A pigeon flies low over a head stone,
plump with summer feed,
blackberry filled shit
splatters the granite.

One hundred and nine years later
shrubs have blanketed the dead
a bush has claimed the spot,
bursting with ripe fruit.

A young boy is eating more than he picks,
pops in another and spits out the pips.
His fingers are stained with juice,
thorns repeatedly snag his wrists.

From outside the small church
he listens to the service for the first time.
The pulpits microphone, new age in an old place.
"Take and eat this in remembrance"

He notices a statue beneath the bush
and thinks about the blackberry,
nutrients in the soil passed stalk to stem.
"And feed on him in your heart"

He drags away the brambles with red raw hands
to reveal an aged stone crucifix,
detailed by Jesus, moss and frost fractures.
"The blood which was shed for you"

The following Sunday he tended the grave,
sat on the grass in the quiet of the churchyard
he looked into the statue's stone face
and recognised himself.

I'll just sit here and listen, he thought;

What he heard, changed his life forever.

Nice. It's kind of obvious where it's going (excluding the last line), but none the worse for that. Some good images in the juxtapositions of events inside and outside the church. Balancing on the edge between narrative and poetic (for me).

A couple of typos: s1l1 s/fly's/flies and s7l3 s/statues/statue's

(09-25-2013, 04:10 PM)Snags Wrote:  Nice. It's kind of obvious where it's going (excluding the last line), but none the worse for that. Some good images in the juxtapositions of events inside and outside the church. Balancing on the edge between narrative and poetic (for me).

A couple of typos: s1l1 s/fly's/flies and s7l3 s/statues/statue's

Thanks snags for taking the time and thanks for the mistakes, I've done a quick edit, I agree this one is telegraphed on ahead I find it hard to balance between being to obvious and not getting my point across, I also agree it's a bit to prose. Many thanks TOMH