In Praise of a Poet

My grandfather, who recently went home to be with the Lord, was a poet, and even garnered some recognition for a few of his works. I suppose it is from him that I get my fondness for poetry. Not all poetry, mind you. I am not a fan of poems that require a college lit professor to interpret them. That may mean that any recommendations I make regarding poets is something like the opinions of a blind art critic.

Anyway, I remember when I was younger hearing my dad quote the poems of John Oxenham, specifically one called The Ways (see below). I recently downloaded to my Kindle, his book of poetry entitled Bees in Amber: A Little Book of Thoughtful Verse (1913). Oxenham is one of a couple of pen names used by William Arthur Dunkerley (1842-1941), a British journalist, novelist, and poet.

While a couple of his poems rub a bit against some of my theological leanings, for the most part I am blessed by his verse. I'm including a line or two here in hopes that you will pick up a copy of Bees in Amber for yourself.

Whirring Wheels

Lord, when on my bed I lie,

Sleepless, unto Thee I'll cry;

When my brain works overmuch,

Stay the wheels with Thy soft touch.

Just a quiet thought of Thee,

And of Thy sweet charity, --

Just a little prayer, and then

I will turn to sleep again.

God's Handwriting

He writes with characters too grand

For our short sight to understand;

We catch but broken strokes, and try

To fathom all the mystery

Of withered hopes, of death, of life,

The endless war, the useless strife, --

But there, with larger, clearer sight,

We shall see this -- His way was right.

Here is a portion of one entitled Darkness and Light

Spread the Light! Spread the Light!

Till earth's remotest bounds have heard

The glory of the Living Word;

Till those that see not have their sight;

Till all the fringes of the night

Are lifted, and the long-closed doors

Are wide for ever to the Light.

Spread--the--Light!

And finally, in honor of my dad, The Ways

To every man there openeth

A Way, and Ways, and a Way

And the High Soul climbs the High Way,

And the Low Soul gropes the Low,

And in between, on the misty flats,

The rest drift to and fro.

But to every man there openeth

A High Way, and a Low.

And every man decideth

The Way his soul shall go.

You can still find used copies of Bees in Amber for relatively cheap. My Kindle copy was only $2.99, but I can't loan it to you. Sorry.

So now this entry of my blog must come to a simple close,

And if you made it to this point, I hope you've liked the prose,

I'll never claim to be a Whitman -- Emerson, or the like,

But I can rhyme a word or two, like Mike, and Ike, and Hike.

(That one is mine - not Oxenham's)