WordsOut poems by Godfrey Rust  | collection BREAKING THE CHAINS ← 43 of 61 → | home    

Body odour

This man whose arms are raised in prayer
exalts his Lord above the skies.
The Spirit rules him while he's here. 
His wife controls him otherwise.

This woman prays with feeling for
the missionaries in Peru,
while managing to quite ignore
the others sitting in the pew, 

and this man, when the ritual's done,
wonders why it is that those
who are the fragrance of the Son
so often just get up his nose. 

He lets all kinds of people in.
Here is your mother, sister, brother.
We eat and drink the stuff of sin.
This is the church. There is no other.