St Patrick’s Church, Glenamaddy, County Galway where Lenten ashes are available to motorists as a drive thru service tonight
Nouveau Catechism
after T.S. Eliot
Because we no longer hope.
Because it’s been so long since our pews
caressed your tender rears
the one holy catholic and apostolic
church is forced to offer you options:
Drive-thru ashes in Glenamaddy,
Dial-a-Confession with visually unacceptable
seminarians scattered all over Lough Derg
ready to take your call,
Speed Baptisms in hot tubs full of sparkling Ballygowan
on the roof of a Travelodge near Cashel,
Gluten free pizzas with Communion wafers
hidden in them
in a Supermacs on the outskirts of Castleblayney,
A free Holy Orders with every second
curried chips
from an Archbishop operating from the back of a van
in the greater Wicklow Town area,
A complimentary Last Rites
each time you apply for a mortgage. Usual
terms and conditions apply,
though only to you.
Two-for-the-price-of-one
drive-by exorcisms
whenever you buy petrol
in certain parts of Wexford.
Kevin Higgins
‘Drive-thru’ Ash Wednesday at Galway church (RTÉ)
Pic: RTÉ
You mean I have to actually drive in to get them? Don’t they deliver?
It’s weird in Dublin today, like marksman’s Christmas.
I thought that there would never be a contributor whose content I liked less than LJG…
Yet here we are.
Hahaha
Need a blessing in a hurry?
Try our new range.
The all new “Mark 1.15 Dash to Ash”
Only at your local RCC – Almost omniwide!
Terms & Inquisitions apply – RCC provide the best penitence without trying your patience!
…needs a jingle.
Is there a point to this?
Or is it his usual attention seeking doggerel?
More hate and bile from Kevin Higgins.
I’m just gonna pop this here as an antidote to the bitterness of that poem…
When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other’s work would bring us to our senses.
So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives—
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.
– Seamus Heaney
This is how poetry ought to be done.
beautiful
Totally agree Mildred.
Because my poems are absurd
And don’t rhyme not one word
They let me spew on here
Oh dear oh dear
Oh
dear
And there’s a Nobel prize for every doggerel versifier in the audience.