In Heaven

In Heaven, there are no speech therapists.
No grief counsellors.
No lawyers.
No shady shonks.
No policy wonks.
No bloggers.
No joggers.
In Heaven, there are no brokers.
No spies.
No spin-doctors.
No political commentators.
No lurkers.
No sex workers.
In Heaven, there are no barbers.
No physicians.
No magicians.
No rhetoricians.
No morticians.
No physiotherapists.
No psychotherapists.
No introverts.
No extraverts.
No experts.
In Heaven, there are no has-beens.
No wannabes.
No could-have-beens.
No go-betweens.
No middlemen.
No diplomats.
No deal-makers.
No movers.
No shakers.
No wheelchair-makers.
No prostheses
No doctoral theses.
No examiners.
No professors.
No students.
No academics.
No epidemics.
No pandemics.
No syphilitics.
No panegyrics.
No obscure, garbled
lyrics.
No purgatives.
No Pharisees.
No emetics.
No heretics.
No anorexia.
No cachexia.
Nothing hexes
Nothing vexes.
No first night nerves.
No old pervs.
No mimesis.
No catechesis.
Nothing begins,
and nothing ceases.
No re-training.
No explaining.
Fluffy clouds, but
no raining.

by Julian O’Dea

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21 responses to this post.

  1. And also…

    Reply

  2. Posted by ej on February 8, 2013 at 8:51 pm

    There aren’t any crap poets, either.

    Reply

  3. Screw ej; I like this poem, DC.

    And there will be poets, and painters, in paradise, as Kipling recognized beautifully:

    When Earth’s last picture is painted
    And the tubes are twisted and dried
    When the oldest colors have faded
    And the youngest critic has died
    We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it
    Lie down for an aeon or two
    ‘Till the Master of all good workmen
    Shall put us to work anew
    And those that were good shall be happy
    They’ll sit in a golden chair
    They’ll splash at a ten league canvas
    With brushes of comet’s hair
    They’ll find real saints to draw from
    Magdalene, Peter, and Paul
    They’ll work for an age at a sitting
    And never be tired at all.
    And only the Master shall praise us.
    And only the Master shall blame.
    And no one will work for the money.
    No one will work for the fame.
    But each for the joy of the working,
    And each, in his separate star,
    Will draw the thing as he sees it.
    For the God of things as they are!

    Reply

  4. I liked DC’s poem better than Kipling’s. DC’s indicates slightly that it doesn’t matter what we do and Kipling’s leans towards salvation by works and being good enough. There’s no mention of grace or humility. DC’s poem is clever and funny also.

    Reply

    • There is grace and humility is works.

      Reply

    • I liked DC’s poem, too, Sis.

      I wasn’t comparing DC’s and Kipling’s poems. I don’t see that Kipling’s poem promotes a works-salvation gospel; rather, the artists are using their God-given talents to praise God in glory. I don’t see the artists being boastful, but simply praising God, giving glory to Him. Oh well. A chac’un, son gout.

      Reply

      • Kipling indeed celebrated the common man, hence this poem and this one, which celebrates not only engineers but also their builders, IMO (and that of others, hence the memorials to railroad builders).

        BTW, incidentally, I came across this recent post today, which reminds us that Mary, not Martha, was the one in the right.

      • I was not meaning to make a theological point, nor to start a theological debate, with what was only intended to be a light piece of verse.

        All I was trying to do was to say that certain kinds of professions and careers and activities will no longer be necessary in Heaven. I certainly wasn’t trying to consign speech therapists or professors or students, or even spin-doctors, to Hell.

        I was mostly just trying to be amusing. In the back of my mind was probably that joke in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in which certain “useless” workers are sent on a spaceship into space while the useful people conspire to stay behind. Here are the details:

        http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golgafrincham#Golgafrincham

      • Indeed, we won’t need a good deal of professions we have here on Earth in the next life.

        We’ll all have perfect bodies, and perfect morals. That will render obsolete a good many less-than-noble professions, while retaining better, purer, higher callings, surely. :)

      • What started me thinking about the poem, and the reason it begins with a reference to speech therapists, is that one of my children has major speech problems. My wife said once that she will speak plainly in Heaven …

  5. @Will S.

    Indeed, we won’t need a good deal of professions we have here on Earth in the next life.

    There’s a lot we don’t need in this life either!

    Reply

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