A Crazy Vicar.
All this travelling has made me ill...my stomach churns from that Greek meal
Delicious though it was I’m green of gill
....and lying in a bed of white
I hear the sounds of London in the night...
A plane scrapes low ...the buses roar
the church’s ancient spire
Is just a silent spear
The vicars tearing up the graves
The crazy vicar wants to make a parking place
I hear the spectres scream
Their silken voices rising from their angry tombs.
To plead for Peace for their old dead bones
May they rest deep in this long silent soil ...
Their ivories compose as they are meant to
In decay..
The church bell rings , I count to five...
It’s tone is soft and worn with striking time
My white bed rustles...I turn to try to sleep
Charcoal kebab and crazy vicars on my mind.
Why disturb the mortal dead for such a finite thing of tin and steel ?
Of rubber wheels.
Kristine Byrne 24th Feb 2012