In addition to my father’s sermons, I wanted this site to include some of his other creative output. He was not merely a priest: he was also a poet, painter, cartoonist, storyteller and humorist. I thought that some of his poems, artwork and stories might provide both a contrast and a context for his overtly religious texts.
This poem was read at his funeral last Thursday by his widow, Christine. – SJC
Some may sing, but others sigh their griefs.
Nightingales or larks will hymn that grave
Or spice the orisons which catch the fire.
Old pains will drop their thievings of beliefs
And look to futures, and yet still behave
As nothing had addressed their full desire.
So turn to light and delights that transform
Those dusty, broom-shaped sweepings into night;
New dawns await to dry all those your fears.
These scars and memories you will rewarm
By months and days and minutes, but no fright
Can ever steal the blessings of those years.