White Shirt (Without Doubt)

I entered the chapel

Early on the Friday evening

And, almost immediately

I felt so so good about the next day

I had the security

Of that joy of a Saturday Morning

All clean and seriously refreshed

All of my clothes laundered, and ironed

I am in the knave now

The Monks, and the congregation

Are gradually arriving, as the calling bell tolls

I presume announcing, that it is time for Vespers

There is a beauty

To the light on his silver hair

There is a solemnity

A might of gathered assurance

A certainty also of deeper goodness

As a nun, safely, serenely, and o so silently enters

Why though, I wonder

Am I the only one sat here, on the right side

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Observation (Without Predilection)

I was moved, when my son told me of his feelings, of that night when he and his girlfriend had to walk the streets of London

He explained how he had observed, with a keen eye might I add, the behaviour of the homeless, in the early morning coffee houses, around Victoria Station

He talked of individuals using the wall sockets to re-charge the cheapest of mobile phones, of young women putting on their make-me-fabulous-make-up, with the aid of the reflective window glass; and of others, moving the previous patrons discarded cups, to then be placed in front of themselves, so as also to be considered as patrons

He was surprised, but particularly recognised their youth, and their hopelessness, for as he rightly says:

Out in the countryside one could satisfy ones basic needs, by engaging with nature; by building a shelter from branches, and twigs, and leaves, and moss; by washing, and drinking in the streams; one might even be able to swim in some places

But in the city none of that is possible, and so, for the few hours of that one evening, he felt; no, sorry, they felt, even together they felt, the real fear of becoming destitute

And he asked himself; why do the young people flock to the city, surely not, not as that young man, who had to pull his jumper over his face to sleep, to be here, alone, in one of these, some might say bleak, early morning coffee bars

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Soup (Without Predetermination)

I lifted the latch on the church door, then pushed open the imposing piece of timber

Come in, shouted the voice, but close the door behind you, keep the heat in

I did enter, and I did smell the soup, which the two workmen, sat, at a cloth covered card-table by the altar, were pouring into bowls, from their flasks

I thought to take a photograph, but chose against that, largely for privacy's sake

I thought to talk to them, but decided not to, for they were already in full flow

Instead I determined, to try and remember what a good thing this was, which I had been so so fortunate to witness

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Vertigo (Without Resolution)

Lighthouse, and vertigo 

Radar-ball, and vertigo

Coastal-path, and vertigo

You get to the point

Hartland Point, and vertigo

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Frills (Without Embraces)

It would be wrong of me not to arrest the images of you, scantily clad, in the shortest of frilly skirts

You bring me close to you, and I am unable to stop the thought processes; for miles and miles I am thus absorbed

I even begin to wonder if I will ever be able to shake off these thoughts; what if they were always to stay with me, my eyes feel heavy, my head feels heady

I am driving towards you, albeit, in my own version of the truth, I am driving for a quite different purpose

Hours go by before I reach anywhere near your vicinity

The sadness is scattered to the moorland, the hurt lies on the riverbed, the immense fear, for isn't it the greatest of fears, to be fearful of oneself, is inculcated into the baron landscape

I walk the dark streets, too dark for my camera to develop the warm glow (to the naked eye) of the church clock

As I pass the bus station I make up a story, about my B&B being just behind here, behind this very place, where three times every hour the buses will arrive; to carry out their complicated, and seriously noisy, and intrinsically disturbing, reversing manoeuvres, before they accelerate, with loud aggression, to depart, on their way to who knows where; the buses are empty now, and I expect that will also be the case, many hours later

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