Tom Simard

Poetry, Music, and Prose

Sketch 5: A Priest of the Faith

Many of the poems I write are only partly autobiographical or factual, if you will.  A Priest of the Faith is one such.

My father lived just up the street from a small Catholic Cemetery, mostly made up of French-Canadian settlers, and being Catholic would with his best friend, help pick weeds and what have you. At the time, the area was rural (as in rural juror). If you saw the location today you would have never guessed there were farm fields all about and that the area was once considered out in the boondocks. My father’s friend would grow up to be a priest.

My dad was quiet, but Father G. was a yapper, and would go on for hours if you’d let him.  One gets the impression that the Apostle Paul was a talker as well, whose fall on the road to Damascus is said by some to be the result of epilepsy. In old Ireland the illness was known as Saint Paul’s disease.

Father G. was, you should know, a collector of mushrooms, a food I love to eat but would honestly prefer to eat okra rather than pick them.  It’s not that I have any aversion toward manual labor (okay, a little), but I’m just concerned I don’t accidentally poison myself.

To be honest, I don’t recall at all where the “cursing the midnight moon” comes from – I suppose my imagination had him picking them at night. Perhaps, I was influenced by Thomas Hardy.

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4 thoughts on “Sketch 5: A Priest of the Faith

  1. I’m curious to know what has sprung up in place of the boondocks. Is it a neighborhood or a shopping plaza? A gas-station?

    And what happened to the graveyard? If movies have taught me anything, it’s that one oughtn’t build over a cemetery. However, given the nature of the dead, I’d say there’s a more than fair chance the spirits would capitulate in the event you got hostile with them.

    As a youth, my experiences with mushrooms were strictly recreational, but with time, I’ve come to appreciate them a little more. They’re beautiful, for one thing. Some, like the portabello (spell-check tells me that’s wrong, but won’t offer an alternative, and I’d rather type this explanation than make the token effort to look it up) seem to have a variety of interesting uses.

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  2. No more neighborhood. Freeways, an airport, stores.
    Yes, one must never build over a cemetery! It’s still there – a tiny pocket of peace.
    I never experimented with mushrooms but it was more lack of availability rather than willingness. Love their taste.

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  3. I can’t see the like icon on this post either, And I like it.

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  4. Thanks, Sol.
    For a long time I’ve wondered whether or not to have the like icon on my sites. The idea would be that people who aren’t reading what I’ve written will stop visiting. Of course, the disadvantage is that the like icon is handy, and when I visit blogs I more often use it than comment, feeling I don’t have anything particularly original to say.

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