Today, another poem from Steve Page. Heaven is a concept many of us struggle with – it is one of those abstract ideas that has perhaps been too often abused by institutional, colonised faith structures. This poem might just set you free from that kind of heaven.
Coronation heaven
You said no heart has imagined,
but you gave a few hints
of a massive mansion, a river
and a fruit tree with 12 varieties,
sprouting monthly.
You said we couldn’t imagine
what you’ve got prepared,
but I can’t imagine anything beats
a Coronation Chicken sandwich,
with Branston,
on a warm summer’s afternoon
with friends and laughter
and Monty’s head
resting hopefully on my knee.
You called it paradise
and you mentioned wine.
If that comes with a new body –
one that doesn’t protest
to a fine Merlot
then that’ll be fine with me.
That would be paradise.
That’ll be heaven indeed.
So long as you don’t forget
the Coronation Chicken
and the pickle.
[1 Cor 2.9 … no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him.]
