Ken's Poetry

All Saints Church Sidley

This old church we once knew
no longer fits our recollections
from twenty years past –
almost everything is new.
A bright new Christ hangs
outlined by plastic trickery
in iridescent light
above a pristine altar,
the timbers in the roof too straight
too neatly cut for ancient craft,
the woodwork’s lightness can’t be old
the style too plain, the cut too cold.
The organ, now in a different place,
glistens dustless in glass-candle gleam,
rows of wooden chairs now stand
where once were avenues of pews.

If churches change – then people too –
even perhaps the thirteen year old boy
who burned away this corner of our past.