Vigils I

How lucky I am
To begin my day this way
To see, and hear, and feel the joy
Of the monks; praying, and chanting, and singing
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him

Odd that I should pitch my focus
On the thirteen amp twin sockets
A metaphor for a working life I knew so well
A switch into a life I really don’t know so so well at all
World without end
World without end

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Alarm

I’m up for Vigils at 6:45
I thought it used to be earlier
Maybe that was in BST
I have showered, made a cup of tea
Looked at a print of Bridge of Sighs
As painted by JMW Turner

I did not sleep well
But no less well than at home
Or in that more traditional stop-over hotel
On the way down here

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In The Middle Of The Night

She never did forgive him
Whatever were his sins
She gave them time to turn
She stoked their fire to burn
Hoping that he might learn
As with stiffness lent to stern

He never did let go
Whatever he thought he’d show
He did this so so many times
He wrote it out, rehearsed his lines
Looked everywhere for the signs
Became the one with the oft repeated rhymes

They never did make a fist
However long they kissed
They were from different grounds
They danced while displaying sounds
They were in the lost and found
Boundless simply to be around

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Handouts

It was the not understanding which saved me
The not understanding protected me through my life

I did not understand what it meant to fall in love
Yet I fell in love, I fell in love over and over again

I did not understand why I had the heartbreak of love
Yet I fell headlong for that torment, time after time

I did not understand that words raise, and rile me
Yet I was raised, or riled, in almost equal measure

I did not understand that I didn’t care for everyone
Yet I did make swift decisions in both directions

I did not understand how to forgive and forget
Only now am I learning that practice

I did not understand
It is the best thing I ever did

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Observations

Do I look to be that man who seeks forgiveness
Or one who turns his compulsions into addictions
Do I seem to be that lost soul who now says:
Please show me the way, this time I will follow
Do I appear to be that untidy man who has lost hope
That is in the sense of tidying oneself up
Do I strike you as that strict person, who states
That all has been done correctly, for it is his way
Do I stand out as the onlooker, that waverer
Who does not know when to stand or sit
Do you believe me to be the non-believer
Who truly has no idea at all whether to sing or to pray

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