The Confessional

The Confessional

She enters the confessional
‘Oh Father I have sinned’
The world beyond has dimmed
A separate dimension exists
In the oak-panelled box
A land where everything is forgiven
Sins obliterated, guilt banished

She tells the priest
Barely discernible, beyond the grille
An insubstantial shadow
Yet still comforting
‘Father it has been so long,
Half a life time
Since my last confession’

This lapsed Catholic has returned
To be wrapped in a cloak
Of warm patriarchy
To be clasped in the hand of God
The fat controller of the universe
Enveloped in the trinity
And rocked to sleep

She is fearful now. For it is time
To leave. She does not want to live
In the world beyond the confessional
She could stay in this dark place forever
A perpetual religious apprentice
With the priest beyond the grille, acting
As her direct line to God

‘Oh no, my dear,’ the priest replies
‘That is not our purpose. Our aim
Is to arm you with faith and courage
And then unleash you onto the world
And they and back and watch
And applaud and cheer
As they make a martyr of you.’

 

Encapsulated

The Gathering

Exotica

The Grapes of…Whatever

Blackbirds

This False Dawn:

A warrior in a non existent war
Afraid to sleep, afraid to wake
In the world but not of it.
I am the edge of darkness
inter-dimensional interference
Wouldn’t some say it was the work of Satan?
Up at dawn I embrace the bright morning
And I don The Mask Of Sanity

And enter the belly of the beast
And on the tube I read about
The latest greatest media orchestrated witch hunt
Which in the end will drive
us all Into the arms of revolutionaries.
because that is a measure of your worth, they say
Someone had done a terrible, terrible thing
manipulated idealism, orchestrated misery

They isolate it from the grand sweep of history.
And their shrunken world is divided
Into the victors and the vanquished
This was once echoed in my own worldview
I do not think this anymore
They have never loved me
And they never will
But I no longer crave the approval
Of the world. It is not a prize worth fighting for

I do not know why I am here
But I did not give myself life
so I have no right to take it away.
Our duty is to hold the line and in comes the cavalry.  
you’re a bit late. Too many moving targets to be eliminated
I do not view the world through
a simplistic paradigm left over from the French revolution.
A symptoms of an enfeebled society.

It takes courage to live, not to die
Love, money, popularity
Mean nothing to me
I am unworldly And always will be I
know this now And I embrace it
Fully and without Resentment

Rose

Adorable and Immensely Cuddlesome

I want that cat:

Unless, of course, you are a mouse.

The Naturalist

As a naturalist
I was struck with certain facts
The naming of things is my main occupation
I speak of this at The Royal Society
And of our last voyage around the world
In my waist coat and my gold fob watch
I recount the crossing of continents
From sea to sea, an enterprise viewed
With almost universal foreboding
Driven by storms to a land of snow and ice
We abandoned the coast. We travelled inland.
We daubed our names with the blood of others
Across the face of the highest mountain.

We saw Snow White in her glass coffin
A flat silver lake made the scene complete
In the density of the forest we carved patterns
In the trunks of trees. The table was set for tea
Delirious, laughing, frantic. We were filthy.
Hidden deep, sealed from the grand sweep of history
And we heard mythical creatures
Moaning on the wind
Another party of explorers was dispatched
They concocted a nightmare
‘We’ll say you nearly died,’ they said.
‘We’ll say the natives kept you against your will.’
‘And then our fame will be assured and so will yours.’

Unfathomable Topography

This unfathomable topography
Alien to me. Captured between
Parallel lines and we wonder
How we came to be here
Where is the slipstream
That dragged us into this dream?
No tidal wave and yet
We did not resist. A princess
who had never been kissed
And who never will be
Not in this bleak country
For nourishment we lick the walls
They are made of honey
We turn away from the stench of money
For we are brides of Christ, you see,
And we have taken vows of poverty