Wednesday, December 21, 2005


Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem
By Dr. Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.

On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.

At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth's tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.

We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.


At 12/22/05, 4:32 PM, Blogger sjobs said...

Merry Peacemas to you Taz!!!!

When does the farmer show up or is he there????


At 12/23/05, 12:16 AM, Blogger Michelle said...

Merry Christmas Taz :o)

At 12/23/05, 5:01 AM, Anonymous veronica said...

What a stirring post Taz, you amaze me again and again. Wishing you lived across the fence.
Merry Merry Christmas from our place to yours & peace on earth. biglove

At 12/23/05, 8:55 AM, Blogger Cootera said...

Thanks for putting the poem up... always good to see her words.

Merry Christmas, Taza!!!

At 12/23/05, 9:51 AM, Blogger taza said...

Ahhh---the farmer! The farmer is packing up his apartment and putting everything in storage in the basement of the building where he lives. On December 26th he will get in his cute little Saab and drive his cute little ass to Arizona. We hope he'll arrive on the 29th!

At 12/23/05, 10:16 AM, Blogger annie said...

i love that maya angelou.
when we were in nyc in 1979, we went out for food after a g.d. show at madison square garden. we were lamenting that we were getting homesick for calif., and the woman in the booth next to us turned around and went on about how she loved calif. she looked familiar.
turns out it was ms. angelou herself. THAT was a moment.

have a lovely holiday season, and reunion with your sweetheart.


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