Church

about what it is

Stiff and cold as a whale`s skin,

full of space and thin air,

edges and corners beyond stone,

moon windows and cold-fire brass,

curtains heavy with words,

                   slow and dark in pitch.

This is the hole at the end of the world

with too much God. I am a spider

                   crawling up gold and patina

to a height that reduces us all below.

This is bloodless. lost and serious.

I have forgotten the gravestones outside,

they are all at sea, old with green,

not lucent but thick with rock,

the left behinds, we are the lucky ones

that hear the first bells,

a shake of tones,

we rise at command,

trained and black.

Reviews

[Rosalind Gale]

Hits hard, yet a sense of optimism prevails, an idea that we live on, anyway, we must.
Rosa
--x-

[Great Aunt Astri]

I like that ...'I am a spider, crawling up gold and patina, to a height that reduces us all below'
Many of the aspirations of man are reduced to nothing!

[Pete Langley]

This feels sombre, funerial and not a little ascerbic, Les ....as from a disenchantment, a recognition of failing, yet still a loyalty to a creed. Brought up a Baptist, the only part of my faith I now hold is non-conformity, but habits die hard! Engrossing and atmospheric, my friend. P.