Granite God

I’ve never seen this fruit in growth -

I cannot even spell its name;

my youth spent climbing Dartmoor’s tors

embedded granite in my store.

As for the walls, damp mossy roof,

this village chapel (I first saw) -

that conifer, aspiring spire -

I felt at home, with apple store,

the seeded core, west country moors.

I thought of Culbone, smallest church,

attending during scout camp near,

below a purple headed mount,

for ‘All things bright and beautiful’,

the children’s hymn was written here.

Be ‘rich man in his castle’ damned,

though not that poor man at his gate -

no god made them high or lowly,

still less god ordered their estate.

Perhaps pōmum grānātum fruit

was seeded apple, Eden’s tree,

as sins, forefathers, farthest reach -

for god is in man’s image made?

While much achieved, small acts of faith

for humankind and nature’s life,

religion also weaponised,

triumphalism, as god claimed,

possession of the chosen few.

Culbone Church, Exmoor