Thursday, March 8, 2018

Wood & Nails

Until Resurrection Day

Some of my poems apply to both
Christmastime & Easter.
This is one of them...


His splintered hands sand silky smooth
every ding and bump and groove;

then Joseph measures every piece—
hammers nailheads with expertise.

He's built fine cradles, but this one
is extra-special. It's for his Son.

He moves Babe Jesus from the trough
to the cradle; He's swaddled, soft.

The manger scene, quaint and lowly
now more befits One Who's holy.

Joseph, years hence will reap a thrill—
he'll teach his son carpentry skills.

Shoved on crossbeams, Jesus' body.
Crude wood. Workmanship is shoddy.

Men grab His wrists. They pound the nails.
They watch Him wince; His color pales.

They lift the Cross; taunt till He dies.
The air is pierced by women's cries.

The sky grows dark. The dry earth quakes.
O hear the hissing of the Snake…


Holy of Holies veil is torn—
Sin is atoned! Salvation born!

God's Master Plan, now understood--
began and ends with nails and wood.

Maude Carolan


  1. Wonderful, Maude. The "hissing of the Snake" gave me chills... and then the triumph!

  2. I can imagine Satan being there, thinking he was victorious. Praise the Lord, Barbara. We know the end of the story. We know Who wins! Hallelujah!