HEAVIER ONUS poems pained at birthing copyright Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON, 2017
The Battle For some it's just Another day When nothing seems to mend The sun-up brings No remedy The hardships will not end The little child Still wheezing The food stamps missed the mail The factory Still on lay-off The eldest son in jail The drunken one Blaspheming And he once good as gold The widow shrinks Considering A lonely house when old.
How did we Come up empty When once it seemed so full? The care-free Play of childhood Today's lot terrible. Some shake their Hands toward Heaven Some know the fault is ours And dare not blame A Saviour Who sends the love and flowers. Lord help more To expect You To turn this war around And stand up tall And hopeful. Transformed on Holy Ground. Romans 12:12: Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer;13 Distributing to the necessity of saints; given to hospitality. 14 Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not. 15 Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Matthew 17: 1 And after six days Jesus taketh Peter, James and John his brother, and bringeth them up into an high mountain apart, 2 And was transfigured before them: and his face did shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light.
Greyfriars The children went there once again With food for those dismayed They watched as love relieved their lot And listened as they prayed For these were simple country folk Who raised the Bishop's ire By spurning worship run amok For hillside faith and fire. Their preachers would not take the oath No other shepherds matched Now hunted by cruel men on horse And to the wilds dispatched The birds and sheep would share their psalms And hear of faith hard tried Now kirk-yard locked them up in shame And starved them as they cried.
And hierarchy called the bunch Crude radicals to tame And strained at gnats while having lunch Besmirching Jesus' name. So let the children break the rules With mercy in their bread And learn from martyrs tried like gold The Hope of Spirit-led.
Oh Yeah, I Heard
You took the job Didn’t have much choice you thought Way out of your league New work-mates snickered Made it awkward at break times. Homeward bound you prayed That I would make a way Make my will clear. (You were chafing at my choice in this. Oh yes you were.) You even asked “Where was I?” Son, had I been in hiding? Did I have other things of greater importance? Hear me now! There is nothing more important. Those men on the job-site Knew you were different Took stock of your moderation Your steadiness, your language.
They knew you were in the wringer But not grousing. Just trying harder And finding some satisfaction In the new skills The new stamina and spring to your step. You were coming through, Son And coming to me more often. That was my delight. And I would pour more in Stuff that your satisfied self In earlier days Never would have caught. Then the job slowed. Pink slips handed out. Thankful, respectful men Shook your hand. One…guy by the name of Harvey Wished you Godspeed Said he had been praying all along. (Another one of my men. A little shy, that one.) Seemed like a firing, didn’t it? Well, it was a graduation of sorts. And other doors opened. And you get it now, don’t you. My hand never left your shoulder.
Baby's Colic (1987)
He’s up again, And crying for some cause Best known to him. His mother needs more rest. So, it’s my turn. And with him now Some midnight oil will burn. It’s such a mess: My business gone to pot. And awkward friends Would rather stare. “A lawyer in a stew.” Some of them care. A sharp young lawyer? Not. The baby came. And even in this squeeze There is some joy. A bright-eyed little boy His sister takes in hand. Yet times are rough. It’s hard to understand. We cuddle now. And in the tattered sofa Find some peace. No longer squirming for release. His eyes fast shut. Like some pink toy.
I’d never harm the boy. Alone, I lounge To cadence of a clock. But not alone. Inside I hear Him talk. The Holy One, Assuring me 'I’d never harm you, Son.'
Unwelcome One
I hit like Vesuvius. Greater emotional impact Than one's first love. Irrepressible as incoming tide. Washing over sand castles. I elicit self-doubt, Self-pity, Self-centredness. I bring on red anger, Social awkwardness, Loner spirit. I humiliate With damp blubber. Pluck the mournful strings, Belly-high. Drag up guilt for things Not said; not done; Not forgiven.
I pilfer memories. And energy. I cause friends To keep distant, To stammer, To grow impatient. I haunt with faces, Gestures, music, Abandoned wardrobe. I roar At the phrase "Snap out of it." Cause men to doubt Their manhood. Cause women to remember Apron strings, rockers And first school-days. I befuddle and Bring on mistakes, Inefficiencies. I slander God And His kind. (For a time.) I tax prayer Beyond itself. But I also clean The inner residues; Flush out the vitriol; Relieve the inexplicable; Distill humble servant-spirit; Develop new-found audacities, Currencies, compassions. Evoke the dark night, That joy might
Come in the morning. I am Grief.
The Constancy of Christ
(Taken from a letter from Samuel Rutherford to Alexander Gordon of Garloch, 1637) If Christ were as I am, that time could work upon him to alter him, or that the morrow could bring a new day to him,or bring a new mind to him, as it is to me a new day, I could not keep a house or a covenant with him. Bit I find Christ to be Christ, and that he is far, far, even infinite heaven's height above men; and that is all our happiness. Sinners can do nothing but make wounds, that Christ may heal them; and make debts, that he may pay them; and make falls, that he may raise them; and make deaths, that he may quicken them; and spin out and dig hells for themselves, that he may ransom them. Now, I will bless the Lord that ever there was such a thing as the free grace of God, and a free ransom given for sold souls: Only, alas! Guiltiness maketh me ahamed to apply to Christ, and to think it pride in me to put out my unclean and withered hand to such a Saviour. But it is neither shame nor pride for a drowning man to swim to a rock, nor for a ship-broken soul to run himself ashore upon Christ.
Note: Just had to share a bit of Rutherford. His ministry was in the mid 1600's at a time when preachers were being required to swear an oath of allegiance to King as head of the Church. Presbyterians found this totally unacceptable, swearing a Solemn Oath and Covenant to Christ their only King of faith . Rutherford was banished from Anwoth in the southwest of Scotland to Aberdeen in the northeast. But his wonderful letters to friends and parishioners told a different story! They often read with the impact of poetry, using scripture to establish every bit of help and comfort.
Fellow Travelers
The years have gone Yet still you smile And rush to hold me tight The common paths We shared so oft Now shine with special light And there were hurts An there were hopes We shared as comrades bold And I still see Your face of youth Now even when we're old And others came And others went And insincere their touch But you would share Your last resource You love me just that much And now sun fades And colder climes Would hint we're near the end But o'er that hill Of faith's traverse I'm sure to meet you Friend. Yet all would not Be as we trust Beyond our reach the price Had we not shared That precious gold A dauntless hope in Christ. Note: In attending funerals I have often wondered how many of those present honestly expected a glorious reunion with the departed. Could they reconcile their thoughts with images and promises of Revelation 22 and John 14?
Strange Fire
Oh my children, You invoke me To your gathering, Using words like Worship and waiting, Hearing and bowing down.
But I see the Smiles and small talk. Lists, dates and hype. Strangeness in supposed family, Butting and shoving Near the water.
And I hear talk Of power not sweetness; Learning not loving; Mountains not meekness; Sweet treats not Living Bread. And I sigh.
And I inhale That acrid stench Of strange fire. “Watch me� priests Throughout the house Obscuring my Son.
But there you have My Holy Name, My nature For the asking. Such precious gifts. Be lifted up!
Yes, lifted up As witness to my Sovereign will. My keeping care Embracing still, Regardless.
Belonging
To have a friend Who gently checks the pulse rate And shuts his mouth When I am prone to rant. To see his smile When all inside is ripped up And know he means it Even though I can’t. To hear his word And know it’s steeped in Christ Hard come by Transcending all the pain. Yes, such a friend One diamond full
Of scintillating comfort Is priceless gain.
Most Marvelous Name
Say the Name And watch waters Part before you. On the one side Smiling faces Touched by grace. On the other Clear discomfort, Cold suspicion. And a charge That you are clearly Out of place. Say the Name And the demons Look for cover; And a shaft of Light invades Where darkness reigned. And a glimpse of Hope uplifts The weary sufferer. Rest and rescue, Timeless Gospel Still the same. Say the Name And a cloud of Watchers hovers closer. Those who fought And felt the cut Of unbelief. Smiling now in Halls of Glory With their Saviour.
Praising “Jesus” And forgetting All their grief.
Hearing
He took me from the crowd, He did A quiet shaded place And kindly grabbed my shoulders And got into my face And thought it not improper To stoop down to my plight And smiled a knowing smile that said ‘Your ears will soon be right’. For I had never, ever heard The children’s laugh at play The happy din of market-place The lark at break of day And silenced, never learned to speak Or utter heart’s desire. “Quite dumb” they said The shame of it Inside would burn like fire.
But Jesus stopped and smiled and sighed (I read those lips, you know) A sigh that seemed to grasp all pain And feel the anguish so. Then heaven-ward He cast a glimpse His hands addressed my ears And precious words gained access Rang true, amidst my tears. “Be opened�; what a manly voice He spoke those words for me And loosed my tongue For cries of joy and thanks Astoundingly.
Out...Shopping
She came in for some groceries With cane and darkened glasses Slow the pace and smiling A Saturday event Most others rushed oblivious She needed human comfort A simple talk and flesh-press Would keep her smiling yet. Apartment was a still place With photos of the loves gone Figurines of Doulton Such treasures obsolete Maidens bright on hilltop And windswept their long dresses Eyes that flashed a future And oh so tiny feet. But the feet now pained her And memories came up sketchy Products in this market Confusing as of late Then she saw me shelving For dairy and for frozen Felt that here was someone To listen and relate.