wordsout from Cafe Church poems by Charles Jobson   home



Through a weather vane

Though I now see through a glass darkly
once my imagination was like a sea of brilliant light.

Then in a lonely churchyard
inspiration came seeping through
like a plant cell rapidly absorbing water.

By those table-top tombs
interspersed by cleverly written Jacobean epitaphs
I felt stirred in my heart:
nature had reserved a place for me!

So what went wrong?
Maybe I was basking in a glory
better saved for someone else.
Perhaps in my mental poverty I am better off,
a quiet king of silence.