Posted in Truth


Every grouping and profession has an absolute truth
known not to be
whispered certainty shouted out loud.
sorority allegiance, fraternity oath – unquestioning.
Airline pilots are never frightened.
Stockbrokers always see opportunity.
Politicians certain of victory.
Boxers trash opponents as whipping boys.

For a time faith turned away from pomp
preferring weekday liturgical snacks to
full meal of Sunday High Mass.
Devotee as consumer. Worship a la carte.

With lack of clutter and ceremony
expectation predicted a more reflective service.
Possibly one quiet thought stretched to insight
Not always. Sometimes the lunchtime express. No stops.
One day
from a source judgement thought supercilious.
An explanation of scripture and the role of prayer
taught by doctrine to be communication with God.

He said he was 73 years old
had been a priest for 51 of them.
In all that time and prayer
only once
for a single hour did he find that connection.
Just that one time – many years ago
the rest of his priesthood
spent in pursuit of re-encounter.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.