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A weekly video reading of poetry by the poet.

Parochial
by Peter V. Dugan

The faithful flock to the cathedrals,

churches and chapels, book stores,

cafes and schools, take their seats,

fill the pews, listen and recite

“The Word . . .”

Outside on the street those starving

for faith congregate as heretics

and apostates shout out blasphemy,

“Poetry is dead!“

while true believers retort,

“There is resurrection!”

But, everyday agnostics and atheists

pass by, deaf to the debate, rapped-up

by the incessant rhythm and rhyme

of a pop-culture sublime that blurs

the line between art and entertainment.

They are blind to the figured wheel

that rolls down the road, through

the meadow and out into the wasteland

over the decayed stone wall where

an old black hearse without gilt

or polish lies buried in the high grass

next to a red wheelbarrow.

At night, you can hear the howl

of the wind bellow and echo

through coffee shops, poetry vaults

and library basements.

Here converts, novices and deacons

still toil down in the catacombs

creating poems from old poets’ bones

Language becomes image,

The Word is among us.

We bear witness to it here.

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