New Church Ladies

The new church ladies, much the same

As those well known to Barbara Pym,

They know the words of each naff hymn,

In praise of what is trans or BAME.

Their hair is straight, not permed or rinsed,

Although it’s still a shade of blue,

It’s of a deeper, harsher hue,

To match their latest large tattoo.

Their faith is strong, they are convinced,

They’re never wrong nor yet mistaken.

They genuflect and take the knee,

Debate the new theology,

Know when to sneer and victim blame,

And when to praise and feel no shame.

And ‘some form of umbrage can always be taken’.

If others suffer, they are wrong,

Nothing to see now, move along,

These are rules, no exemption,

They do not care what cares you face,

Those not with them do not belong.

It must be so, they have a song,

That tells of what a lovely place

The world will be,

When there’s no trace

Of Western culture, swept aside,

In one last act of suicide,

Which yet will not be thought redemption,

New Church Ladies don’t do Grace.

 

  

On a Quote from RH Tawney

 ‘Clever men are impressed by their differences from their fellows. Wise men are conscious of their resemblance to them.'

I differ from my fellows, I’m unique,

you know it is my mind sets me apart,

I’m separate, not one to fit a clique,

so well informed in science and in art.

I’m simply not like other men I know,

I hesitate to stress superiority

but other chaps are rather dull and slow.

No, I’m not at all like the majority.

I stress my individuality

because my education and my wit

are obviously finer in their quality

well, viewed from here, that is, from where I sit.

There’s no one else at all whom I resemble

and so why should I disguise, dissemble?

I may not always see things as they do,

but other men have so much more to teach 

than in one lifetime I could judge as true

by use of intellect. And so I reach

the old, foxed mirror down from off the wall

and view the man within the glass portrayed

and see my fellow men reflected, small

within my eyes, or soul and slightly greyed,

but unmistakable within that space.

And know that if my instinct can mistrust

the wisdom of my kind and of my race,

then naught remains when I am turned to dust,

for what’s the worth of being educated

if there are none to whom one feels related?