Shut that stable door! – A poem by Bert Biscoe

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Shut that Stable Door – ZOOM0158

Or enjoy Bert reciting his poem on this YouTube clip from the Carols of the Roseland celebration at Truro Cathedral in December 2024

Shut that stable door!

O God! Why, when I carved estuaries

And heaved-up headlands and tors,

And set spriggans to manage the moors,

And caused glaciers to slide

From Bosvigo to Malpas,

Why did I not think to create

A maternity unit at Bethlehem?

‘O God’’, I cry! But hark! What’s this?

A nagging voice in my holy head?

A God within a God? Why! I’m a veritable

Russian doll of gods – no wonder

Freud and Jung got so excited

When enlightenment and empire

Gave way to psychiatry and analysis!

My dear little child! Wriggling and staring

Dead ahead at the circle of light,

Squirming down that birth canal –

Orient kings, Lyngham shepherds,

And Joseph running round

With hot water, towels and frankincense –

What must the dear chap be thinking?

Gabriel! Did you show him

How to change a holy nappy?

O! And Gabriel! Pop out,

There’s a good archangel! Nip down

To Havana! Get me a cigar!

And while you’re at it, take some cash

And pay off the pilot and navigator

Of that wandering star – they did a good job,

Picking out that stable behind a bar –

I’m sorry about evicting the lowly cattle

In such a bleak mid-winter – but hey!

They’ve got all that methane

And all that slurry to keep‘em going!

And I see they’re already setting up

Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank

In the old Chapter House of the Temple –

They’ve got decorators in on King Street –

Get down there, Gabe!

Tell those guys to stop clattering tables;

Too much noise when a newborn Messiah

Is trying to get to sleep

After bonding, slapping, suckling

And filling in the ethnic monitoring section

Of old Pontius Pilate’s census form –

If only I’d added another day to that first week,

Why! I would’ve had time to make a ‘TickBox’!

Sure! I can hear Securicor reversing –

I realise that’s money arriving

So the church can make a buck

By lending – why else did I create

Multiplication and division? Just so

Interest can be calculated on debt?

But there’s salvation under way down there,

In a manger, in the stables, and my Boy

Has only just learned to breathe,

Let alone how to hammer a straight nail –

That’s a trick he’ll need to learn…. later!

Yes! Yes! I know! I’m God!

It’s no good Me shouting at Me

About all my anxiety about paternity!

Don’t you all realise?

I’m a new Dad, and I want a cigar!

Indeed, I deserve a cigar!

What’s that? The Server’s down!

But I only just downloaded Windows 11,

The deluxe Bill Gates ‘Signature’ version

For the exclusive use in Heaven!

So much praying traffic – the kid

Ain’t toddling yet! Lions in Coliseums!

Thumbs down! Nero fiddling!

Caesar staring quizzically over the Tamar!

Inquisitors in Spain!

Lion Heart taken hostage; Cornish

Rebels on the march; so many saints

You could fill a stadium at Langarth!

And Wesley at the smithy

Demanding new shoes for his pony,

And Peter O Toole sending ‘Scoop’ Eliot

Down to Kent to witness

The assassination of troublesome Becket;

And Harry the overweight Tudor,

Taking over, kicking the Pope out of Dover –

How many wives? And he’s asking

To be forgiven? To be granted

A quiet little grace & favour cottage

In the grounds of my Heavenly estate?

O Gabe! Go get me that cigar!

Go ring the bell at Hotel Fidel!

O! And while you’re there,

Take a peek at Guantanemo –

It looks to Me like the sort of place

That if you’ve got a face like mine –

You know, one that only fits

In the penthouse suite of Paradise –

It might be worth getting indicted

For starting some kind of revolutionary movement,

A riot – tipping up temple tables,

Or a Reformation! That sort of thing ….

And getting a government-issue ‘onesie’ –

One of those orange numbers, with stripes –

And sitting behind good electric wire

Staring into the eyes of oblivion for a while –

Why! It’d be like clicking ‘Mute!’ on Zoom!

‘Hey! You! Choir! Let that lark

Fill the park while I sit here on a bench

In Gethsemane and talk to Thomas –

‘What’s that you’re shouting, Boy?

About doubting!? No way, my lad! No way!

I’ve got a new kid, born in a barn!

(Here! Have a cigar!)

Let me tell you an incredible yarn –

All about why we’re here,

Where we came from!

Yeah! I had a moment of doubt, young Tom,

Just before I lit old Billy Bickford’s fuse

To set this whole shebang going!

O shoot! There’s the phone!

I’ve got ‘incoming’ – hot prayer –

I’ll be with you in a while, Tom!

Hey Gabe!! Shepherds! Kings! Joseph! Mary!

You there, looking smug – Holy Ghost!

Will you stop that baby howling!

I got work to do! Shut that stable door!’

Vyager gans Geryow (Bert Biscoe) lives in Truro. He is a poet and songwriter whose work draws on his interest in history, politics, social justice and language. He served as an elected member of Cornwall Council for about 30 years, and as a member of the late Carrick district council. The Ward was formerly called ‘Moresk’ – an unbroken link from civic administration to the hurried escape of Tristan and Iseult from the vengeful wrath of King Mark – writing a poem a day, Bert tries to invest Cornish values into the demands of modern life. His work is fun, and best read aloud – which he does whenever the opportunity arises, especially with fellow Cornish poet, Pol Hodge. ‘Living in Trurra’ he says. ‘Means that there is a constancy of running water beneath your feet – there are two clocks which ring the hours dissonantly and out of step – a good environment for poems to flourish in the cracks and shadows. Nowadays, the mullet listen attentively in the lee of the Old Bridge’.