God Did Not Say

by: Francis Boston

God did not say
You will find me
If you carry out
A deep enough analysis.

God did not say
I have made a tree;
To know me
You must
Cut it down,
Cut it up
Pulp it
Make paper
And write upon it
Holy words.

God did not say
I have made a butterfly
Don’t let it flutter by
Get it
Net it
Set it
And hold it up
Dead
In praise of me

God did not say
Anything.
Silently
He made
All things
All stones
All plants
All flowers
All animals
And man
As one.

And
Without loudspeakers
Without book
Without script
Without word,
Without letter,
Even without
A Little Bang Theory –
And God saw
That it was GOOD
Perhaps…
We should too

The Reason for the Season, Ferlinghetti reminds us

CHRIST climbed down 
from His bare Tree this year
and ran away to where 
there were no rootless Christmas trees 
hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down 
from His bare Tree this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees 
and no tinfoil Christmas trees 
and no pink plastic Christmas trees 
and no gold Christmas trees 
and no black Christmas trees 
and no powderblue Christmas trees 
hung with electric candles 
and encircled by tin electric trains 
and clever cornball relatives

Christ climbed down 
from His bare Tree this year
and ran away to where 
no intrepid Bible salesmen 
covered the territory 
in two-tone cadillacs 
and where no Sears Roebuck creches 
complete with plastic babe in manger 
arrived by parcel post 
the babe by special delivery 
and where no televised Wise Men 
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Christ climbed down 
from His bare Tree this year
and ran away to where 
no fat handshaking stranger 
in a red flannel suit 
and a fake white beard 
went around passing himself off 
as some sort of North Pole saint 
crossing the desert to Bethlehem 
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagen sled 
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer 
with German names 
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts 
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody's imagined Christ child

Christ climbed down 
from His bare Tree this year
and ran away to where 
no Bing Crosby carollers 
groaned of a tight Christmas 
and where no Radio City angels 
iceskated wingless 
thru a winter wonderland 
into a jinglebell heaven 
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees

Christ climbed down 
from His bare Tree this year
and softly stole away into 
some anonymous Mary's womb again 
where in the darkest night 
of everybody's anonymous soul 
He awaits again 
an unimaginable and impossibly 
Immaculate Reconception 
the very craziest 
of Second Comings


Critique and Analysis of “Christ Came Down”
By Virginia Quarrier for a 1979 High School English Assignment


The underlying theme of Ferlinghetti’s “Christ Came Down” is that the modern Christmas is too secular for Christ, and that he disdains it. Each verse delves into what Christmas has become with Santa Claus, artificial Christmas trees, plastic crèches (nativity scenes), plastic Bible salesmen, Bing Crosby carolers and Radio City angels. Christmas has become a commercial season instead of the worship of a newborn savior. In fact, the first official Christmas was only a substitute for Saturnalia, only now it had a Christian name because Emperor Constantine had declared Christianity the state religion. People still lived it up and got soused.


The day that Christ was born was much different from even that. He was born n a smelly old stable. The magi brought him gold, incense, and myrrh. Christ is calling believers today to bring their gold (symbolizing their lives), their incense (symbolizing Christ revealing himself through us), and myrrh (a balm symbolizing that we are to be a healing ointment to the broken people of the world).


In each verse, Ferlinghetti says that: “Christ climbed down from his bare tree this year and ran away (or softly stole away)…” The Bible clearly shows that Christ does not run away from the problems of the world. He faced our sins on the cross, and surely he can face a commercial Christmas. It must break his heart, though. Instead of running away, he calls believers to spread the good news of what Christmas really is – and that’s not just a good spirit, helping each other, and giving. Christ calls his believers to worship him and focus on him, and not to take so much thought about material gifts, but to concentrate on the greatest gift: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). The cross is inseparable from the manger.

In the last verse, Ferlinghetti says, “Christ climbed down from His bare tree this year and softly sole away into some anonymous Mary’s womb again…” Again, I disagree. Christ did not steal softly away. He rose in glory, and ascended into heaven to sit at the right hand of the Father in glory. He is awaiting the time appointed for him to come again and take up his believers. Signs show that this time is coming soon.

How does one title this?...

Ebony skin of enticing velvet;

A smile that banishes grey.

We walked; caramel and honey

an arduous, yet amorous way

That quiet wisdom you freely share

The way in every deed you showed care

Exasperated sighs filled the air...

As you indulged me and my insecurities

I loved the stolen kisses,

Long walks by sun and moonlight

daring and overt caresses

as with love we communed

I'll always think of roses,

Snow white, gleaming, new;

Against velour of deep scarlet

Deep passion, the fire of you

To you I will all laughter

For you I wish all joys

May you have what you've always deserved...

The LOVE of a man; not the worship of a boy

Random Scene #...idk

Celine Hoisted the Blue flag she had taken from its bearer on her way up the tower stairs. She waved it about erratically, willing the passing horsemen to stop by the gates of the castle. In a flurry of hooves and dust, the riders paused at the foot of the tower, which rose where the North and west walls met, a tall roundish top, its conical roof giving the impression of a crudely speared fruit. Sir Galahad, leader of the expedition, calls to the flag waving maiden.

“Ho there, who calls for our diversion?”

“It is I, Celine of the Midland realm, daughter to King Jacob. I call in distress for aid and news of the Underworld Army’s advance. Whose men are you?” she asked imperiously, a slight quaver of voice belying her fear; the gravity of stopping complete strangers and giving air to the need for help now pressing upon her.

“We are men under King Ferdinand, good friend and ally of your father and kindom. Tell us, fair maid how may we assist ?”

A Random Scene

She sighs, a heavy slow release of air which did nothing to calm the fire beneath her eyes. Louis' eyes drift over her, the regal frame beset by ruffles and gems, every bit the queen. He noticed her white knuckled grip on the armrests of her winged high-backed chair.

"He will return shortly majesty, give it time." she pins him with an icy stare to his post by the mantel; he reconsiders any further attempt at conversation.

After a long pause, Victoria lifts her bejeweled hand to call Armand to her. he proceeds urgently yet apprehensively to her side.

"I should like to have immediate private audience with his majesty on his return, Armand:" the implicit dismissal in her imperious tone very evident."have the stable attendant make ready my horse, the bay Mare- Jane." she turns to the window at the end of her statement, her back to his whispered "Yes, majesty."

The dream of a butterfly, the reality of an insect

I was hoping that I'd be more to you than just a transient phase. Yet you leave me questioning these memories. Your coldness makes me wonder if I've somehow lost touch with reality. Maybe it was my delusions that gave me my sanity.

You touched me once, I'm almost certain. Just a little warmth goes along way. You caused me to break my vow of solitude then you disappeared like a dream. Now like a nightmare you come haunting me, seducing me for something you now lack.

I was hoping that if I captured you, like a butterfly from the superficial world of pollen and petals, that you'd reveal those familiar colours. Instead you just flew away and I'm left in the emptiness again.

Those moments that we shared meant so much. Now You've become so frigid It's hard to see past that and feel your touch.

I was certain, almost certain that I loved you. Certain almost certain that you were the one. Maybe my saviour didn't come. One thing's for sure I dreamed you, cause you could never have been real from the start. I made you up, now my heart is falling apart.

Now you speak of barriers as opposed to blooms and you confuse setting suns with dying moons.

I grasp at your wings, repeatedly I fail. Capture you, if I MUST, or kill what you've become. A dream is but a dream if redemption doesn't come.

I know I hurt you,Thats the only fact for which I'm sure. Cry for me since I've hurt you, that's all I'm looking for. Just BREAK DOWN AND DIE FOR ME 'till you are you once more.

Butterflies are but insects now and what was once depth is shallow.

I loved you once I'm sure...
but you are something else, I cannot love you any more.

The mirror

He was sitting there, alone on the cold hard floor, captivated by the deceit of a dream. A dream that somehow, he could be normal. Somehow the cruel permanence of reality could ease for one moment so he could make real what he imagined. All these years he felt the private pain of a public scar. He could never be like them...this was his path in life, the burden of being everything but. 

A hand came to rest  on his shoulder. For a brief second he thought it was hers or maybe his but the voice that spoke dispelled the notion with a cruel gentleness like the loud whisper of one's conscience.

He was empty again despite being perplexingly occupied. He was displaced again  in the madness of his unobtainable desires.

The voice spoke, "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live"