June 17, 2005

• Little Love Songs.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  you read out bits
  

  
  

  from your newspaper,
  

  
  

  but i only ever remember
  

  
  

  your voice.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  it is so quiet,
  

  
  

  that i hear only your heart
  

  
  

  breathing for me.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  listening to all the poetry
  

  
  

  within your silence.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  the morning birds,
  

  
  

  and yes,
  

  
  

  you singing
  

  
  

  in the bathroom.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  you shave me
  

  
  

  so tenderly
  

  
  

  that i think
  

  
  

  you are merely
  

  
  

  stroking my face.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  i write you a poem
  

  
  

  each time you touch me
  

  
  

  even when the words
  

  
  

  do not linger in the air.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  you always start off
  

  
  

  just washing my back,
  

  
  

  and then…
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  oh, i love you!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  i gave the dog
  

  
  

  the wrong tin of meat,
  

  
  

  but you only laughed
  

  
  

  and cooked some chips.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  i search for my hanky
  

  
  

  you give me yours,
  

  
  

  and i want to cry in it
  

  
  

  through happiness.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  The Poet Known as “Empty Chairs”.

  
  

   

  
  

  (“Empty Chairs” is blind.)
  

  
  

  ———-

  
  

   

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  I look at the inscriptions on the stones
  

  
  

  in my church,
  

  
  

  and I wonder if
  

  
  

  they are just forgotten names
  

  
  

  of silence.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  For can anything else exist
  

  
  

  other than for their names
  

  
  

  and their rotting bones?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Is this all a sham,
  

  
  

  is there nothing beyond of this,
  

  
  

  will our memories
  

  
  

  turn to the same dust as our flesh?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  If that is so,
  

  
  

  then I feel even more than ever
  

  
  

  that kindness to the living
  

  
  

  is the most important role of any vicar.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I can not “save” what is mortal
  

  
  

  but I can always bring a smile
  

  
  

  to a face full of tears.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
  

  
  

  
   

  
  

  —————

  
  

   

  
  

   

  • 3:23 am
  • 44 Comments