The Shine Journal

 

 

Room for God

 

 

 

Enter by the right door

and the hush begins.

 

The gallery

for the first few steps

darkens the silent aisle. Beams

split light from

diamond shaped panes

pastel shaded glass

casting shadows on

plain walls.

 

At the front

no fancy font

resides the baptismal tank

beneath a table

concealing mysteries under a

pure white linen sheet.

 

Above the simple pulpit

with one twisting stair

a painted banner

 

Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today and Forever.

 

Sunday school sets serious

homework and exams.

 

The open ended, varnished pews are hard

too hard for long sermons

too high for short legs

too deep for little thighs.

But long sermons

short legs and

little thighs there are.

And there are

grave faces

stern suits

huge hats

and many pairs of eyes.

 

Season to season

flowers change

Jesus Christ never does.

Mysteries remain.

 

 

 

 

The Photograph

 

 

She didn’t remember her father

that day,

spade in hand,

demonstrating the best way

to fill a bucket with sand.

 

Hands on her waist, she looks

grumpy.

Why didn’t he just go

away. As if she didn’t know

how to play.

 

She didn’t know

it was the last thing

he would ever teach

her, here

on this monochrome beach.

 

 

 

 

OONAH V. JOSLIN has recently left a teaching career spanning twenty eight years to concentrate on writing.  She began writing poetry at the age of eleven and has recently moved into flash fiction and short stories.  She she is also working on a first novel. You may learn more about Oonah and her work  here: www.writewords.org.uk/oonah/ 

 

MOTIVATION:

Room for God 

"The motivation for this piece came from an exercise in a poetry group.  It was suggested we write two or more prose pieces describing rooms and then look at them to see where the poem was.  This proved a rich seam indeed as well as an interesting way to begin writing.  I am still working on other pieces and hope they will prove equally interesting.  If nothing else it has taught me how selective our memories can be."

The Photograph

"I was writing a series of poems about the beach when I remembered a photograph of my father building a sand castle.  My three year old sister looked not at all impressed.  It was her bucket and spade.  He must have died within six months of that photograph being taken.  So perhaps I should dedicate this to Jack Kyle."