A Mysterious Companion

Road to Emmaus - Jon McNaughton

Way Home

We had hung around
those who followed him,
on the fringes
of what was going on.
Something about him
magnetised us -
a harnessed energy -
His actions were natural
as running water,
performed with gentle
economy of movement,
as if integrity
on every front
was key to healing
and wisdom's pearls
must not fall foul
beneath forked feet.
His words singed
a place in the memory
for Good, echoing
of a past and future Now,
strange cadences
on the tongue
of a Nazarene.

The women held their breath,
rapt at the sight.
Adam was in focus
and the locus
of their response,
the chambers of the heart.

He drew the children
with no sweet enchantment,
no narcissistic guile,
only the gift
of their reflected selves
within God's eye.

Next thing we knew,
they'd laid a charge
of gross profanity
against him.
He was the pinnacle
of innocence to us.

They slaughtered him
to feed carnivorous appetite,
an orgiastic rite.
Pitch night
eclipsed the light
and Jerusalem was mute.

Turning tail, we trudged
the homeward dust
we'd shaken off
without a second thought,
retreating to a shell
that did not beckon
and reckoned with
no warmth and welcome.
Where were we headed
but to an emptiness
we'd gladly forsaken?
We knew well enough,
as twilight empurpled
the day with regal shades,
imparting mystery
to our deadened tones,
that something momentous
had taken place.
We could not match
the expectation
still suspended in the soul
with unrewarded dreams.
We seemed no longer
enough for one another.

When all at once,
our quantum leap of longing
begat a perfect stranger!
Unaware of the demise
of Israel's hope,
he kindled a flame
so bursting bright,
it cast new light
upon unfolding history
and diamond promises
of scripture.
We didn't want to part
and begged him tarry
at our door, come,
cross the threshold,
light our lamps,
set our hearth and hearts ablaze,
share our supper,
drink our wine,
let not this day's vision
go stale on us!
Our yen to seal the bond
compelled oblivion
of the meagre larder.

The tactile planes
of earth dissolved
into heaven's board
and victuals spread
before our Guest,
he blessed,
and broke the bread -
such precious fare
within his hands -
as if he would return our gift
with value manifold.
How blind! How blind
our flesh and blood!
We knew him then,
our Host!
That instant, he was gone...
bequeathing us the Holy Ghost.
Had we prefigured him,
or he us?
In consuming,
he was himself
and by that means,
he made us Whole.

From Jericho Rose, Songs from the Wilderness  (please scroll)



Rosy Cole was born and educated in the Shires of England. She has been an author for thirty years and has worked as a Press Officer and Publisher's Reader. She is a member of the Society of Authors, the Alliance of Independent Authors, the Poetry Society and Green Room, Where Writers Gather.

Among widespread interests, she lists history, opera, musicals, singing, the arts, drawing and painting, gemmology and homoeopathy. Theology also is an abiding interest. As a singer, she's performed alongside many renowned musicians in theatres, churches and concert venues and has run a music agency specialising in themed 'words-and-music' programmes, bringing her two greatest passions together.

Rosy's first book of poetry, THE TWAIN, Poems of Earth and Ether, was published in April 2012, National Poetry Month, and two other collections are in preparation. As well as the First and Second Books in the Berkeley Series, she has written several other historical titles and one of literary fiction under the pseudonym, Marion Grace. She is currently working on the Third Book in the Berkeley Series. All her books are now published under the New Eve imprint.

Rosy lives in West Sussex with her son, Chris, and her Springador, Jack, who keeps a firm paw on the work-and-walkies schedule!