Scots Starch




Nobody’s up

And my steps

Rumble down the dock.

Hardly a wind

Morning mists

Soaking back into bush

And birches shiver

Their welcome.

Bubbles frolic

Up from the cribs

As sunfish battle

Over egg territories.

One raucous crow

High up in the pines

Declares his mastery

As two gulls careening

Near still waters

Pay him


Their yodels and chuckles

Inviting fast finned breakfast.

I have a novel


A Muskoka chair

And delicious spare time.

But first

The long breathless listen

As Bay awakens.

One neighbour’s dog

Echoes a mile

Around the shore.

Billowing cumulus

Happily oversee

Their slow-moving

Liquid equals.

Note: Beautiful painting of the dock was displayed in the hallway of our vacation Barrie hotel.

Also visited the McMichael Gallery at Kleinberg. Many samplings of Tom Thomson and beloved Group of Seven Artists.






I hear the written Word

And see the Source on high

No other tome so rich

For such a gnat as I

The Father states His will

And charts a course so true

And I have just to trust

A purged heart and brand new.

It baffles one to see

That all was long ordained

With Christ the Rescuer

And by the Spirit trained

Oh how that Book brings life

Will be forever praised

The Plan has all been mapped

His Child by faith upraised.

Dropped By

Dropping in on Jesus

Through the roof! We scarce believed it
In our curiosity,
As those four men tore off clay tiles
With such bold expectancy.

And the fifth, pathetic cripple,
Wrapped so tight in his bed-roll,
Lowered gently down to Jesus,
Through the newly-made roof hole.

Such a sight no one expected;
And to me a gaudy show.
Where he found them, what he paid them
To perform, I did not know.

But the crowd moved back allowing
Ample room for this strange scene
Of a lifeless palsied creature
Wishing only to be made clean.

Not a word was said by any,
Focused on that sunlit spot.
Could he do it? Would he do it?
What a fine showman, I thought.

But in Jesus’ face was glowing
Such delight and sympathy,
That his next words caught me off-guard:
“Son, thy sin is forgiven thee.”

Had he said what no man dare say?
To this poor wretch on the floor?
And the scribes no doubt were thinking
Sanctimonious uproar!

Not a one forgives the sinner
But our great Jehovah-God.
In his zeal this man had blasphemed;
So the scribes, no doubt, had thought.

But he spoke with calm assurance:
“Is it not with equal power
That the Son of Man brings healing
And forgiveness in this hour?”

Puzzling preaching? I dismissed it,
Just some more dramatic talk.
But behold, the wasted bag
Of bones took up his bed to walk!

This was rich, the crowning glory
Of an artful one-act play.
First the roof-top interruption,
Now the man’s hurts swept away.

But some folks said that they knew him,
Begging years down by the gate.
And their tears of joy were truthful,
And their faces changed my fate.

Others in our little party
Left the meeting still in jest;
But I figured only Heaven
Could have met that man’s request.

It was with no little effort
That I went to resume shop.
For my thoughts were not on business,
This amazement would not stop.

Could he be the real Messiah?
I would have to hear him more,
For such mercy and such power
I had never seen before.

Note: Concerning this incident, Smith Wigglesworth, the healing evangelist (1859-1947), has said the following:
“Let us drop right into the arms of Jesus. It is a lovely place to drop into, out of your self-righteousness, out of your self-consciousness, out of your unbelief.” (Smith Wigglesworth Devotional, Whitaker House Publishers)

God Stepping In (Ezekiel 34)

I will be the Shepherd
I’ve watched those men of guile
Pretending care, the very best,
But fleecing all the while.

And who’s to chase
The one who runs
Or hurting, leaves the flock?
Or craves for hugs or healthy fare
Not simply pious talk.

Yes I will be the Shepherd
As order is restored
The sheep who push and crowd and kick
No longer just ignored.

And Living Water
From my hills
Will change this land once dry
As sheep ascend and fully mend
Beneath this Shepherd’s eye.