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Doug Blair Poem
Aye and ’tis a bonnie glen
And for us the Laird’s enclave
Dinna fush the soldiers’ menace
‘Tis this moment that He gave.
And we gaither ‘neath the stars
And we tak the wine and bread
And we cleave with benediction
To each Word arr Saviour said.
This is Church
Mind not the dampness
And the laing hike to and fro’
For the Pastor of our choosin’
Meets us here, and helps us grow.
Though he lives just like an ootcast
With a price upon his head
He can still preach Heaven doon t’us
And we treasure all he said.
Sure ’tis hard times we endure
For the One King of our Kirk
Jesus, here, atop this hillside
And His glorious finished work.
And a lark flits kindly by us
And a sheep bleats out content
And we learn through sterling sufferin’
What the hunted Psalmist meant.
Hebrews 11: 38
(well spoken of the Scottish Covenanters of the mid 1600's)
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
A sparrow the image
And she lonely seeks out food.
From the bushes and recesses
For a hopeful waiting brood.
And the cosmos spins around her
And she seems a trivial thing
But the Maker of the cosmos
Knows her lot, formed her wing.
A sparrow the image
And the day seems cold as death
But the Keeper gives her wrapping
And a cheerful singing breath.
And she greets the paltry sunshine
Of a birthing winter's day
With assurance that her Keeper
Sees her through to flowering May.
A sparrow the image
The dark days still abound
And tooth and claw and slander
Wait for her on shadowed ground.
But she finds her way to Zion
And a nest within its walls
And quite certain Loving Deity
Knows of each her flights and falls.
(Consider Psalm 84 and Matthew 10)
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
So why did I do it?
It still isn't clear.
The rooms were all taken;
The busiest this year.
And all of them dusty,
And all of them tired.
The trek to their birth-place
By Rome now required.
A census, the issue.
A right royal pain.
And doubtless the purpose
More tribute to gain.
The evening was settling,
The rush nearly o'er.
But still came a knocking
For help at my door.
The couple so tender,
The young girl with child.
The husband imploring
With eyes almost wild.
About to refuse them,
I glanced once at her.
Amazingly peaceful
And patient, demure...
"But wait, there's the stable.
Not much of a spot.
But shelter and bedding;
That's all I have got.
And liquids and lanterns
And clean swaddling fare.
Go quickly, my children,
Your baby comes there!"
(And so near my livestock
Messiah was born.
The night sky, the shepherds,
The earth-changing morn.)
https://issuu.com/deedub51/docs/bethlehem_king
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2016
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Doug Blair Poem
This a grand bright partnership
As the waving clover grows
And my little friends all busy
Gathering swiftly, Heaven knows.
And I slowly pace the hives
Measured help all dressed in mesh
Knowing Beulah Land's rich treasure
Gleams within those combs so fresh.
What a peerless manufacture
What a mystic searching out
Workers buzz upon the airways
Mapped in magic by the Scout.
And I sense that God is smiling
As He sees me pace the field
With an eagerness to harvest
And to think on Mercy's yield.
https://issuu.com/dewane/docs/marrow_in_monastic_life
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
The little creature knew the roads.
From town to town his Friend
Would seek a fitting gathering space
To focus on life’s end.
No burden he, and speaking much
To Someone Fatherly
Then speaking to assembled crowds
Pressed close that they might see.
And some would laugh with rude disdain
And some would nod assent
And some would cry out for relief
As Friend would urge “Repent”.
The creature tethered to one side
Heard thoughts rehearsed in mid-day’s ride
But now with pressing tears.
And folk came forward to the man
Imploring more of Jesus’ Plan.
Been like that now for years.
A horse would think a paddock green
A suiting place for rest
But paths of love, with Friend above
Had suited this horse best.
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2016
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Doug Blair Poem
She came in for some groceries
With cane and darkened glasses
Slow the pace and smiling
A Saturday event
Others rushed not knowing
Her need for human comfort
Simple talk and flesh-press
Would keep her smiling yet.
Apartment was a still place
With photos of the loves gone
Figurines of Doulton
Those 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.
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
You want it all.
The lakes and tar sands
Fresh water and fish
Arctic diamonds
Pipelines that confine
The caribou
And make the hunt ridiculous.
Forests for the churning
Of lusty, gossip press
And row houses
Like card houses
In six figure excess.
You set the price
You peg the share return
You fudge prospectus
Upon contingent prospectus.
You eyeball Brazil’s rubber
Argentina’s beef
And the yen’s stability.
Look for bottom line
In a bombshell.
You feed the college factories
With student debt
And prevarication.
You ruin IT marvels of innovation
With the barbs of bribed analysts.
You forestall needful medicines.
Your food franchises gorge your towns
And starve your staffs.
You stuff the sanctuaries
With hype and lifestyle
And trendy powerless slogans.
And dandle politicians
Like Punch and Judy.
But no one is laughing.
Moving jobs like pawns off-shore.
Buying justice by the pound.
You are the ravening
And the implacable.
You kill this place
In increments.
Chanting with pounded fist
“Business is business”.
And the odd one of us
Builds a cabin in the bush
And marvels at the night music
And lights.
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
Saw a man at a snowy bus stop
Tall and lean
Black as black can be
Probably in his Sunday best
This Monday morning.
My guess Sudanese.
Here on compassionate grounds
Home country ripped apart
Tribal and religious strife.
What might he have seen Lord?
What atrocities and robbery?
What loved ones abandoned?
With no other apparent choice?
Does he have English
Can he handle this
Awful Waterloo cold
This awful Western smugness
To the new and misunderstood?
Help him Father
If it is a search
In faltering words
For a job
For some needed training
For a place to bed down.
In Jesus’ name.
And I drive by
These careful words and images
My only coins
In the stranger’s cup.
Until perhaps next time…
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
Gang awa frae tha Glen
Tae a fearsome place;
Where tha darkened souls
Hae na gleemps o’grace.
Where tha work must fit
A new tongue and race.
Gang awa frae tha Glen for a wheel.
“Tis for certs He has ca’d
Ye, and ye must roon;
Tae a land o’ plagues
And o’ blastin’ sun,
Where tha rule o’ richt
Hae just sceerce begun.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, Robbie, chile.
There be muckle tae ken
O’ tha people’s need;
O’ tha crops that thrive,
O’ tha life they lead;
O’ tha daily thirst;
O’ their warfare, greed.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, and be wise.
Tho’ tha ship be worsted,
Tho’ tha trail be long,
Tho’ tha beasts be awful,
Ye’ll arrive anon;
And commence tae cant
Tha sweet Gospel song.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, in His love.
And ye’ll spot tha dee
When it starts tae click.
As they bring their young,
And they bring their sick;
For o’ Jesus’ kind
They ken nae sic lik..
Gang awa frae tha Glen, tae be used.
An’ it’s nae sa muckle
That their needs ye know,
Whuch’ll fan tha flame,
Cause your strenth tae grow;
But tha confeedence
“Tis your Laird says, “Go!”
Gang awa frae tha Glen, ‘til you’re gone.
(Robert Moffat, Pioneer Missionary to South-west Africa)
Note: The story is told of the early day in the mission of Moffat when his camp was confronted by a prominent chieftain. The man demanded to know the purpose of the missionary’s visit and the authority who sent him.
Through an interpreter, Moffat advised that he represented the greatest of all Chiefs and that he was bringing news and help for the best in life. The native said that he would kill Moffat and his chief. The territory was under his absolute control. He brandished a menacing spear. His retinue stood at the ready.
Calmly Moffat loosened the breast of his jacket. Striding to within inches of the man’s face, he pointed to his own heart and said, “My Chief lives here. If you intend murder, do it now, for I will not be held back from my purpose.”
The other’s jaw dropped. His spear hand faltered. His bluff had been called. The two would soon become fast friends.
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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Doug Blair Poem
You write simply to baffle
You draw from deep dark pools
You offer tear stained searching eyes
The unbelief of fools.
You have the fetching meter
And choice of words arrests
But Friend no helping hand here
To deal with life's hard tests.
Your readers seek out wisdom
And comfort from rich verse
But witty nihilistic rant
Has left them feeling worse.
You had the chance to uplift
You had the gifted pen
And Christ of course the best resource
To light some fires again.
What if He comes to wake you
With lines you hear sublime
Will you bow, drink and share His link?
Or post froth one more time?
(Yes, a revolt from the present day norm of shadiness, shallowness and godlessness in poems.)
https://sites.google.com/site/stuffthatrhymes/follow-me/blog/poetsevangel
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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