O.K. I’m not writing prolifically at the moment but I have done a few poems for Holy Week. I’ve been working with a church member who is an artist and photographer in church and her work got me writing. Starting with Palm Sunday:
what if those feet had walked here,
on these cobbled tracks.
what greeting would have welcomed him
in the market place and street.
as those above and those below
watched his steady journey
could we have considered what part we’d play
with branches from trees barely budding
And as he passed the bank machine
and people waited for money
would anything have changed
still a closed sign on the Nat West building.
An empty glass of beer watches from a window sill
as the king of kings passes by
and church doors close
for a private morning ceremony.
Are there shouts?
Is there rushing and excitement
or just another passing moment
no-one quite noticed?
And if those feet in modern times
had walked not upon the mountains
but down the streets of our town
would his steps pass silent?
and in this green and pleasant land
what would be built by human hand
that will not decay, pass away,
as he goes on, leaving our Palm Sunday.
And the crowds did not gather for him,
no one welcomed or adored him,
but the cobbles cried his name
shouted his praise for no one came.