A bit of Sunday Assembly poetry

Regulars out there will know that we’re lucky enough to have a resident poet in our congregation. Rosa sometimes performs poems she’s written especially for our assemblies, based on that month’s theme.

Well, it’s about time some of her wonderful creations were immortalised here, so everyone can enjoy them as often as they like!

Our judgey judgey culture is all-pervading,
Whether it be the immigrants invading
And stealing our jobs, on the scrounge.
It comes through our telly, it sits in our lounge
Or judging the judgers, the other way round.

Knowing what to accept, that’s the tricky bit.
What’s that AA thing? It’s got God in it.
About grace and wisdom for knowing when
It’s something to change, or then again
Just to accept: every day Zen

Cause the Buddhists are all over this particular one.
You contemplate, accept and then you move on.
Zen master I’m not though, although I have tried
To accept such things as my father who died
And chances untaken; my shame I can hide

From the world but not from myself
As life moves on, this cluttered mental shelf
Full of bugbears that need dealing with;
They sit, become mouldy, there’s no healing it.
The anger, resentment leave me reeling a bit


Start small I reckon with every day stuff,
Take deep breaths for the smooth and the rough;
The IKEA delivery, it’s not come,
That recurring disagreement you have with your mum
That extra fat layer you have on your tum.

The wisdom of Disney to just Let It Go,
An emotional frisbee that you can throw.
Don’t let it fester, clear out the inside,
Say fare thee well to resentment besides,
A spiritual laundry, all washed out and dried.

This is my play within my week
No skipping rope, no hide and seek
Just pen and paper, words and rhythm
Skip and seek the poem hidden

Underneath the every day
Mundane worries stripped away
Wait and leap on thoughts and rhymes
All been used a thousand times.

So this, and then sorry to say
Like many adults here today
A glass of booze, or two, or three
And who comes out? A playful me.

The life and soul, I have been known
To find the bruises getting home,
The only proof on shaky Sunday;
Saturday, must have been a fun day.

Who here can say they haven’t used
The demon drink to be amused
By each other’s playful side?
A cheekiness we often hide

In the humdrum of the day-to-day
Too kowtowed to peel away
The sensible and adult masks
Ensuring we complete the tasks.

My child though is no greater gift,
An opportunity to lift
The modest skirts of adultness
And put my play skills to the test.

We bounce about, we laugh and sing.
We play act monster, witch and king.
And in that moment, if you commit
To acting like a total twit

All ego can be left behind,
We open up our just now mind.
We need to play; it is a break
From all the promises we make.

So act the fool, laugh and tickle,
Roll around, embrace the fickle!

Thanks, Rosa!

And if there are any other closet poets out there who fancy sharing something at an assembly, do get in touch. We’d love to hear from you!





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