Two New Malden Poets: Evensong & Psalm

photo Karl Rutlidge

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I’ve been working on a poem for a while to try and capture the grief I’ve felt following the Supreme Court ruling and its aftermath, and an experience of God I had while spending time in Regent’s Park, which is where this photo was taken.

For context, in the early years of my transition, I worked in the head office of Santander, which was round the corner from the park, and I used to walk there most lunchtimes. The other day, after a meeting nearby, I decided to go back there for an evening stroll and for space to reflect.

This poem came out of that experience and was penned during the Writers’ Group at New Malden Methodist Church today. It is called ‘Evensong’:

KARL RUTLIDGE – Evensong

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Are spirits of lives long past found abroad at eventide?
Will shimmers of ethereal silver mingle with low golden sunlight,
dazzling the poet of present through prisms of bitter dark dew?
I peer through the indifferent green where aching heart hides
its agonies, innocent hopes crushed neath night disguised as right
as I watch my younger self cross bridge and fade from my view.

He strode forth with the budding confidence of a sapling
spreading its maiden branches, over tranquil waters transfigured
by glorious beams of midday sun into a mirror of God’s sweetest wonders.
Yet, now, ‘tis as if scars of creeping ivy snake forth, mapping
contours of exhausted disappointment over watery beauty disfigured.
What is Easter hope when wielded against daggers of sharp sinful thunder?

But just as I got up to go, struggling through tears to numbed feet,
a lone starling burst into voice from that bridge’s crafted bar
where new-born man once found radiant life and too sang free.
And in that moment, a heavenly siren broke through grief and didst meet
me there.

The echo of presence in Evensong sounded the subtle hurrah,
as spirited man and Holy Ghost both winked and waved back to me. 

                                                                                                   

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ROGER MURPHY – Psalm of Today

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In Teguchigalpa

The membranes of the earth rupture wide

The muscles and sinews of the earth twist and tear.  

Ten thousand screams of suffering explode.

Bone, cartilege and carcass rent in half.

In villages the milk-soft smell 

Of new-born babes is buried

under scalding volcanic ash.

Everything green, or made of flesh burns,

Sears and chokes as smoking trails

Fall from purple skies.

Yet am I still contemptuous of thee?

In our mouths cloys still

The sweet taste of the bitter tree

Yet am I still contemptuous of thee?

Yet shall I dance the punta

And wreathe myself in frankincense.

Mouths will ope their lips

To cough and speak 

Still will I fill my belly by the waters of Siloam

Slake my thirst in Engedi?

How am I still contemptuous of thee?

Stand with me on the clifftop

Hand in hand with other drunkards

Look down upon the deep waters.

Fill up the turquoise 

Pools of hebanon

With my poisoned tears.

How shall I know you?

Who are you to me?

Am I still contemptuous of thee?

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