St. David’s, Pembrokeshire 29788Posted: January 24, 2014
This is the house of God
PLEASE REFRAIN FROM
EATING ICE CREAM & SMOKING
LEAVE YOUR PETS OUTSIDE
We ran around searching for daddy,
Touch the stones, carved,
Amazing at the floors, patterns, the colours.
We shined at the windows sun beaming colours, stained glass.
We craned at the ceiling,
Carving in wood, clean, intricate, detail.
Tom sang with delights.
Tom moaned with anxiety.
Organ pipes lie around in disrepair,
Collection boxes moaned for money.
People stared frankly as we smiled
and smiled, over their shoulders.
‘This is where a man tells stories.
‘People sit there and listen to him,
There is a little house
Just like Tom’s pig house.
We found daddy.
He was looking too.
‘Mind your head!’
Tom carried on running.
Outside the sun was shining.
green lush grass.
There was a wall to sit on.
Tom pissed in the gutter
around the church’s foundations,
and it nearly reached the drain.
He gave me a daisy.
I put it in my buttonhole.
Mummy found us.
(I was recently sent this poem, written in 1988 when visiting a friend in Pembrokeshire, South Wales. Some have already commented that it’s ‘better than what I write these days’! Ho hum, how the wheels do turn!? I have also chosen a few old paintings, not quite from 1988, to accompany the piece. For me it is so refreshing, and humbling, to look back over old work and to recognize the spirit of intent that is held over such a period of time.)
© Peter Ward, for Tom Ramage, 29th July 1988