From the Pulpit

[tectak]

There she is, Mrs Popplebottom, sitting in the pews,
Making dents in her elbow with her knee,I am not a believer but even if I were I would not believe this line!Inverted syntax is one thing but in with within this line beats me!
And her throat swells with triumph as her stultifying views
Fill the jealous buds upon the Judas tree.

Here she comes for Communion, how she loves the taste of flesh
Pressed in wafers, for her palate is quite bland,
And her teeth are long rotted but her grievances are fresh
As she feeds them with her backward sleight of hand.Lovely stuff but again, a little physiologically challenging

See her slink near the sacristy to desecrate the font
With her bile as it flows across the floor;
See her flounce like some over-rounded, sluttish debutanteA defiinite half-foot clutter in her perambulations here. It is that oh-ver wot does it.
As she slashes at the bright esprit de corps.Magic

Have your way, Mrs Popplebottom: take your righteous heart,
And your fabricated hurt – give up your pose
Alone and unlamented now, you wrote yourself apart
In uninspiring, dull, insipid prose.Yet I want more

Stone the bloody crows, mate! You've nicked my structure after memorable service!
There's flattery, and you can't get round me with your silver tongue....though a lot depends on what you do with it.
Best,
tectak