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Three Poems by Kenneth Chafin
Dr. Kenneth Chafin is alive and well having
recently moved to Houston. Before retirement he had taught evangelism and
preaching at Southwestern and then at Southern Baptist seminaries. He has been
pastor of South Main Baptist Church in Houston and of Walnut Street Baptist
Church in Louisville.
The Dragonfly
As she settles
softly
on my knee
I feel chosen.
Most of her life,
like my own,
goes by unnoticed.
Hers, in creeks
and ponds—finding
food, shedding skins,
escaping predators.
Mine, the same,
just different arenas.
Her ancestors
flew
millions of years
before birds dreamed
of wings or the gods
thought
Orville or Wilbur.
Just look at
her.
Three hundred sixty
degree vision, wings
operating independently,
technology the Pentagon
would shell out millions for.
I want her to
fly away
and lay batches of eggs
before we drain the ponds or
pollute the streams with our progress.
Then, ages from now,
such an
iridescent creature
may land on a child’s
outstretched hand
and fill its heart
with wonder..
The Home Funeral
A single note
signaled the beginning.
A mixed quartet
sang softly, slowly.
Tempted and tried we’re ofi
made to wonder
Why it should be thus all the day long.
A tiny hand-made
casket rested
between kitchen chairs on the porch.
Fruit jars of flowers
scented the air.
While there are others living about us
never molested though in the wrong.
The family sat
behind the small casket,
others stood in the yard, ignoring the rain,
trying to
make sense of a child slain by
a stray bullet while jumping rope in her yard.
Farther along, we’ll know all about it.
Farther along, we’ll
understand why
The preacher read
a New Testament text
filled with comfort and the hope of heaven.
Then delivered
an Old Testament message
in a holy whine, “This is God’s good will.”
Cheer up, my brother, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand it all by and by
The people shook
their heads and
the mother sobbed softly at the thought
of leaving her child in
the cold damp earth.
The father sat stone faced and hated God.
Farther along, we’ll know all about it, Farther along, we’ll
understand why.
Haying in North Austin
County
The grasses in
the meadow
were thigh-high—blue stem,
bermuda, and bahai.
Here and there
black-eyed susans
tip-toed to see the sky
The mowers came
when the dew was gone.
The hum of the blades
laid the grass down
like tired
children
napping on the ground.
The noon day sun
sealed the sweet juices
for winter’s chewing
The rake’s fingers,
like the teeth
of a comb, arranged the
grasses so the warm breezes
could finish the curing.
At last light,
one surviving
black-eyed susan waved
in the evening breeze,
meadow larks gleaned,
random seeds, a lone hoot owl
watched for mice mending
their nests, and great
round
bales of hay lay on the earth
like golden buffalo resting
from a long
journey.
In the quiet of
the night
as I pictured the nakedness
of the pasture, I could almost
hear the
plants making plans
to send up green shoots
as a witness to new life.
I prayed
for such hope..
Updated
Tuesday, January 01, 2002
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