all of the favorites congregated around the altar
among them the lawyer, the car salesman,
the Preacher stood taller than the others
signifying if nothing else a good view of him
to all

there within this quorum of faithful men
among them  the banker, merchant, and undertaker,
the Preacher said "bow your heads"
and all did , along with those lower
ranked in the pews

And he incantated, or I seemed to hear
invoking a deity or superpower or god
might have been,  especially casting his
powers on those nearest
who, coincidentally had  begotten
the most money lately

from the gathering , the smoke
arose near and around , and the Preacher
rose his voice, the tension mounting
the cathedral held it's collective breath
the maiden hidden

behind the preacher in the Baptismal font,
awoke got up like life from death,
walked step by step to a box,
near about the Hypotenuse
of the arc of the cathedral

climbed in the box and her head
showed out one end her feet
the other, then the Preacher the
car salesman, and the Lawyer
took a long bow saw from the pulpit

handed it to the banker who in turn passed
it to the merchant who in turn passed it
to the undertaker who started to saw
right straight through the middle,
with eager thrusts, of that there box.

And when the show ended , after
all the gasps from the people in the pews,
had subsided, and the undertaker was greedily
covered in sweat, the girl got out of the box.

They declared it a miracle.

my most treasured memory, next to the day
she said yes, and my back seat got wet,
next to the day junior popped his
little bald head out squealing slithery
from her nether region.
Next to the day she said I do
to me, dressed in that flowered dress
we spent all the money we had
from JC Penney 's bargain bin,
next to the day Junior bagged a Buck
at the age of seven with a cheap bow and arrow
I gave him cause it would not shoot straight,
right there next to Thanksgiving
fifty years later we all gathered round the table
her and junior and me, and
the buck I finally shot
yesterday.

the greater view is,
too long the disciple
of pessimism will live

considering the lilies of the field
palms laid down

blue white arizona desert flower
sweet blooming oh

considering sunlight
moonlight

mourning dove
hello

i ride into my jerusalem
singing

beautiful moment
full everywhere

Where are you, perfect piece of writing?
I read of you when I was a boy, long ago,
Naked youngsters on horseback, waiting,
Hidden in shadows at the meadow’s edge,
Then they go, aware of danger, scared,
Moonlight dancing upon their skin, cool,
Nightjars and bats swoop low, hunting moths,
And the youngsters ride, he observing her,
So beautiful to describe, and yet, you are gone,
Long ago, lost in my mind, yet I remember,
And I wonder, what you are, if you are,
And will I ever read you again, savour you?
Where are you, perfect piece of writing?

©Paul M Chafer 2016