Harassed and helpless

Harassed and helpless

Haiku for labourers

Are they any less

harassed and helpless, the crowds

of the lost, today?

Caught up in the lies

and the dodgy promises

of fear peddlers.

Sheep without shepherds,

with none to watch over them,

and no-one who cares.

We care about you,

they cry, those seeking profit,

those craving power.

He sent out the twelve.

They are lost, they are fearful;

Touch their lives with love.

Tell them, The kingdom

is coming near. Share good news,

bring healing and hope.

© Ken Rookes 2020

Finding the lost

Haiku for fringe dwellers

The tax collectors

and all the other ratbags

listened to Jesus.

All the good people

objected: This man hangs out

with unworthy types.

He told them stories

about things that had been lost.

Now they‘re being found!.

It doesn’t matter,

sheep, coins, car keys or people;

the lost need finding.

Grace is ev’rything,

I once was lost, now I’m found.

So the old hymn goes.

The ratbag sinners,

by definition, are lost;

they need an embrace.

They dwell on the fringe;

Jesus, offers them friendship.

No one need stay lost.

Lift up your eyes. Look,

the lost are all around us;

love them like Jesus.

© Ken Rookes 2019

Hide and seek

Hide and seek

We are children.

We play hide and seek,

and cling to the shadowed places;

pretending that no one can see us.

Imagining that we

will not be found.

The light is not our friend.

Send it away,

lest it shine revealingly

upon our hiding places;

our living, our dying,

the things we do.

Seductive darkness, brush our cheeks.

Let our eyes remain closed,

reassured;

that we might continue

our multiple deceptions.

Lest we be found.

The darkness is many;

the cracks

through which the light comes in

are few.

The candle flame flickers;

Small, but defiant.

© Ken Rookes 2015.

The Keys of the Kingdom

The keys of the kingdom have been lost.

We know that Peter had them,

but he swears that he hasn’t seen them

for a long while.

Rumour has it they ended up in Rome.

There’s been quite a succession

of claimants to the role of custodian,

but some of us aren’t convinced

that any of them really knew

where the keys were.

Traditionally they hung from a ring

on the keeper’s belt. In recent times

they were apparently stored away,

and brought out on ceremonial occasions

with incense, robes and choirs.

Big and bronze, the keys clinked and rattled,

but were mostly only used

to regulate and control.

They did that effectively enough;

until recently.

They’re gone; not much doubt.

Doesn’t matter though,

and there isn’t any real point

prolonging the search; it’s widely thought

that the locks have all been broken

for some time, now.

© Ken Rookes 2014

Once, when wandering

Once, when wandering
uncertain and without a destination,
an unexpected wind-spirit thing
claimed my attention with a whisper;
a voice that spoke of the fulfilment of divine love
but mostly spoke of home. I followed;
listening, and immersing myself
in the stories of one who found himself truly mortal;
a fellow traveller and child of dust,
like the rest of us.
My journey began anew,
with more meanderings,
an enduring share in uncertainty,
and a goal that continues to shine;
distant but defiant.
In my sometimes hesitant following
I have learned to be at peace with my need for grace.
There are stories,
more murmurings from the travelling man,
that speak of searching and of being found;
and of the surprising wind-spirit thing.
The stories give me courage to wander,
to explore and to be free;
trusting that even when I feel myself lost,
I will be found.

© Ken Rookes 2013

Seeking for the lost

I will seek the lost, and I will bring back

the strayed… Ezekiel 34:16

Seeking for the lost,

the broken and the strayed;

looking for the injured ones,

the worried and afraid.

Searching for the sorry,

the lonely and the weak;

reaching to embrace them all,

the humble and the meek.

Crying for the wretched,

about whom no one cares;

the ones who feel forgotten,

who sit alone and stare.

Feeling all the hurt and pain

of those who stand apart;

the failure, fear, injustice,

and struggles of the heart.

Walking through the hillsides,

the city lanes and streets;

wherever folk are scattered,

wherever life defeats.

There’s none too lost, sheep or goat,

the Shepherd-God can’t find;

God has promised, God is here

to gather, feed and bind.

© Ken Rookes