Amos goes to the evening service

Where is this worship that you speak of?
I only see formulae

Carefully constructed sets
To lull us into peace
But I have developed resistance
To this musical Calpol.

Away with the sound of your feasts
What does the Lord require of you?
Justice. Mercy. Humility.
Give him more than three chords.

Do your duty beyond the sanctuary:
At the food bank box and the bank,
In the office on Monday morning.
Give him the first fruits of your labour
And your last thought at night.

Lift your voice to the Lord
Not just when there is a screen
But when there is sinister silence
Surrounding the needs of the hurting.

This is your spiritual act of worship;



Make me a polytunnel of your peace

You speak as if we are an orchard

And you’d have us all bearing fruits

But it’s one thing to look at the branches

Another the soil at the roots.


You want us to grow and develop

And that’s all very good I suppose

But we can’t really force that to happen

Because fruit just naturally grows.


My hair’s getting longer each minute

Because I try to healthily eat

But I can’t make it do it by wanting

Or stop when it reaches my feet.


Our lives ARE for being productive

But we’re not just “producing or dead”

Let’s not talk of hothousing people

Let’s flourish as free range instead.