These Are My JOTtings...

Encomium: "Dad"

A simple man of growing paunch, advancing shiny dome,
continuing to daily launch in early hours from home.
This human soul of frailties fraught and allergies galore
was stalwart heart as sons he taught to live each day the more.

Against great odds he soldiered on to sure example be.
Some battles lost and some he won to preach Salvation, Free.
He hoped to lead a fam'ly choir of voices strong and full,
but teenaged boys with hearts for hire felt peerish longings pull.

Dad preached the Word without a mic and soaked his shirt most days.
He brought to church me, when a tyke. He labored without praise.
This forceful waif, controlled not oft, was loved by harried man.
He lifted backside quite aloft by strong but wearied hand.

Dad left this life no doubt in doubt of my eternal state
because my stand for Truth about was often quiet and late,
But now he knows I love his Love and preach Truth with my words
that Heav'nly Light may light as dove and live with Earthly "birds."

Great man this one word often spoke, "Christ loves me! This I know
because The Bible's words of note all last and help me grow!"
Dad worried not for social grace, when Hell was on the line,
but pointed all men to The Place of Hope with Christ, Divine.

by Jay O'Toole (aka Stan Haselton)
on January 19th, 2018

The following poem is one of only two or three poems
that are readily available to me,
written by my Dad's hands during his lifetime on Earth.
It is an encomium that he wrote about one of the mentors of his life.
I'm typing this today from one of his personally typed copies
from so many years ago.
I am retyping this poem,
careful to follow his exact capitalizations and punctuations as written
that you may know him more accurately as a poet.

As I search through more of his writings
I may find more,
but for now this poem
is the summum bonum of his life.
This poem shows his character
and the Truth for which he lived at his very core.

I am very proud of my Dad.
I pray one day to learn that he is very proud of me, too.
(I think he was proud of me,
but I felt like I disappointed him all too often.)

MY PASTOR

My pastor is God's Man!
By him I will stand,
And give to him a helping hand,
And work with him as best I can.

My Pastor, the words ring with pride,
Behind the Cross of Christ doth hide,
Standing ever by the Saviour's side
To serve His Church what e'er betide.

My Pastor, a man after God's own Mind,
To his flock is ever so gentle and kind,
Lifting up the fallen whom he doth find,
Leading sinners to leave sin behind.

My Pastor is a man of love,
That only comes from God above,
A man as peaceful as a dove,
A man upon whom God can move.

My Pastor knows how to care,
And the heartaches of his people bear,
Lifting each one to God in prayer.
He is a man of depth most rare!

My Pastor is a real man, you see,
The kind of man I want to be,
A man of wisdom, truth, and gravity,
A meek man of compassionate humility.

My Pastor's life points us up
To Him Who drank the bitter cup,
And bids us to His Table to sup.
This joy in Christ let not sin disrupt!

By

Carl Haselton, Jr.