When Christ in Dawlish walked one rainy morn
He offered to the seagulls broken bread.
The waterfowl and rats alike he fed.
Soon, people gathered to him on the Lawn.
The disaffected young about him pressed.
With addicts and with drunks he shared his wine.
He gently spoke to all, he made a sign
And talked of love and each of them he blessed.
Council officials soon conferred nearby.
They saw him as a threat to their small town
With middle-Eastern looks, his beard, a gown.
They invoked bye-laws, police took him away.
Oh, you who say that you revere his name,
How would you act if to your home he came?
15th May 2009
I would welcome him with open arms, great poem
Thankyou for your comment,
Here is a poem (a proper non-rhyming poem)from the official bard of Dawlish...
On one leg
I feel the deep-earth cool,
the slide of an inch of water
before it drops, white in sun sparks,
and I swan-dream of a summer
of days like this; my hard red mouth
in the down of my feathers, black
as anthracite gathering heat
from a distant star.
Excellent, Authorburch. Thanks for posting.
I won't fall out with you over form or structure.