Living in Waterloo, Ontario. Married to Hilary with 2 children Lauren and Jordan. Inspirational blogger and poet since 2008. Shipper and Health and Safety Professional in metal fab plant. Hiker. Photographer. Newsboy for Jesus. more »
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Doug Blair Poems
Simon of Cyrene
I could scarce believe my ears As the Roman soldier said: “You there, stranger, lift that cross, Follow Jesus, good as dead.”
Call me a church mouse Yep, generations of ‘em
The Quiet Man
He came to do his Father’s will, This quiet man of Nazareth; At thirty years he pondered still The mission that would mean his death.
I would see him at three thirty On the street beneath my flat. Kids would call him strange and dirty Like a mouse plagued by stray cats.
My Slim Bark
My slim bark, my slim bark Glides smoothly cross the lake.
Wind Of The Spirit
I launch the kite at the first real burst of wind. Colourful and dancing it decorates the sky. Up and up to the realm of angels. I seemingly with it. Flying.
Out Of Hemingway's Cuba
Oh Santiago, back again For days sore missed at sea
Green Grocer Of Rye
Sure an' 'tis a grand day Me barrow full of goods
Mary, At Jesus' Feet
I cannot beat the trails, Or trim the wind-taut sails, Or pitch a camp beside the dusty road. I cannot tame the crowd,
When I think of the choice That you made before the world In the portals of Glory, answered “yes”. I am moved at the centre
Eighteen years stooped over Like a bowing fern
Five Chapters of Grief Vividly Felt
Mine eyes run down with waters I see the judgment come
From Andalusia and Back
You left your sheep And certainty For dreams of Far away.
Why can’t you just listen? Why can’t you just pause? I hurt and I want to explode. There’s nobody else here.
Comments about Doug Blair
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Simon of Cyrene
I could scarce believe my ears
As the Roman soldier said:
“You there, stranger, lift that cross,
Follow Jesus, good as dead.”
I had missed the troubled crowd,
Having just come into town.
Now I pressed beneath the load,
Joined to him who wore a crown.
All around humanity,
Yet my thoughts were fixed on him.
Why the back ripped to the bone?
Why the cruel and thorny brim?
How he struggled to ascend!
How he laboured for his breath!
Yet I sensed his body strove
T’ward the hill marked for his death.
It became a strange desire ...