As I took her hand
And together we spoke the words
Peace be with you
I felt a smile fill my face
And enter my whole body
Looking up
I saw two older men
Gesturing across the aisle
Smiling, silently saying to each other
Peace be with you
Those four words made my day
How fine it is
In my sixty-fifth year
Still to be sentimental
Still to be a lover of life
Friday, 15 November 2019
Thursday, 14 November 2019
Walk
Is it right for me to sing of my love
For a lover
Who has not loved me for such a long time
Is it right for me to bring her into these woods
Along a pathway where my new lover
Has already previously trespassed
In anticipation of your answer could I say
I’m with you there, totally wrong
A real turncoat gesture
Wednesday, 13 November 2019
Abbey
In this place
Where I have almost free passage
There is a timeless peace, a serenity
A calm which would put tranquility at ease
Of course there are corners
Where past memories try to conceal themselves
Though, even with space-time at their disposal
They no longer cross my path with any purpose
Because you see, in these grounds
And across the leat, and across the river
There are sights only of my witness
Surges of water, falls of leaves, which only my eyes see
Where I have almost free passage
There is a timeless peace, a serenity
A calm which would put tranquility at ease
Of course there are corners
Where past memories try to conceal themselves
Though, even with space-time at their disposal
They no longer cross my path with any purpose
Because you see, in these grounds
And across the leat, and across the river
There are sights only of my witness
Surges of water, falls of leaves, which only my eyes see
Tuesday, 12 November 2019
Sensory Garden
A secret rose
On Andalusian moss
How warm your winds that greet us
A secret rose
Born of Dartmoor’s frost
How strong the words which beat us
Oh such and such a secret rose
Worn with moss, and hoarse with frost
Carried on the old cold winds to defeat us
Oh much of a muchness of a secret rose
Sworn upon by God, and all others
To first unsettle us, then to unseat us
On Andalusian moss
How warm your winds that greet us
A secret rose
Born of Dartmoor’s frost
How strong the words which beat us
Oh such and such a secret rose
Worn with moss, and hoarse with frost
Carried on the old cold winds to defeat us
Oh much of a muchness of a secret rose
Sworn upon by God, and all others
To first unsettle us, then to unseat us
Monday, 11 November 2019
The New
The organ tuners have departed for lunch
Their temporary apparatus has been moved
To a place out of congregational sight
I wonder at how quiet the new chapel might be
And, now knowing of the old chapel
I wonder why it was built at all
Of course I favour the new
The new is my favourite place
Its stained glass, philosophically, embodies my friend
I go there for peace, and silence
Whereas I sit here for silence, and peace
They are so similar, yet somehow not alike at all
Their temporary apparatus has been moved
To a place out of congregational sight
I wonder at how quiet the new chapel might be
And, now knowing of the old chapel
I wonder why it was built at all
Of course I favour the new
The new is my favourite place
Its stained glass, philosophically, embodies my friend
I go there for peace, and silence
Whereas I sit here for silence, and peace
They are so similar, yet somehow not alike at all
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