Untitled-

I know it's irritating when poems are untitled but I honestly don't know what it should be- anything I come up with is too cheesy or obvious so suggestions are welcome. Also- I'd really appreciate suggestions or critiques on the poem, Thanks.



It is a minimised phenomenon-
Coffee mornings and Jesus' words,
shoved on a plate by the side
to dunk every once in a

while on the cobble,
nectar, yoghurt and Nanak's heart
proudly in the forefront,
Golden as the Temple where

they lie, they lie
and are flagellated mockingly.
Priest at his lectern, collaborating godly words.
Congregation on pews, dead as

still life; unheard of.
From the rivers they brought the flow,
suitable boys and dance.
Praying for winter, crying for

rain; darting at their windshields,
enticing their fireplace.
Empty space, God's space.
--Now yoga classes and Bhangra dancing is all that fills them.

Preatty good. Tweak it a bit.

I did like parts of it and the ideas, but parts were a tad confusing and needed a bit of fine tuning. Overall, pretty good though.

Thanks for reading Araidne and sunshine girl.. but it would be useful to know specifics. Thanks for taking the time anyway.

Hi mer,


The main culprit here is the language.

You're taking an anthropomorphic approach to the Church - the observations, motivations, and the god-awful conclusion are all too cavalier - and you're using language that sounds (with the exception of "Praying for winter, crying for / rain") like Yoda-speak.

The effect is that of a rank beginner trying to sound insightful. Yuck!

Start over - how many words does a humble believer have for the Church? How many for the silent (dis)belief and shapes of hypocrisy? How many for light and dark?

You need to create the observer's language as you create the observer. Maybe then you'll have something worth reading twice.


Regards,
Brad