Rosamund
Fun to grow old (rough translation, Hebrew below)
I heard in a song “It is fun to grow old together.”
I am obliged to correct this idea.
It is possible to enjoy this awful process?
Dustpan and brush with a long handle.
Not seeing the details on the coins
Difficult life and health full of problems.
Growing old is only the wish of the dying.
Only they will agree with the words.
The healthy consider that they will continue.
To be sure, there is less loneliness together
But it is a shame that there is still fear
Look at what is written in the Tanakh (Old Testament) and listen.
So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:12)
להִזְדַּקֵּן כֵּיף
" להִזְדַּקֵּן כֵּיף בְּיַחַד שמעתי בשִׁיר "
את המוּשָׂג הזֶה אני מוכרחה לתקן
אֶפשׁר לְהַנוֹת את התַּהֲלִיךְ הנוֹרָא?
יָעֶה ומִברֶשֶׁת עִם יָדִית ארוכה
לא לראות את הפרטים על המטבעות
חיים קשים ובְּרִיאוּת מלאה בבעיות
להִזְדַּקֵּן רק הרָצוֹן של הגוססים
עִם המילים רק הם מסכימים
הבָּרִיאים ממשיכים בעִניניהם
בְּיַחַד פָּחוּת בְּדִידוּת יֵשׁ בְּוַדַאִי
אֲבָל חֲבָל שעֲדַיִן יֵשׁ פַּחַד
תראה את מה שכתוב בתנך ותשמע
לִמְנות יָמֵינוּ כֵּן הֹודַע וְנָבא לְבַב חָכְמָה""
Jesus, Yeshua, our High Priest and our Sacrifice
You walked in disgrace to the Holy of Holies.
No dignified white High Priestly robes for You.
No matching turban for You.
You permitted Yourself to be nailed to the Altar.
You were lifted up in humiliation.
Jesus, Yeshua, our High Priest, our Sacrifice.
The Father’s precious Isaac!
Our Passover Lamb, our Red Heifer, our Scapegoat.
You opened the way for us into the Holy of Holies.
The veil torn from top to bottom
And You ever live to make intercession for Your people.
How?
I wrote this in 2001 at a time of family crisis the details of which I cannot remember. But I can say that the Lord has been faithful to meet with me despite such feelings.
How do you tell your friends that you need a friend?
How do you tell people who pray for you that you need prayer?
How do you tell your family that you are crying because you love them?
How do you tell God that you feel that He does not listen to you?
The Prodigal Son
This poem reflects a mother’s heart as she sighs over her sons in prayer.
How long will you hunger after the pig’s food?
How long will you dwell among the Gentiles?
Your father’s house was dull.
Your new friends how funny they were when you drank and caroused together
Your father is crying out to God for your return
Your friends have forgotten all about you.
Taste the Lord and see that He is good
From Ashes to Ashburnham
I wrote this in 2017 during a much appreciated and refreshing stay at Ashburnham Christian Centre. I showed it to a fellow guest, Leslie, and she suggested the above title for the poem.
I came on South Eastern from Waterloo East, spread out my things at a table for four.
They were crammed 90 souls into a cattle car suitable for moving eight horses.
The last part of my journey was by taxi with two new friends I met at the station.
They were herded along by jeering and yelling soldiers with viscous barking dogs
I was greeted and welcomed by love and concern
They were met by the “Angel of Death”
Old, sick and children to the left, healthy to the right.
I was equipped with a name badge so that others could greet me
They were tattooed with a number like cattle, to be logged during brief savage days of slavery
My suitcase was carried for me to my spotless warm room
Their luggage was seized as loot and bounty for the victor.
My food at supper was tasty and healthy, our conversation rich and uplifting.
They fought one another over the contents of buckets: inadequate supplies of filthy foul soup
And the King will answer and say to them “Assuredly I say to you as much as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it for me”
At your right hand are pleasures for evermore (Psalm 16:11)
These were some reflections that came to mind while I was working in an office. They brought to mind this hymn.
Fading is the worldling’s pleasure
All his boasted pomp and show;
Solid joys and lasting treasure
None but Zion's children know.
Helium balloons deflated and baggy, hugging the floor
Jewellery gift rejected because of the wrong colour gold
Valued hoard thrown away after decades of accumulation
Beautiful flower arrangements wilting, shedding and limp
Yet our inheritance reserved in heaven is incorruptible, undefiled and does not fade away