The Vicar Of Syracuse Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

When times got tough in Syracuse
the local Vicar turned to booze.
His cellar guarded by two Spaniels,
was filled with ten year old Jack Daniels.

So, in the evening he would
dress up in robe and outdoor hood
and wander to the House of God.
Not one observer found this odd
as, clearly they could see him carry
the Bible, leather-bound by Mary.

And so it was, by all assumed,
that this well-dressed and neatly groomed,
this man of God would read His word
and that is what the mob preferred.

They paid him to prepare their souls
for distant times, when other roles
would be assigned by the creator,
who did expect all priests to cater
to needs of spiritual dimensions
and find a balance for those tensions
that do reside inside man's chest
as Satan's uninvited guest.

On Sunday mornings they would come,
in droves, a thousand and then some,
to hear the word of God, again.
Proceedings started right at ten.

The incident I want to share
(God did encourage me to bear
true witness to that sinful service)
took place when a dishevelled, nervous,
unshaven Vicar did ascend
while carrying his learned friend,
God's book up to the pulpit's top,
where he then burped and mumbled STOP.

A holy hush soon had affected
the congregation and selected
parts of the outside world as well.
Though faces from the depths of Hell
would be inside and very near:
to tempt, disrupt and interfere
with God's own plans for humankind,
they sowed their seeds inside the mind.

The sermon had begun just then:
'Dear ladies and you gentlemen,
I find you on this day in May
inside this House of God to pray.
I am aware you've congregated
to hear my lengthy, overrated
but practical and useful speech,
which, as it always does, would teach
to those of you with open hearts
as well as gigolos and tarts
what is expected of us humans.

However, I must say the lumens
that from this lantern emanate,
do represent a sorry state;
Try as I might, I cannot see
MY NOTES, I also need to pee,
and must be careful not to pass
on my descent some sewer gas! '

You could have heard the smallest pin
dropp into the collection tin!
They sat and waited, as in trance
perhaps the priest would change his plans?

Then lightning struck the ancient bell
which prompted its lead-copper shell
to play its melody from Heaven.
The time was twenty to eleven.

A voice resounded from the spire
(but did originate much higher) ,
'My sheep, I am your only God,
and, some of you may find it odd
that I have come to speak to you,
Perhaps you have received a clue
from the behaviour of your priest,
who loves the spirit made by yeast
and, once again, has spent the night
with Jack. He's higher than a kite! '

The folks were silent and in awe
and now expected that His law
would, without merci, strike their father,
when God spoke up, ' I shall not bother
to punish someone who lies prone,
we do take care of all our own.'

And, with the flick of his small finger
he told the Vicar not to linger
and caused his liver to defuse
two hundred grams of potent booze.

The sermon then commenced, oh yes.
The Vicar, eager to confess,
and grateful to his Lord of course,
talked, at great length about remorse.

Meanwhile, God left, back to his Heaven,
it was two minutes to eleven.
Though no one knew that a tradition
had been in place since Prohibition.
In his recliner God leaned back
An angel served him ice-cold Jack.