Phil ponders a puzzle from the heights of his treehouse
To which our attention is alerted by Church Mouse,
Inspired by John Donne of centuries gone by
Phil looks out to see prose now and dares to ask why.
He laments that we're less of a lyrical lot
And entices priestly peers to pick up a new plot,
And spin again their wonderings in flourishes exquisite
So that poetry might once again capture the Spirit
And point our eyes searching to behold something new
So that things too familiar are lent a new hue.
For it might be our calling to set up new angles
On commonplace things and so make them newfangled.
So who will rise to this challenge and configure their schemes?
Perhaps Anita Mathias from the spires where she dreams.
Possibly Lesley Fellows in googledocs
Demanding decisions as we choose the right box.
Maybe we'll find Clayboy stirring up the dust
Where he'll capture our confessions in this God whom we trust.
Can Peter Ould become the Peter of new
And pen us a sonnet or a stanza or two?
Can Ian Paul be persuaded as he plays the piano
And parents and preaches and what else, I don't know how,
To find a few minutes to perfect something lyrical
Or should Phil just give up now and submit to the cynical?
For comments came in that we have not the time
Such vast swathes of paperwork drowning out rhyme
Meetings attended on diocesan addendum
Liturgical updates we can't comprehendum
We'll perhaps return this challenge to its bereft blogging sender
And challenge Phil Treehouse to pen poems of such splendour
For this Donne we call John on whose day he lamented
That we seem to have forgotten
- twas for poetry we were invented.