Simpler Chapel (Still Without High Church)

That one smile

On that one face

That one fine place

To cause such mischief

That one time

On that one clock

That one sharp shock

To cause such mischief

That one sound

On that one wall

That one late last call

To cause such mischief

That one scent

From that one flower

That one strong power

To cause such mischief

That one breath

On that one nape nerve

That one distinct verve

To cause such mischief

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Complex Chapel (Without High Church)

That one smile

On that one face

That one irreducible place

To cause such mischief

That one time

On that one clock

That one irredeemable shock

To cause such mischief

That one sound

On that one wall

That one irretrievable last call

To cause such mischief

That one scent

From that one flower

That one irresponsible power

To cause such mischief

That one breath

On that one nape nerve

That irreplaceable verve

To cause such mischief

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Pictured (Without Being Framed)

I take photographs

To remind me of the light

To remind me of the season

To remind me of the vulnerability

To say to me

How good it would be if you were here

Sat, on this bench

As we sat, on that bench in Bilbao

Although today

At least here anyway

There are no flâneurs

There are no locals

Walking out, sharing life

Dressed in their Sunday best

Deep in communal conversation

As though there was no tomorrow

Of course, unlike some

We still have all, or at least most

Yes, for certain some, of our tomorrows

Which may well require a form of closer scrutiny

Perhaps a lazy, laconic, poetry video

Of the leaves, slowly drifting to the ground

At Buckfastleigh, or Buckfast Abbey

In the autumn of two-thousand-and-sixteen

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Breakout (Without Breakthrough)

Everywhere there is beauty

Then, from time to time

One steps into a quiet place

Where the light shines less brightly

Of course, by now

I choose not, that is, not on purpose

To visit the darkness too too often

But you know, love, love will have its way

Just as the moss grows

On the tarmacadam path

And the discarded leaves rot

Beside the forsaken branches

Could I just say, that there is room for two

On this fine, and sturdy, bench

Constructed from concrete and oak

Fixed to the floor with galvanised brackets

You may sit here, to listen to the river

Also to absorb the aircraft noise from overhead

Which may once well have transported you

Back to the place of your birth

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Rub Of The Green (Without Calling Time)

I rubbed the mint between my fingers

Then smelt the tangy aroma

I was transported 

To the gardens at Sewerby

Which of course led me to thoughts

Of the cricket field

And our walks, our sitting there

The purifying scent also reminded me

Of how I have neglected the herbs

In our own garden

For it is not enough

To simply buy the cuttings

And the contemporary containers

One, so I see now

Must gift love, and care

If one is ever to understand

How to nurture nature…

Then back into the Abbey

For Sunday's Conventual Mass

Which to my surprise, though not entirely

(For I know of the pretence for providence)

Is a full congregation, of over fifty people

All the pews populated as the Monks enter

For their main event of the week

I get a twinge in my elbow, as I write that

Part of me wants not to stay

For I don't in truth really belong

Nor do I even feel comfortable here

No, I am happier, in the early morning half-light

With the minimalist, escapologist crowd

So I do leave:

I am taking someone else's space, is how 

I justify my absenteeism, wasn't it always thus

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