Poems

It is bad enough to watch a dog vomit though by vomiting it may well expel that which ails it. Then it is a pleasant experience to behold a healthy creature. But bad is bad when one witnesses the return of a dog to its vomit only to lick it up again. I do not know of many more disgusting spectacles to witness in all of existence.   Up from the pits of Hell Come the vilest of the vile; These are the has-beens of yester-year, Full of venom and guile. These have known the truth of God; They have known His love and power, His mercy to loveless men; His goodness has made them sour.   Why do angels fall? Why do just men call On gods who have nothing to give? Why do fools choose death In order that they may live?   Now here is a marvelous thing That would make any devil sing: It is easier to find The seeing man crying to be blind Than it is the blind to see.   Lethbridge, Alta., June 1985

Wee knead ownlee two studdie a langwidge uther than Inglish and soon beegin too diskover thuh mullteatood uv inncunsistenseas inn grambarr and spelling uv Inglish. And isn't it interesting that when Esperanto is introduced with its reason, logic and organized structure, we nevertheless prefer the disorder and confusion of our own language, be it English or otherwise? Needless to say, this is not the day of peace, harmony and wun tung four awl. Rite? Write? Reight? Right? Ring rang rung, Bring brang brung, Sing sang sung, Ding dang dung! Rools Four Inglish Spelling   Wun. Teak lawjick, kut it down as aye bough and throw it inn aye slough ore aye trough. Butt that is knot enough. Too. Bee prepaired two bee confowndead, purpleckst and frustraited. Therdlee. Eckspecked two suspecked loozing yore mined. Fore. Dew knot feal thair iz eckneething rong with yoo. Phive. Fourghet triying two halve aye shoor phyre sisthame. Sicks. Thee unfourchunit groop yule joyne iph ignouring mie cownsull, and Seaven. Rimes with heven four whitch yu must hoap aund whitch iz whare yu mey think yu gow iff yu kwit inglish aund teak up sum uther langwidge.   Lethbridge, 1984, 85

This was written at a time when we lived in a literal desert in Israel and I could feel all the things expressed, within my soul, because we were also in a desert in our spiritual lives, a desert through which all pilgrims on the journey to the city of God must pass. This writing was also prophetic of events that would shortly come to pass as we spoke the Word of God to Paul, whom the Lord had given us to be our friend. As a matter of coincidental fact, the day of this introductory writing (Oct. 9) is, I believe, the very anniversary almost to the hour, of Paul forsaking his wife in obedience to the Lord, to walk in the Way of Life. The desert is dry and parched, and I am hot and thirsty; We two have been matched as partners in this stretch of our history. The sun’s scorching face is forceful enough; from it I can find no escape, No shade, no water, no nightfall to comfort my soul in its wearisome journey. Miles and miles of burning sand, I scarcely know where it began… It started with greenery, then greenery and sand, and now it is sand upon sand. Yet after some miles I’ve trodden and feel I can go no farther, A trickle of water comes out of a rock, destined for that very hour. With leanness of soul and hungering for life, not a soul for months have I seen, And all my possessions have slowly been lost, ’til much lighter my journey has been. It’s strange how the harder the trials, the sweeter the life becomes; The easier the life filled with comforts, the more ...