Wrongfooted


No church, no altar
just a table at knee height
or it feels that way
in the churchyard
no candles nowhere to put things
scarcely a congregation.
Welcome to Covid.


Are the words in the wrong place
or my head in the wrong place?
Why does it matter so much
that everything is different
and so much is gone?


Good question, says Jesus,
keep asking questions,
I’m still here.
Did you think I was the super-vaccination
against life? Nice try.
I’m not here to blow the storms away
but to sail with you.


And yes, my heart bleeds too
about this whole damn business
in case you were wondering.
That’s why I’m here
on this thing.


tRuth 2021

End of term

The head chorister’s tears fall
As he bids farewell to ruff and surplice,
To seven years of music-making,
Half his life,
As he bids farewell to his boyhood.
First loss, piercing yet sweet to look back upon,
The happiness of days chock-full of meaning.
He has learned now: all things pass.
May he learn also: that which is eternal
Can never be lost, but abides forever.
Broadened horizons for the young man he will be
Will bring new blessings, passing yet eternal.

 

tRuth 2019

 

image © Chris Beckett/ flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)