Revitalise (Without Revision)

It is almost November
The fallen leaves
Are amusingly blown
Scattered across the cobbles
The unsettled skies clouds drift slowly
Before occasionally opening
To allow the warmth of the sun
To fall upon me

I am sat in the Lavender Garden
At Buckfast Abbey
Just now I have to squint
To shield my eyes from the bright sunlight

The long shadows, from the herbs
And the flowers, edge towards me
They edge
Towards disappearing altogether actually

Shortly I will move into the chapel
Or maybe I will go there
After Conventual Mass
Which today will take place a little later
Because for one thing it is a Sunday
Also because
Sometime during the night
Someone gifted me one extra hour for my sleep

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Rest (Without Rest)

And in this way I rested
By rising early
Taking tea, and biscuits
Sharing Vigils with the Benedictine Monks
Walking to the door
Beside the one, who twirled his rosary beads

Outside, in the new day's light
A short walk
To the Physic Garden
There to read the notes
And to rub the leaves of mint between my fingers
Then to retrace my path

To climb a few stone steps
Take a photograph
Of the Abbey, and the oak tree
From a slightly raised vantage point
Before returning inside
Taking my seat, then writing a few words

Of praise
Of scorn
Almost with a complete
Lack of reasoned understanding
Even with the book of Lauds
Opened and resting, in the palm of my hands

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Later (Without Being Late)

Sunday morning Vigils
Also the clocks have moved
By one hour, into winter-time
So indeed, two extra hours sleep

And three people
On the front benches already
The calling bells have been rung
Also there is an owl, joyously hooting

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Yours (Without Hours)

A man, in a long raincoat
I guess he is here, with his wife
Here, more for the recital
Than for the Vespers

They look like a couple
Of well-to-do Europeans
(Did we used to say foreigners)
Yes, they appear to be reasoned, cultured tourists

The bells chime to signify
That there are three minutes to go
A little bit like the last call
At the Theatre Royal

Yet with only five patrons
Thus far in the congregation
I don't expect there to be much
Of a last minute rush

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Towards Brabeny (Without End)

It feels good to be on higher ground
It feels good to think of you, loving me
For now I can take in the vast horizon
I can countenance the cold wind
Ruffling my hair, and my papers
I can believe that, yes
Those rainclouds may bring rain
But not until the shafts of sunlight
On that faraway, seaward, elliptical skyline
Have lit up our day
No, neither the dull of the decaying ferns
Nor the white-death of the bramble
Can hold back the excitement
Nor the energy
Of the future
For the man who has found love

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