Free Clay Pots and Bones by Lindsay Marshall

The Church of the Council
    The room was packed with faces,
    young and old, from near and far,
    all here for one purpose – to discuss
    the state of affairs of the religion of
    The Church of the Council which
    was affiliated with The Thirteenth
    House of Whoever Was in Power.
    This was an annual event which drew
    many to hear the words of the old
    and wise ones who were elected to
    their positions on The Church of
    The Council. The Church was a
    not-for-profit organization and seldom
    ever in fiscal shape due to the
    lack of fiscal restraint and exercise.
    Now the white-haired ones
    had a plan but in order for this plan
    to pass and be implemented, it needed
    the support of the dark-haired ones
    who were the majority and unruly.
    The Speaker rose from his great seat
    and began to address the congregation
    in a slow and deliberate manner.
    The speech was long and between
    naps the wisest of the wise heard the
    words and was slowly lulled to his
    usual spot in dreamland, which was
    far more interesting than the speech
    of the Speaker, entering its second
    full hour. Then at the exact time when
    the Speaker was to launch his third
    hour, a sound was heard from the back of
    the room. A dark-haired one stood. The room
    fell quiet as he made his way to the
    centre of the Great Hall and stopped amidst
    the rows of white-haired ones to his right
    and dark-haired ones to his left. All were
    facing the Great Chair in which sat the
    Speaker who was shocked into silence at
    being so rudely interrupted. He sat with
    his hands and mouth open in mid-sentence.
    The dark-haired one said in a loud, clear
    voice that everyone in the hall heard,
    â€œI have sat here and listened to the Speaker
    for two full hours and yet I have not
    heard anything I have not heard before.
    These points that he makes can be found
    in the minutes from last year’s assembly.
    I suspect as usual the only person who has
    read the minutes is the person who has copied
    in quill our script. My question is this: why do
    keep repeating the same things year after year?”
    With this simple question the room exploded
    with more questions similar in nature.
    As quickly as they came, they went their separate
    ways, never to meet again. The Church of the
    Council was expelled from The Thirteenth House
    of Whoever Was in Power.

Rain falling slowly on my
    Red Native Canadian back.
    Sensations evoke a soft
    Touch of a woman I knew,
    Once, only once.
    Once, Only Once

Once, Only Once
    Rain falling slowly on my
    Red Native Canadian back.
    Sensation evokes the soft
    touch of a woman I knew,
    once, only once.
    Warm caress of cloud water
    spreading throughout.
    A lonely large drop sliding
    down my shoulder past
    the curve of my back
    Falling and hitting the deck.

Idling
    Sitting with idling thoughts,
    intangible mind pollution.
    Eyes like glass steaming up.
    drawing fleeting images.
    Fiery orb staring down
    from its distant height,
    changing everything to its
    terms and conditions,
    effecting and affecting
    my outlook inside this
    cranium capsule of time.

Tasks and Demands
    I walk into my cluttered space,
    screen stares back, waiting
    for tasks and demands.
    A call comes in from a member
    who is dissatisfied with her lot
    and wants to spend an hour in
    confessional, but I have no collar.
    When we finish, she talks with
    less strain while my shoulders
    sag under her adopted burdens.
    Someone knocks.
    Screen flashes warnings as
    flying windows dance across
    the single cube-like glass eye.
    Another soul starts with shouts,
    anger pulsing through his veins.
    Stories of leaking windows,
    dripping taps and front end jobs
    on a new car purchased with a
    child-tax-credit downpayment. No
    questions, just money and the first
    month free from payment or guilt.
    Potholes causing wear and tear.
    â€œHow can I get my cheque
    when the roads are so bad?”
    I answer, “We’ll try harder next time.”
    He shouts, “My vote I’ll keep,
    you’ll not get it this