Posted in Passages


He was Fr then – “ Reverent … ”
we had gone to the same high school –
Catholic of course
eight or ten years senior he came back after ordination
and spoke to some of the classes.
A clergyman old boy –
the pinnacle of attainment.
The school authorities paraded him like an Olympian.
I thought him pompous, self-satisfied and supercilious
and exactly what Jesus didn’t have in mind for a priest
what he did have in mind when he railed against the Pharisees
and hypocrites.

A decade and a half later
on vacation, and change in vocation
“Mr ” now …. definitely him – distinctive features
and news had dribbled through from my parents
and old school friends,
about change in career.
Wife and children, secular and ordinary
he looked grounded and very happy.



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.