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Reflection on Sonnet Eighteen
A reflection on this astonishing Shakespearian sonnet.
'So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee' If thus our immortality Be weaved upon a printed page, That in the humour of men's minds Our lives move deathless Down the years of man's dominion here. Can then the characters thy pen empowered Who bred mid passions of thy soul Whose little era was embowered within thee Have a relationship with God superior to our own? Ah no - they pass with time but we Move on to reap what we have sown*. * I am now less doctrinally assured than was my seventeen year old self. |
He Walked Away
A conversation without accord
"You can never prove
the resurrection" I began "No you cannot" he interjected emphatically, misunderstanding my full meaning. We were away at a Christian centre for a residential weekend that was more about philosophy than about religion and so attracted not just Christians but also sceptics like my interlocutor. He was on the staff of a university, possibly a classics department one might have thought, because he was knowledgeable when we were reading from Homer's 'Iliad'. A small group of us had gathered convivially for coffee after supper and the conversation turned to religion. "But what I think you can reasonably say" I continued "is that the early disciples believed in the resurrection so that here you had a group of people trying to express what was beyond their comprehension". He regarded me seriously for a moment and then turned and walked away with a troubled look on his face and I was sorry for I was acknowledging the uncertainty that for me must embrace Christian doctrine and I would have liked him to have acknowledged the uncertainty that I believe must likewise pervade its critique an uncertainty that might have been implied by his troubled look as he turned from me and walked away. |
No Way to Impress
This is a lighthearted poem about a very happy family day.
The 'three year old' grandchild in it is the one for whom in 2012 I wrote 'Coming of Age'.
The 'three year old' grandchild in it is the one for whom in 2012 I wrote 'Coming of Age'.
There are days the sun never ceases to shine
And days when its glimpses are few But the day our youngest daughter was wed Showed never a hint of blue. "Pick up my train and we'll run for the church" Was the urgent task she assigned And that plus a brolly held over her head Made our entrance seem less than refined. Gathering her dignity in both of her hands We slowly progressed up the aisle To join her beloved and betrothed at the front As he turned and gave her a smile. At rehearsal the minister made it clear That with this my task was complete So leaving her there I joined my wife And together we took our seat. Not that her mother and I refused To give our daughter away, But 'who gives this woman' were obsolete words This minister never would say. The photographer did an excellent job (Just ask and I'll give you the name) For although no pictures could be taken outside The results were superb all the same. My speech at reception seemed to go well Though 'twas unscripted humour best pleased For the laughter evoked took me by surprise As unforeseen meaning was seized! A three year old grandchild we had by this time (For I'd been through all this once before) Who when dancing was having the time of her life As she commandeered the floor. On video was captured a moment of fun Holding hands with a boy her own age For he sneezed into his while covering his mouth And with her's did then reengage. She inspected her hand as she pulled away Then wiped it down her dress And the look when he tried to take it again Showed this was no way to impress. So tired was she when evening came That fast asleep she did fall And later watched video in surprised disbelief Of those scenes she could not recall. As we dashed for our cars at the end of a day That had given us all so much pleasure I thought how often it's unscheduled things That provide the best moments to treasure. |