Home Page

Poetry Gallery

Poetry Contest

Poetry Collections

Writers’ Guidelines

Poetry Book Sales

Poetry Publishing

Poet's Classroom

Writers’ Markets

News & Events

Poet Laureate

Free Contest


about usresourcescommunitylinkscontact us

Sandra Savage

Second Prize: 2013 Utmost Christian Poetry Contest $500

About this Poet:
Sandra Savage was born in Saskatoon and moved to Calgary in 1992. She has studied poetry with Patrick Lane, Richard Harrisson, Micheline Maylor, and Margaret Gibson. She has previously won the Utmost Christian Poetry contest (2011), placed 2nd in the Freefall poetry contest, and was picked for www.versedaily.com. Sandra is an avid birdwatcher..

The Cock Crows for Me

Good Friday: The Solemn Liturgy of The Lord’s Passion
Calgary, Alberta   April 10, 2009

Anti-clockwise procession, Crucifer, Clergy, rewind time two thousand years
that twisted, fate-filled day

I struggle but lose, my friend drags me into Lower Deck Pub, Halifax
the crowd sings along—I don’t sing, especially in public.
We order beer, fish and chips, I’m told of the band, a legend

our congregation becomes the crowd, stands outside, parched,
fierce Jerusalem winds whip sand against our legs, scour them,
white service sheets reflect the sun’s sear, dare us to speak,

last call arrives with our food, the band begins their number, the one,
the crowd has waited, becomes the chorus, faster and faster, their energy
drives them forward, the band calls them to slow down, unheeded

unimaginable words of accusation, we begin quietly, before Pilate, splendidly robed
priests encourage, the mob gains momentum makes the words their own
each line less resistance no resistance embraced believed

I alone sit, but feel myself dragged into the frenzy, feel the anger,
injustice, accusations, feel like I belong with the crowd want to belong
and notice by the final chorus that I am on my feet

impatient the people scuffle their feet want Pilate’s answer wait wait for a decision
will wait no more demand a verdict

on my feet, I scream
with the crowd, I demand

that wasn’t me I didn’t want to
I just followed them they made me 

released onto cold wooden pews    hot wooden benches
I distance myself from that crowd   that ruckus
meekly receive bread and wine  drink beer, eat haddock
make my way out, part of me left behind
brush sand from my clothes, feel new inside

Copyright ©2013 Sandra Savage