Poetry by J.S. Allen: THE OLD MAN and the VIRGIN
From "Sirens of Circumstance" One Man's Poetic Revelations of how Circumstances Altered the Course of His Life
The Old Man and the Virgin
Abishag the Shumanite
It seems like yesterday.
So unbridled was the way
I left and danced before the Lord,
Naked even to my sword.
Shouting to the trumpet's sounds
We brought the Ark into the grounds
Of my city. Michael sorely chastised me
For uncovering myself for the maidens to see.
It was before the Lord and all His house.
Therefore did I before the Lord carouse.
No one there cared what I wore
When Goliath's skull I stoned to gore.
He fell at once, as did the lion,
And hosts opposed to the God of Zion.
I remember well and am ashamed to tell
What mischief roof to roof befell.
Devoted Uriah, Bathsheba's mate,
I had killed in battle. (I couldn't wait.)
The Karmic debt was therefore made;
God's ire was instantly displayed.
Seven days from birth my child was dead
I lived my life in kingly dread.
Soon Bathsheba bathed in court intrigues.
Absolom and Adonijah fell as Solomon succeeds.
Bathsheba slew the surviving males
From my loins leaving their mother's wails
To fill my nights. Thus do the scales of
Royal justice right themselves.
But now, in my cold and shivering final years,
God's clarion call beckons and allays my fears.
I tried my best to serve in holy ways.
Too often, stumbling humanness defined my days.
Now all has passed me by, leaving me thus to freeze,
For days I prayed, I begged for more blankets than these,
Of something warm, comforting, providing heat.
Surprised I was when servants kind placed at my feet
A nubile, young virgin of stunning grace,
Rippling flowing saffroned locks embraced her face,
A body proud; of demeanor regal (and most rare).
When called forth to serve, immediately there.
Of deportment, queenly fit, and efforts loyal,
No one dare question her origin royal.
Her eyes were a piercing blue set in two cups of cream.
Her teeth from Egyptian ivory spoke like smiling beams
Of purest light - floating as an angel in joyous play.
Never have I sped nor sensed a being made that way.
Sure of herself she was. All battles set by her
In fields she knew where well she sallied forth. "Sir,"
She would say in a satined whisper, "Your warmth is here."
But the twinkle in her eye revealed a joust was near.
Combat with her was a summons to duel.
When challenged her spirit shown like a jewel.
Never did I know her but she always was hot
In continued conversations about what I was and was not.
I should have made the one
Who gave this sweet child to me the crown of Solomon.
I write this from my soul beyond eternity
I did not die but came alive in her caring company.
copyright 2008 J.S. Allen
published by Earth Angel
Author's note about the poem "Abishag the Shumanite"
I King 1:1 through 4 (Scofield Reference Bible) "Now King David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he got no heat wherefore his servants said unto him, ‘ Let there be sought for my Lord the King a young virgin: and let her stand before the King, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bed so that my Lord the King may get heat.'
So they sought for a fair damsel throughout all the coasts of Israel, and found Abishag a Shumanite, and brought her to the King. And the damsel was very fair, and cherished the King and ministered to him: but the King knew her not."
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