Poets’ Evangel

It’s a mirror

It’s a ladder

It’s a weapon for Mansoul

It’s a bombast

From the Christ past

Crying now to be made whole.

It’s a comfort 

For the wounded

And a hospice for their hurt

It’s a warning

To the haughty

That their Father came from dirt.

It’s another

Look at Calvary

And another, yet again

It’s a resume

On Jesus

Working still today for men.

It’s a fairground

For the senses

But it must not leave the trail

Of the journey

Ever upward

By the folk who pass Death’s Vale.

It’s an invite 

To the wayward

And a shelter for their night

It’s adoption

To a family

Resting washed and safe and right.

It’s an offering

From the heart’s purse

With but two small mites in hand.

It’s a blessing

To the writers

That they hardly understand.


Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON


A Pastor Friend sent me this Beautiful Piece…

“XXX is dying of cancer. We had a very special visit together yesterday…when the visit was still “very much with me” I wrote this poem:

A thin spot revealed
in a weathered piece of driftwood
Inside… concentric circles mark its time
when it thrived as greenwood battling against gale and storm
Each year a circle forms
Some years drier than others
a history kept secret beneath the gray and the brine.
The spirals tell its story
Some close and others far apart
A thin spot.
I met a man today
Our circles joined but for a moment
And we laughed at beauty
In death.
But in the touching a bond formed
and despite our ashen faces
Wrinkled with wear
we drank to life
and beauty in death.
Our journey has just begun
our promise waits in another forest
where we struggle not against nature
but surrender to its calling
and to circles gone before
that beckon a reunion…the Tree of life.”

Terry Hursh, Kitchener ON, Hope Lutheran Church