Bartimaeus knew.

A metaphor sublime:

from darkness to light;

was blind, now I see.

Pure poetry.

From illusion, soft, unfocused,

unthreatening;

to crisp-edged reality,

sharp against a blue sky

that extends beyond.

This reality, the substance of which

is pain and beauty; mingled

and aching, both,

inseparable.

They call it discipleship;

Bartimaeus knew.

© Ken Rookes 2021

 

Now I see

Haiku for the enlightened

The blind beggar sees

enough light to realise

that Jesus can help.

Just a glimmer, but

The smallest fragment of hope

leads him to shout out.

Blind Bartimaeus

has heard the rumours; he cries,

Jesus, have mercy!

The crowd insists: Hush

Don’t trouble the teacher! But

Jesus has heard him.

Jesus stops. Call him!

Take heart! they tell the blind man,

he is calling you.

The teacher asks, What

should I do for you? Let me

see again, Jesus!

Your faith makes you well.

Sight restored, Bartimaeus

follows on the way

Open our eyes, Lord.

We, who grope in the darkness,

would see, and follow.

© Ken Rookes 2021

The blind man

Haiku for seeing

Blind Bartimaeus

lived in perpetual night,

but he still had hope.

Beggng by the road,

hearing reports and gossip,

he hoped in Jesus.

Jericho’s grapevine

told him Jesus was in town:

what were the chances?

He comes! They told him.

“Have mercy, Son of David!”

The blind man shouted.

You are a nuisance,

Bartimaeus; be silent!

He shouted louder.

Jesus heard his voice,

stopped and called the man over.

Take heart! They told him.

Jesus said to him,

What do you request of me?

Teacher, let me see.

Go, Bartimaeus,

your faith has been rewarded:

your sight is restored.

Bartimaeus went.

He went along with Jesus,

followed on the way.

Would that I, meeting

with my master; like friend Bart,

follow in his way.

© Ken Rookes 2018

It was on the Sabbath Day.

Haiku for those who would see.

Jesus was working;
it was on the Sabbath Day
that he healed the man.

The Pharisees freaked,
the thing was most improper;
called an inquiry.

What have you to say?
He can't heal and break the law;
must be a sinner.

A sinner, you say?
He opened my eyes. I choose

to call him Prophet.

Yes, this is our son.
Yes, he was born without sight,
and yes, now he sees.

How did it happen?
Why are you questioning us?
Ask him, he will know!

They inquire once more:
His power must be from God,
says the seeing man.

The crowd was aroused,
the leaders were embarrassed.
So they threw him out.

Jesus found the man.

Now that you can see, he says,

keep your eyes open.

Some with eyes to see

choose the darkness over light;

they make themselves blind.

© Ken Rookes 2017

The beggar of Jericho

In Jericho's streets

a loud, annoying man, blind and embarrassing,

glimpses hope for the first time

and shouts excitedly above the noise of the crowd.

The reason for his agitated cries:

one Jesus of Nazareth, aka, Son of David;

who is implored to be merciful

and to use his influence with the Divinity

to heal the man's vision-less eyes.

He ignores all attempts to silence him

and calls even louder.

The itinerant teacher takes notice,

and invites him to come.

The man has faith, he declares,

and credits this worthy attribute

with the impending recovery of his sight.

He now sees things clearly, for the first time;

not just the physical world

of sunlight, shadows, refractions,

wavelengths and lumens.

His Jerichoean darkness cast aside

as was his cloak minutes earlier,

he chooses to journey on an uncertain route,

but one saturated with light and purpose.

Embracing the travelling man as master, friend and guide,

he follows him glowingly down the road.

© Ken Rookes 2015

They drove him out

 

They drove him out of the Temple;
the unnamed man, who,
according to John, had been born blind.
Now, with the wondrous gift of sight,
he could not be less concerned;
he has no desire to ever go back,
and he won’t.
The Temple no longer has what he needs;
he will manage without it. In turn,
the Temple will have to get on without him;
and all the others, who,
over the millennia,
have been dismissed from its hallowed courts.
The Temple has been adept
at expelling embarrassments;
those who no longer recite the creeds,
who ask their awkward questions
and dare to give shape to their doubts.
Preferring the elusive uncertainty of truth,
whatever its unexpected contours,
they despise the Temple’s promise
of security and comfort.
They would rather die outside the walls
than live the delusions within.
Do your worst, Temple;
drive them all out.
Nobody cares
anymore.

© Ken Rookes 2014

Let me see again

Let me see again

the blue sky gleaming gold day

when I saw the wonder of your grace.

Let me hear again

the words of love and hope

which make my spirit leap and shout.

Let me sing again

the song that soars beyond

the mean confinement of my thoughts.

Let me feel again

the cool wind of your Spirit,

causing me to shiver and stumble.

Let me dance again

the steps which ever surprise

as they rise towards the mystery.

Let me taste again

the cup of your discipleship

and weigh its bitter-sweet draught.

Let me reach again

to be embraced by love

and to share it with your friends.

Let me see again,

like at the first,

and let me follow with brother Bartimaeus

on the way.

© Ken Rookes

Speech impediment

We have a collective problem

with our hearing, our seeing, too.

There are sounds that we struggle to hear,

sights that our eyes refuse to see.

There are certain frequencies,

cries, groans and wailings,

that auditory senses fail to discern

above our chosen and familiar din.

There are vistas pleasant and reassuring,

scenes of blue skies and gum trees;

with these we make pretty our walls,

convincing ourselves

that cruel and confronting landscapes

in territories beyond our own,

either do not exist

or are none of our concern.

Hear no evil, see no evil;

not my problem.

The denials of sensory perception

are employed to foster

an untroubled existence.

Thus we avert the need

to speak, to act, to confront,

and our voices become forfeit.

In the blurry stories of human origins,

a mythical man

demonstrates the timelessness

of speech impediments.

In feigned innocence, he enquires:

Am I my brother’s keeper?

Jesus, we are told, came

to open the eyes of the blind,

to unstop the ears of the deaf,

and to release the tongues

of those who will not speak.

Pick me, Jesus;

pick me!

© Ken Rookes 2012

Blindness

The teacher from the north

came, according to the writer,

so that those who are blind

might be made able to see;

and so that those whose sight is normal

might be rendered blind.

What a puzzle!

Elsewhere, in a similar vein,

another writer tells us, the teacher

talks of people who cannot see

who offer themselves

as guides to others.

Our blind leaders are many;

their popularity in the present age

continues undiminished..

Some consume the captive inches

of self-righteous newspaper columns

with their superior wisdom;

whilst others utter their shrill

prognostications

over compromised airwaves

for an uncritical audience

which takes smug reassurance

in the confirmation of its prejudices.

Still others rail with conceit

from the house upon democracy’s hill.

Like the failed prophets of the past,

these various blind guides

trade upon cheap outrage

and even cheaper fears.

Leading their followers in deluded triumph

on their anxious path,

they arrive at a sad place where others

will be required to pay the costs

and where they will unwittingly

participate in their own destruction.

©2011 Ken Rookes