Writers Island - Destiny then Rising

Destiny

It’s June 1908 and the Reverend Macklin Caruthers ascends the steps of the oak pulpit in Saint Bodolphs church in the village of Upper Truelove.

A tall imposing figure of a man, though slightly bent forward as if shouldering the burden of the cross.

The faithful of the village finish their random rendition of Fight the Good Fight and Miss Pargiter sits back exhausted after another of her weekly battles with the ancient wheezing organ.

The Reverend visibly grows as he puffs out his chest, grips the pulpit with his massive hands and bellows the single word ‘DESTINY’. Some jump, some cower, some simply sit there stunned.

‘YOU’ he yells at the timid Miss Pugley. ‘You’ he continued, ‘where does your destiny lie?’ Miss Pugley looks flustered and her blue rinsed head darts left then right as she feels the eyes of the congregation burning into her.

Silence for a second that seems like an hour, then he shoots out his arm and jabs a quavering finger at Rosey Pinkerton who jolts backwards. ‘You will not see your destiny in the bottom of a flagon young woman. REPENT and follow the Lord’

He gazes around the gloomy church as if choosing his next victim. He bends forward then looks straight at young Master Eede who is sitting holding hands with a self–conscious Mary Pullet. Her alabaster cheeks begin to glow the sweetest shade of pink.

The Reverend speaks in a whisper, yet his words fill every hidden nook and dusty cranny. ‘Beware the temptations of the flesh’ he hisses. Then he raises himself up, the veins in his forehead redden, his wrinkled face begins to tremor and his bloodshot eyes bulge. The assembled crowd brace themselves in nervous anticipation as he explodes spitting like a venomous snake.

'FORNICATION. The TEMPTATIONS of the flesh. Let not SATAN determine your destiny’

He thumps the lecturn and his glass of water smashes down on the concrete slabs below.

‘YOU’ he shouts.'YOU and YOU and YOU. Repent and let the LOOORD determine your destiny. Your destiny is determined by CHOICES, not chance’

Then he shrinks, mops his brow, and crosses himself. Calm descends and he spend the next few minutes quietly yet forcefully putting Gods case for following Him in the pursuit of a life leading to nirvana.

Miss Pargiter gathers up her skirts then takes up her position at the organ and attempts the final rousing hymn. The Reverend Macklin Caruthers ambles to rear of the church, blesses his flock, and then shakes each one of them firmly by the hand.

A short while later he sits beside the crackling log fire in the Sword and Shield and downs a well deserved pint of frothing ale in one glugging dribbling slurp.

Rising

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A shimmering sun was rising in the East.

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A fluffy lamb tottered to its feet

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then frolicked in the mist of a golden dawn.

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A lark ascended toward heaven

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and a wisp of smoke from last night’s fire

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drifted lazily into a pale blue sky.

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Sap was rising in springs first shoots of green

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as a waking child blinked at the mornings light,

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rubbed its eyes then rose from its bed.

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All around the word was rising

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to greet a brand new day.

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Listen to my poem here!