A copy of the current almanac."

Herod announced the Feast of Childermass.

Joseph rushed out and had to pay a pretty

Price (how he cursed) for an old spavined ass:

A carpenter would rather gyp than be gypped.

And so they moved off mouselike towards Egypt,

Missing a lively day in David's city.

The Slaughter of the Innocents 2

King Herod now, to minimal applause,

Ordered the babies to be stuck like swine.

There was an uproar then in Palestine

And not, O Jesus help us, without cause.

Those who had seen this coming did not pause

To hide their babes, but let them croon or whine

As visible as laundry on the line,

While they had masses said to Santa Claus.

Their saviour (saviour?) halfway to the delta

Smelt nothing of the filthy bloody welter

Nor heard the parents curse or ululate.

The troops of Herod smote and did not spare

But with each crack a splinter sought the air

And feebly tapped on heaven's heavy gate.

When he was old enough for politics

Jesus went splashing on the Jordan's bed.

He ceased to be a Jew and joined instead

The Apostolic Roman Catholics.

Then he went dropping homilies like bricks.

"He who seeks heaven with an unwashed head

Will see the kingdom with his arse," he said,

Shouting the odds, wagging his crucifix.

Only his mother got there unbaptised,

Which proves she waved goodbye to mother earth

A good Jewess, staunch in the faith and steady.

Heaven had got her soul well organised:

Why rub and scrub a thing that came to birth

As white as someone's laundry line already?

A Wedding at Cana 1

The guests at Cana, vinously aswim,

Aroar for more, found every bloody butt

Was empty, and the liquor stores were shut.

The innkeeper, fired by a roguish whim,

Had three casks filled with water to the brim,

Then told each sozzled fuddled serving slut

To lug them where, importantly astrut,

The host was, and to leave the rest to him.

Christ was a guest, dressed in his best apparel,

But the host begged a sort of magic act

Through Mary: "Make him turn this lot to wine."

Mary replied: "I know this son of mine -

Moody. But if I speak to him with tact

You'll get, maybe, a quarter of a barrel."

And so she begged an instant grapeless wine.

But Jesus, who was hardly yet adult,

Sighed like a stone leaving a catapult

And scowled: "This problem's neither yours nor mine,

Mother. Permit me coldly to decline

To help these boozers. Easy or difficult

Is not the point. Let the fat host consult

Some other thaumaturge, the smirking swine.

Just so some soak can blurt a drunken toast

Or swill the teeth he's sunk into a roast,

You want me to work miracles and such,

To get a toothcomb and go combing out

The various troubles lurking all about.

I've troubles of my own, thanks very much."

A Wedding at Cana 3

Jesus, I think (Christ rest his spirit), chose a

Tantrum like that one not to be unkind

But to show off. A young man is inclined

To blow his trumpet oftener than his nose. A-

Las, Our Lady, so says the composer

Of this instructive rhapsody, repined.

She'd had maternal victory in mind

But now became the Mater Dolorosa.

I sometimes wish this story had not happened;

But heed its lesson, if you heed no other:

Try not to be the big loud man too soon.

God heard the answer that he gave his mother,

Determined on a right reproving rap and

Lathered his arse one Friday afternoon.

Jesus forgives all sins – or nearly all:

Usury, anger, greed, the knife thrust under

The ribs, robbery, calumny, lying, plunder

Of land condoned by rogues in the town hall.

Only on one occasion did he fall

Into a rage that tore him near asunder

And made him roar with true Jehovan thunder

And bounce in bloody anger like a ball,

And that was when he saw the Church done wrong to.

He took a whip with many a knotted thong to

The moneychangers preying on those praying at the temple.

This is the only place in Holy Writ

Where Christ is shown as throwing a mad fit.

He aged with righteous rage and started greying at the temple.

Martha amp; Mary

Martha said: "Christ, I'm full up reet to' t' scupper

Wi' Mary there." She belted out her stricture:

"Rosaries, masses – it fair makes you sick to your

Stomach. Stations o't' Cross. I'm real fed up. A

Carthorse I am, harnessed neck and crupper

While she does nowt. About time this horse kicked you

Right in the middle of your holy picture, Mary.

Go on, now. Say it: What's for supper?"

"Martha, O Martha," sighed the blessed Saviour,

"You've no call to get mad at her behaviour.

She's on the right road, and you're out of luck."

"The right road, aye," said Martha. "Why, if I

Went on like her, this house would be a sty,

And she'd not see the right road for the muck."

With the Last Supper finished and the waiter

Ready to clear, Christ took a loaf of bread,

Blessed it, then fed it to the already fed,

Making each eater a communicator.

He even gave some to his darling traitor,

Proving his mood was rosy, not yet red

(Judas Iscariot, who lost his head

And went to play at swings a little later).

But, friendly as he was, the Master knew

His passion hour was coming, hot and hellish,

So made a good confession, to embellish

His church with not one sacrament but two.

There then remained one holy thing to do -

To eat himself, with little or no relish.

Christ amp; Pilate

After they'd knotted Jesus up with rope,

Judas assisting, damned and dirty dastard,

After the high priest's bullies, who had mastered

The spitting art, had given it full scope,

After the maids and grooms had heard the Pope

Say: "I don't give a fuck about the bastard",

They led our Lord to Pilate's alabastered

Hand-washing room, already sweet with soap.

This was a case Pilate could not refuse.

He saw the filth of it but might not shed it -

A swine, yes, but a clean swine, to his credit.

He said: "You're Jesus, then, king of the Jews?"

Christ sought not to deny, affirm or edit,

But looked him in the eye and said: "You've said it."

Bare as a Briton auctioned into slavery,

Lashed to a post, Jesus, from head to feet,

Beaten by bastards who knew how to beat.

Yielded his skin to graduates in knavery.

No spot was spared. He ended an unsavoury