Maybe your name is Ashley, or no.....wait; maybe Rebecca, Rachel or maybe Trudy or Margaret?? Ah heck, whatever your name is (I forget, my memory skewered by your cruelty), you hosed me! True, you gave me decent discourse and we had, excuse me for the faux pas of speaking on behalf of you without your express permission, I had a great time but you never returned my correspondence! I gave you a means to contact me and you maneuvered around it off into anonymity's oblivion....leaving me yet again to pick up the pieces of a spurned ego just wishing it could be coddled and cherished. I have just the retort for you MISS MISSY! A poem! How much was my e-mail worth to you, 300 denarii?
LETS GO! Time to blog in 5.....4.....3.....2......
-----------/300 Denarii (300 pence)
The aroma of your treachery fills the air
(it sickens me)
a pound of ointment of my right spikenard
wasted
my e-mail address – thejesusmetaphor@yahoo.com
wiped by your soulless perfunctory hair
smothered on the feet of the lord of your disdain
for me
because I am not your type because
I am not handsome enough
erudite enough
for you to retain it until the salvation, the consummation of our souls
love beckons us forth into matrimony
and in the face of impossibility (Lazarus) and fret about
unfulfilled expectations (Martha)
troubled
and the public gallery of societal opinions and judgments and mores
(awaiting Passover, the clemency of my lovelorn pain)
that obligate a 30 year old man to have married
and be settled with offspring multitudinous
you trample on its dignity and expose it to cursory shame
and I am left behind to bask in the embarrassment of yet another
failed attempt to find a woman to love
and I don't have much more emotion reserved for yet more
troubled times, and deflated ambitions
and saline tears pouring down my cheeks
....my affection and affinity for you was like currency
of which you spent on frivolity and just
threw away
jettisoned in the wind of other men's attention
that you deemed worthwhile (and me not so much)
god you had such beautiful breasts and a comely face
wasted effort
bankrupt pride
I am so poor it is agonizing to my soul
....because of you, and I don’t have strength
optimism
to move forward, or search for joy
so forgive me if I find just cause for stealing your time
so forgive me if I find just cause for stealing a smile
from your face ….or stealing a kiss from you in my dreams
walking away yet again from a chance encounter out into the cold
of a perilous ravenous night of loneliness
full moon, drifting dark clouds
churlish
that Lazarus experienced the death of his dreams resurrect to life
and Mary and Martha spared from insufferable pain
but what was my soul worth to you? To explain your effortless
rejection? My whole life, the consummation of expectations
bottled up in nard of pure promise that you just threw away
(300 denarii)
------------/
John 12:1-8
Jesus therefore, six days before the pasch, came to Bethania, where Lazarus had been dead, whom Jesus raised to life. And they made him a supper there: and Martha served: but Lazarus was one of them that were at table with him. Mary therefore took a pound of ointment of right spikenard, of great price, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair; and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment.Then one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, he that was about to betray him, said: Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor? Now he said this, not because he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and having the purse, carried the things that were put therein. Jesus therefore said: Let her alone, that she may keep it against the day of my burial. For the poor you have always with you; but me you have not always
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