'Westron wynde, when wilt thou blow,
The small raine down can raine.
Cryst, if my love were in my armes
And I in my bedde again!'
O Western wind, when wilt thou blow
That the small rain down can rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!
... take the phrase “If I Were (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles might include: “If I Were President,” “If I Were Smarter,” “If I Were a Little More Sensitive,” or “If I Were Born on April 14.” If I were you, I’d get poeming about now.It being Holy Week, there's lots to do at work, and I guess it's understandable something like this would happen:
If I were to carry your cross
[For the Triduum]
Christ, certainly I’d hoped to
have been invited to the meal,
though it seems the victuals
were slim, even with the wine.
The company was also dicey —
that tax collector, all those
fishermen, and where were
the women? I have difficulty
being relegated to the kitchen;
but then you mentioned about
the servants becoming
friends; that’s reassuring, anyway.
And the next day: Jesus, I
really would have skipped the
trial, thanks anyway — it just
seems unfair, what had you
done besides preached a few
sermons? Well, the incident
with the moneylenders was
slightly vandalous, but you
explained it later, right? I don’t
get why everyone at the parade –
Remember? You rode the donkey,
people waved the palms, there
was cheering? Where were those
people later, on Friday? Those
spectators switched sides fast.
So I’m thinking, God, after
the unfair treatment and the
verbal abuse, the familial questioning –
really, whose business is it? I
thought you were pretty
circumspect about who you
might or might not have been –
And then the audacity of that
judge to open it to audience
voting! I mean, let’s follow the
rules, if we’re talking sentencing.
Because you’d lost that crowd
to the home team early in the
And, oh Lord, I’m not good with blood,
really, I’m not, what could a
woman have done to stop it?
They had whips and clubs and
they beat you at least twice and then
that crown — have mercy! — on your head;
Well, crying got us nowhere, all
the support staff had run away,
those cowards, we were left
to follow, somebody managed to
wipe your face, you were a mess,
and all the shouting, the road
seemed too hard to go –
Seriously, at that point, I couldn’t
have carried your cross if they’d
let me. You know, the guards,
the screaming people, and that crossbar
was tied to your back — it was just
out of my control. I wanted to,
you know that, right? I could
barely keep pace, that
walk up the hill seemed to
take forever, and you know I have
the best intentions. Always.
And hey, you weren’t the only one
being punished that day. Those other
two guys, they were guilty for sure,
but at least you weren’t alone --
Heavy. Better lighten it up.