Treble clefs: round and round and
up and down and flourish.
Those curly ears- listening, listening
for the black dot birds, perched
on the five wires.
And the bass clefs: well, they were
round wombat bottoms, depositing
seriously deep stuff.
Kids amid the thronging worshippers:
we enjoyed the thronging most
when we could see many little birds,
quavering. And least,
when we had to unearth smooth white circles of
perfect theology, minim by semibreve.
The best things about the psalter?
A Mighty Fortress- we begin with three lovely C’s.
That hymn alone, need sing no other.
Also, the worship tide gently
foaming back towards us at the end.
That final flow of all blessing, praise God for it.
Anything else? Yes, but it’s not actually in the psalter.
Hearing my friend playing organ during the collection.
It was Lovesong by The Cure,
and nobody knowing what they were dropping coins to.
Well- we did.
This poem was shortlisted for the 2014 Adrien Abbott prize for poetry