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James Bray (email)

 

Just days

it is these
dog eat dog
days
end of it all
days
these
holidays
end of the old
start of the new
days
when we look back
and ponder
try to make
sense of it all
remember what
we have done
and what we
have yet to
complete
itís the love
thy neighbor
and covet
his wife
days
the days of
Auld Lang Sigh
start anew
and forget the
past
yet they
are still
just days
no better
or worse
than what
you
make of
them

days.

 

 

 

Encounter with faith

tested their faith

or their sight or

something

like that.

i strolled out onto

my lawn

early on

this sunday morning

my bits and pieces, more

bits than pieces when

i  think about it.

all their clean shaven faces and

pretty pink lipstick.  lovely flowered

dresses and their polished smiles

all the faithful piling into

saint patricks.

the masses

the faithful masses

all falling

into line

and then thereís me...

looking for my sea legs

as i attempt to

recover from

yet another night of

debauchery.

my bits and pieces swinging freely

beneath my robe

slowly i cross the lawn

in search of my paper, in

desperate need of some coffee.

the pastor in his white robe

stares over at me and

shakes his head.

donít be so quick to judge me!

you believe in what

you believe, father

and iíll believe

in what i believe

and  in the end

weíll both be

dead

and in the ground.

so he went on believing

in his god

and i believe

that i will

rest today.