Selected poems
Saint Augustine preaching on Psalm 42
The rock-star Bishop preaching to the stadium — thirty-five thousand leaning in for the Word —
drew attention to the deerheart thumping from the hunt.
Picture the red Barbary stag, the north African deer,the dearest picture of love.
'Another thing you should note about the deer,' Augustine gestures to the crowd,
'They cross a stream in single file; One deer lays its head on the back of its forerunner, and the leader changes place often.
'In these ways they carry one another's load, and show us how to bear burdens of our sisters and brothers.
'In this way is fulfilled the law of Jesus Christ.'
The bishop having now pursued the Word, the stadium resounds with the splash of feetthrough a stream.
— Ted Witham
Guardian priest
[Dedicated to the late Father John Wardman]
Darkness blacks my sight, blinds me:
My mind must prefigure the form of an altar,
A glimmer beyond this invisible table is made only
of light insubstantial, a guess at a human shape.
[For every human being has their creation
From parts invisible; of dropsies in profusion,
A miracle of essential molecules and shining microbes,
Who come to light only in formation.]
This human-shape comes into focus,
Moves with practised grace behind the altar.
Kindly hands summon Blood and Mass.
Dawn comes. Light drives away the dark.
The priest of light sparks and departs.
— Ted Witham
The doubter
Here you are with me again
my shadow companion
my iron clad lover I can't undress.
I've been seducing you for years,
but even with the cleverest words
and the most desperate charm,
you're always cold and unreachable.
You back away when I come near.
When I turn to leave you follow
wrapped in a thick cloud —
a mystery within a mystery.
How can I love you?
There's no communication here.
Sometimes I see your lips trembling,
but what's the message quivering in your granite throat?
'I love you? I need you? I'm sorry? It's over ... '
I can't tell.
Your face is a finished sculpture.
Your eyes are staring stones.
I've married a woman I didn't want
but have courted all my life.
I've wooed you with wildflowers.
I've whispered honeyed words
while my fingers shouted passion on your skin.
But how long can I wait for a smile?
And how long can you stare without seeing me?
If I put my ear to your chest what would I hear?
The wind hissing in a broken shell?
The sputtering of an old pump?
What will end this bloodless marriage?
Desertion, death, an affair?
No, I'll tell you.
Someday when you least expect
I'll turn around in mock rage
and cast off this heavy despair
with a jeering laugh.
Then I'll enter your cloud
take your steely limbs in