ll never forget. Never.

I recently self-published another chapbook titled, “God’s Square Mile—Poems about Ocean Grove”. Amid a stream of poetry about this serene Christian community at the Jersey Shore, the little book has two poems about 9/11/01 that I’ll share in today’s edition.

Speaking of 9/11 and books and publishing, Jonathan Cahn, pastor/rabbi of my congregation, Beth Israel Worship Center at the Jerusalem Center, Wayne, NJ, and author of the bestseller, “The Harbinger,” has written a second book, “The Mystery of the Shemitah”. It was released September 2^nd and is already well on the way to becoming another major best seller. The enticing cover promises to reveal the 3000 year old secret of “America’s Future, the World’s Future and Your Future”. I picked up a few copies at church this weekend. It is also available at amazon.com, www.christianbook.com and wherever books are sold.

MODPO 2014…

Last year I took the free online Coursera class in Modern & Contemporary Poetry out of Penn State University and achieved a certificate of completion. This year’s course has an astonishing 42,000 enrollees worldwide. It is led by Professor Al Filreis and his panel of bright students that he calls his “pals”. This time around, I’m taking it just for fun. Interested? Go online and check it out.

+ + + THE POEMS FOLLOW + + +

SEPTEMBER 11, 2001                                                                                                                 

Yesterday I strolled

the shoreline at Ocean Grove

bathed in morning sun

The cool surf lapped at my feet

I randomly selected seashells

There were no crowds

The sea sparkled and frolicked

gulls held their turf

sandpipers skittered

as I basked

in God-given serenity

this final day

of a weekend away

This morning, back at the office

the sky is as blue and bright

as yesterday’s

Our boss calls in

While driving along the Turnpike

he sees a jet

approach the Twin Towers

but it doesn’t pass by

Suddenly there’s a great billow

of black smoke

He drives onto the exit ramp

sees another plane

fly deliberately into the other tower

We scramble to turn on a television

to see what seems surreal

the North Tower falls

then the South

Screams. Oh my God!

People run in a hail of debris

gray dust; dense smoke

Then the Pentagon is hit

a plane crashes in Pennsylvania

Hijackings. Suicides. Terrorism. Innocents

Casualties beyond comprehension

here in the U.S.A.

this bright, blue

September morn

Maude Carolan

THE TOWERS HAVE FALLEN

and we’re sobbing, stunned and shaken

We don’t know if there’ll be more attacks

don’t know if we’re on the brink of war

don’t know where the economy is headed

don’t know WHY. We have so many questions

and no one is giving us answers

that make any sense

Two days later

Leo sees an ad in the paper—

a condo for sale in Ocean Grove

in the very same complex

we’d been watching before…

But this is not the time—

the world’s spinning out of orbit

We’re unsettled. Nervous

Our tomorrows are clouded

by ifs and whys and what’s next, however

four days later

while photos are being circulated

of the missing, while

flags are flying from porches

and automobiles and overpasses

while people are flocking into churches

crying God bless America

we sit quietly on a bench

outside a real estate office on Main

and join hands in prayer

then go inside to present our bid

on a darling little dwelling

just far enough away from the madness

in this tranquil grove at the Jersey Shore

that some call “God’s Square Mile”

Maude Carolan Pych

MARCHING IN

"Oh, when the saints…Oh when the saints…"

I can almost see you marching, my darling

with a twinkle in your eye and a spring in your step

like I hadn't seen in years…

No halo, no feathery wings

no Bourbon Street strut, no Sachmo

no funky Dixieland umbrella

movin' up and down to the beat

but I see you, just the same

marchin' in…

marchin' through those Pearly Gates

up the golden street, along the glassy sea

hup two, three, four…

marchin' right up to the Throne

Yes, I can see you, my darling

falling to your knees before the One seated

as an emerald rainbow swirls around you both

I see Jesus rise to His feet, draw you to His bosom

and welcome you in

I think of our wedding day

of Bob Leive's Wooster Street Trolley Band

and Bob leading the march with his old battered horn

to the song you loved so much

We all fell in line behind him

singing, "Oh, I want to be in that number…"

as we marched round, round and round

the reception hall

Then I think of your funeral day

when you lay in the front of the room

looking healthy enough to sit up and ask me to dance

We listened to eulogy after eulogy

and praised God for bringing you Home

Pastor Ben began strumming his guitar

and we got up out of our seats

and marched as we sang,

"Yes, I want to be in that number

when the saints go marching in…"

We did it just for you

Maude Carolan

Comments are always welcome and appreciated. If possible, please post them directly to the website.

Look for the next edition of It’s all about…The Lamb, December 15, 2014

A FEW CLOSING WORDS…

Dear Reader/Subscriber,

Have you been going it alone? Does it seem like the world is spinning out of control? Is something…Someone…missing in your life? Do you need to return to God? Do you need to repent? Now is the time. God loves you. He’s always loved you, and He’s waiting. Make room for Him in your heart…Today!

May the God of Love be with ewe,

Maude

After God’s Own Heart Publishing

P.O. Box 2211, Woodland Park, NJ 07424

thelamb777@optimum.net

http://maudespoems.com

Oh! How We Prayed After the Towers Fell

Photo credit: blaze.com

WAITING WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED

Written in the wake of the September 11, 2001, Attack on America

We’ve been told God doesn’t belong in our schools

He doesn’t belong in public buildings

not in the town square, not at baseball games

We may not pray to Him in our classrooms

His Name has been shushed from graduations

Our witness at work has been silenced

Crèches and menorahs have been removed from government properties

and replaced with roly-poly Santas, tinseled trees and dreidels

Christmas and Hanukkah have been neutered

with wishes of “season’s greetings,” “happy holidays”

We’ve been closeted by the separation of church and state

in this free country founded as a safe haven for religious freedom

but when those 767s flew into those magnificent towers, September 11^th

when those great towers imploded, when thousands died tragically

and shockwaves of grief and terror riveted our planet

suddenly our churches filled

God’s name arose boldly on banners all across the land

It was posted, plastered, scrawled and spoken

prayed to by the President, our leaders, newsmen

It appeared on school message boards

bumper stickers, lapel pins, buttons

It was superimposed upon flag decals glued to our windowpanes

It was emblazoned upon our chests on patriotic T-shirts

and it appeared over and over and over on subway prayer walls

along with Scotch taped photos of those who were missing

Thousands proclaimed it loud and clear

at candlelight vigils and a prayer service at Yankee Stadium

and we all sang it with tears

“God Bless America,” our truer anthem

If we’ve been complacent; if we’ve swept Him aside

packed Him away in attic trunks

with things we thought we wouldn’t need anymore

He’s waiting with arms outstretched

love streaming from His eyes

and we need Him to heal our shattered hearts

Oh, let’s keep the “God Bless” in our “America”

and Americans, let us “Bless God”

O let us never let go of Him again

Maude Carolan

The above poem was written a month after the towers fell. People were still praying, still flocking to houses of worship. As time passed, the fervor waned and some returned to old habits and looked to God less. What about you? God loves you as much as ever and is waiting for your return...with His loving arms...outstretched.

Reflecting on 9/11

NOW THAT A MONTH HAS PASSED

October 11, 2001

 

No one sees us weeping

No one sees us praying

No one sees us trying

to piece together pieces

in our private places, but

it’s flags we see

They color bustling boulevards

and line our sleepy side streets

Huge ones hang from poles

in front of municipal buildings

and are draped across storefronts

Star spangled banners wave briskly in the breeze

over our white-washed porches

We stick smaller ones in flower boxes

along with the chrysanthemums

Construction paper ensigns

are taped to every classroom window

Flags flutter from car antennae

and are glued to our bumpers

Ostentatious ones stream from rusty red pick-ups

and sleek eighteen-wheelers

Our colors are strung from bridges

and unfurled across overpasses

We even see them tied from tree to tree

 

Apollo Flag had customers lined up

outside and around the building for over a week

The front of an old clapboard house

on Webster Avenue is painted like Old Glory

and the cement retaining wall is studded with stars

The owner’s boss gave him the day off

to finish the job, and

The Philadelphia Inquirer

snapped it and printed it on Page 2

People drive by just to see it

A talented graphic artist painted

a weeping Lady Liberty

flanked by red, white and blue

on “The Wall” in Ringwood

as a poignant memorial to the missing

 

No one sees us weeping

No one sees us praying

No one sees us trying

to piece together pieces

in our private places, but

it’s flags we see

We see them on patriotic T-shirts

on rhinestone stars and stripes

and ribbons pinned to our lapels

We even place miniature banners

in miniature stands on shelves and desktops

and download tiny ones

to ever-wave in the lower right corner

of our computer screens

That magnificent banner

raised high above the wreckage and carnage

where until one month ago

The Twin Towers stood

is seared upon our memory banks

 

Suddenly, it’s not an occasional flag we see

not a rare salute

Suddenly, we’re singing “God Bless America”

and our national anthem, a little louder

a lot more earnestly

our hand placed firmly upon our heart

Suddenly, we’re more apt to shed

a “proud to be an American” tear

Suddenly, it’s not merely accustomed banners

flying from government buildings

and outside new car dealerships

Suddenly, the stars and stripes are not reserved

for Flag Day and the Fourth of July

Suddenly, we’re flying crisp new flags

of a crisp new patriotism

and frayed dingy flags

of a proud old patriotism, renewed

 

Tears may flow in secret

for the victims and ourselves

Heart-wrenched prayers may appear invisible

as they work in realms beyond what eyes can see

but in the light of day

and beneath porch lights at night

our true colors

our red, white and blue colors

fly boldly in terror’s twisted face

and it’s flags, flags, flags we see

 

Maude Carolan