Quaker hallowed hush

One-time Quaker Meeting House, Waterford. My poem written from 1971 memories of attending Meeting because it was radically different to liturgical denominations. There was a badminton court in a side room also, which held attraction as well as the “real coffee” (probably Nescafe!)…

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On Sundays we co-eds confidently strode

out granite pillared gates and down the road,

past De La Salle, dogmatic in adherence,

Catholic college, grumpy in appearance;

boasting boys freely mingled, flirted

with fellow form girls, colourful skirted.

 

No crocodile lines, no prefect chaperone,

our travel to church trusted, past old stone

tower and family-owned quayside shops;

bells boomed, chimed the civic clock;

bored by long services, supposedly divine,

sermons irrelevant, no blessings benign.

 

Meeting-house worship I next explored,

long-silence loved, struck kindred chord;

sporadic extempore parables spoken

by either gender, the floor was open

to all,  Friendly-philosophy expounded,

poems recited, no pulpit to be pounded.

 

The Quaker-hallowed hush readily wooed,

tenuous teen belief in God got re-glued;

revered room simple, no decorative mark,

radial-arranged benches, all spartan stark,

less religious service, more co-op class –

and afterward Bewley’s coffee…unsurpassed!

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