St. Paul’s Anglican church Trinity Newfoundland
Anglican architecture lords over landscapes,
the long-dead rest under mossed tombs,
clergy try to keep our keels shipshape
weekly communion by queues consumed.
Large bells swing, scarily-suspended,
audio vats upturned, brass foundry-cast,
full swing boom in watchtowers blended,
rope-pulled peal-pathos, present and past.
Well-known hymns so heartily sung,
appealing turns of poetic phrase,
stained-glass scenes, banners hung,
God’s granite house anchors our days.
From perched brass eagle gospel read,
candled hope flickers on clothed altar;
baptism, marriage vows, farewell to dead,
readings from Common Prayer Psalter.
Raised pulpit, biblical vision shared,
pew-seated listeners in Sunday best,
benedictions, prepared prayers declared,
some believers bored, others richly blessed.
Coffee in crowded church hall after,
some offspring scream, or biscuit steal
hearts bared, tongues wag, shared laughter:
proverbs provoke, souls make cartwheel.