Southwark Cathedral – a poem by Edward Alport

Southwark Cathedral

If the gnarled veined fingers
Of an old grey man,
Stretched up a hundred feet
Above my head,
With fingers interlaced,
And nails silver painted,
And wrists all decorated,
By the dead

Then I could believe
I was in the cathedral,
And it may say something
For the soul of stone,
That the cool crisp vaulting
Still conveys some benediction
From the trees outside
To the carved oak throne.

And the snarling gryphons
In their bright new livery
Watch the snarling traffic
In its jostling lanes,
But the cathedral echoes
To the peace of plenty.
And the organ echoes
With the growl of trains.


Edward Alport is a proud Essex Boy and retired teacher. He occupies his time as a gardener and writer for children. He has had poetry published in a variety of webzines and magazines. When he has nothing better to do he posts snarky micropoems on Twitter as @cross_mouse.

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