the sky dies

The summer has brought out the dust

filtered in swallows of arid tongue,

drunken rabbits parade among the cabbage,

leaflets of green wilting on a brown landscape,

butcher paper colors wrapped around

unsuspecting vines, thorns at the ready,

gripping our tendencies for religion,

thumping hymns in old fashioned garb,

playing hide and seek with the collection plate

while the electric stool vibrates and youngsters squeal

 

Those who bow their heads so as not to see

the chatting behind the alter, the words of disgust

in thin wafers, unblessed meanings forced upon

those who least desire, subject to gossip poured slowly,

regurgitated thoughts and inappropriate behavior

seeking only the attention, the cheers, the praise,

the left-over cracker crumbs scattered on the Afghan rug,

before they are brushed off...both of them

 

Beyond, closed-door farewells are bid,

only to return, finding locks inoperable

and keys under the mat rusted,

with an entrance that is off tune, sharpened,

seeking it's intended target along with

all that it missed along its curved flight path

as once more empty phrases are filled with occupied thrones

and distant eyes saddened by what they see in the aisle

 

Incense recoils, smoke dances in a stained-glass sun beam,

minds wander to that place, on a hillside overlooking

neighborhood laundry and chalk scarred sidewalks,

a picnic in the park, enjoying red gingham sandwiches

and rowboat sonatas with swans,

life partners gliding on mirrored surfaces

while Aunt Lucy hides behind the stately elm

blushing like a frilly umbrella creating shade tinted red

as the sky dies and chickadees fall to the ground

 

the cat is not amused

 

Reviews

[Ken Simm.]

A whole atmosphere of detail. There is so much to enjoy here. And I do. Spending some time preserving this slice of of what I think is Americana. Wonderful.

[willweb]

Thank you so much Ken. I appreciate you reading and commenting on my work. I am happy you enjoyed this.

[DIVYA]

So much chatting behind the altar, so many empty phrases, regurgitated thoughts and inappropriate behavior. My disillusionment with organized religion is complete. The Church of God is now mostly just a den of thieves. So much to takeaway from this poem, rich in meaning and images painted. The concluding verse is beautiful.

[willweb]

Thanks my friend. Indeed, things are not like they used to be...greed I believe has taken the place of being thankful