Tag Archives: Priests

Father Bunting – a Cut-Out Poem

This Cut-Out thing is the first half-decent use of an abandoned story draft, and a first, therefore, in the words being cut out of my own. This un-hip priest is a cut-out too: out of the priests that lurked in our upbringing; the … Continue reading

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Checking in at Church on Christmas Day

Bless me Father, for I have sin… cerely not been inside this old church in twenty years, perhaps. The big brick parish barn across from the Arndale Centre; Christmas Day, a funny one this year, apart from my B., and … Continue reading

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