Sunday Faced

Fay Slimm.

 

Sunday Faced.

 

Rain wringing out great drops on sodden yards
wetting Sunday-faced farmers 
plus ripple of following offspring who mincing
thru' grass yawn slowly uphill
to mud-spattered salvation of weekly worship

and damply pewed, wait for a sermon.    


Hatted heads bow as onslaught of next storm 
fling windowed reminders to all
reverently bent but men know gale-flat grain
awaits no redemption from
sudden battering, cattle-full sheds bellow out  
for attention as gates lean on
torn hinges squeaking in vain, time is wasted 
in best attire when fierce tempest
empties coin- rattle as Sunday dressed men 


scrabble for doors before service ends. 


Smallholding tasking ever takes precedence
but for one holy-hour, chapel then
done and Hellfire quenched Sunday skirts lift 
as lady-boots quickly skid homeward 
to kitchen heaven of baked bread smells and 
roasting aromas when welcome hands 
closed in thanks after renewing, sin-cleansed   
and full of rude health, country folk  
can shoulder usual hazards of living off land

that asks for far more than Sunday-best.

  • Author: Fay Slimm. (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 16th, 2023 05:54
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 18
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments4

  • Neville


    I see precisely where you are coming from .. and am not ashamed to admit, they just don't make em like this any more ....... Neville x

  • L. B. Mek

    sorry for the long ramble, dear Fay
    I do love it when you pen
    one of your vivid odes, to those time's
    when family life, was an asset
    in our lives
    (the saddest loss, in that erosion of theological
    dictatorship
    is that, so many cultural highlights
    of family life, had to be abandoned
    for long gone
    are scenes on streets
    of nuclear families, heading
    to congregate
    on Sunday mornings
    neighbours, meeting after service
    and catching-up
    a unity of humane, oneness
    decimated
    because, we aligned faith
    with all-things, integral
    to societal, goodness
    so now
    it's sunday newspapers
    and french toast with coffee
    in bed, alone
    sunday roast, portioned for one
    click-timed
    to arrive just after the shower...
    sad
    those older days your poetry depicts, dear Fay
    came with warming smiles
    soothing laughter's sounds
    and ladies, as-ever
    doing it all, alone
    by choice
    for the love
    of a household, glued together
    through life's stormy weather
    by virtue of loyalty, to something
    greater than isolated existences
    yieldless, needs and wants)

  • orchidee

    Good write Fay.

  • Doggerel Dave

    The image of those honest, stoic countryfolk in their own environment well rendered here, Fay. The feeling that there might have been a better time and place to what we have now....



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.