Rocket Scientist

A number of different things came together today to make today’s blog.  First, I sent this poem to a friend for Christmas and she really liked it (Hi, JD !).  Secondly, my sister mentioned in her blog that she recommended doing something new.  Well, this was one of my best examples.  Also, it fits in as a Holiday offering.

See, I’m a Heinlein fan.  Although not my favorite, Stranger in a Strange Land is still a fine book and I remember reading once about a story Jubal Harshaw was writing:

Anne, I’ve got a sick-making one.  It’s about a little kitten that wanders into a church on Christmas Eve to get warm.  Besides being starved and frozen and lost, the kitten has–God knows why–an injured paw.  All right; start: “Snow had been falling since–”

“What pen name?”

“Mmm…use ‘Molly Wadsworth’; this one is pretty icky.  Title it The Other Manger…”

Now, I’m not really “Christian” (although I have a profound respect and admiration for the individual Christ, I neither know nor care if he were divine and I’m less than thrilled with many of his devotees).  I usually describe myself as Pagan Shinto Buddhist with Christian tendencies.  I’m completely cool with any religion someone wants to have as long as they don’t hurt anyone else.

So, though I wrote a good bit of poetry back then, the subject matter was considerably different for me.  I challenged myself to write a poem living up to all the parameters described, including the start.  This is what I came up with.  (Please note, in 1987 or 1988, this was published in a Catholic journal; my roommate sent it in without telling me).

The Other Manger

Snow had been falling since the middle of November,
But now it was a blizzard for the end of cold December.
People scurried through the snow with bags of Christmas cheer
While others sat in humid bars with mugs of Christmas beer.
Every person had a someplace they could go this Christmas Eve;
Warm and cozy, every person felt the holiday reprieve.

The chapel doors were firmly locked by Father Kevin’s hands,
Who hurried home to sing about three kings from foreign lands,
Yet, through the drafty chapel wall, between two fallen stones,
A tiny kitten peeked its head, then stretched its weary bones.
It dragged across the chilly floor, its movements pained and slow,
But thankful for the respite from the frozen wind and snow.

It’s mottled coat was matted, frozen stiff or dripping wet,
And the kitten’s ribs were showing, poor neglected little pet!
Its hunger was the driving force for many a day and night
But cold had forced the kitten in, enticed by candlelight.
Lost and homeless, cold and starving, limping on three feet,
The kitten wandered in and curled upon a wooden seat.

In the middle of the night, the cat woke with a start
And felt a certain burning in its frozen friendless heart.
“Come, my friend.”  It heard a voice and slowly looked around
And saw a blaze of lights inside this haven it had found.
“Come, my friend,” the warm voice coaxed.  “You do not rest alone;
You have wandered in and I bid welcome to my home.”

A radiant Man stood by its bench and reached a gentle hand.
“Come and feel my healing, poor mistreated little friend.”
Then He picked the kitten up and held it to His breast.
“Friend, if you feel weary, then, with Me, feel free to rest.
I’ll be there to protect you from the storm and other harm.
Now, just cuddle closer; let Me show you love is warm.”

So, the kitten snuggled in its shelter from the cold
And a warming flooded through it as its hunger grew less bold.
Soothing, and more soothing, it was whispered back to sleep,
But its sleep, at last, was comfort as it slumbered, long and deep.
Its hunger softly vanished and its foot felt no more pain.
It purred within its slumber as He stroked the fur again. . .

In the morning, Father Kevin opened up the chapel doors,
And the neighbor’s son, Roberto, ran across the icy floors.
Today, he wished to be the first to see the blessed King,
And he looked into the manger, brown eyes huge and wondering.
A kitten, maybe sleeping, snuggled in the Savior’s light
For the tiny soul had come to him in the cold and frigid night.

So, whatever your holiday of choice (including none at all), have a good one!  This poem’s for whoever wants to read it.

From the Dragon Clan
Roxy
Alex
Stephie
Lee and myself

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