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lyrics

Chapter 8: The Pulpit

Climbin' up the pulpit, as a ship at sea.
Isolate your sermon, lofty like a priest.
At the prow:
Symbolism now!
So we set the stage
From a random page.

Every affect, image, turning of the leaf
Doesn't carry meaning deeper than the brief
Dropped impression:
Lightness isn't heaven.
But oft it goes,
The tempest of our woes,

Whether a lost, forgotten captain,
Or rebel to shake the wrath of God.

Through the door, a mass of idiosyncrasies:
With the shell of sailors over suit to preach.
Old and bright,
Fascinating sight,
But a man the same,
Don't forget his name,

Whether a lost, forgotten captain,
Or rebel to shake the wrath of God.

© and ℗ 2010 Patrick Shea

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from Call Me Ishmael; volume 4, released January 1, 2010

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all rights reserved

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about

Patrick Shea Brooklyn, New York

Patrick is a nerd, a book lover, a math afficianado, an Ishmael, and an Ahab. He lives in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn with his wife and two daughters. He grew up in Portland, OR; and has also lived in Grinnell, IA (for college); and Austin, TX.

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