I rise, I shower, I dress
I am ready for Vigils
Ready to hear
The prayer, the song, the chant
In effect to be in the here and the now
Yet also to retreat, to escape
Into the land of beauty
Into the world I do not know
I will leave today
But hope to return in springtime
Yes, to see the gardens, and the river
As they return out of winter
Brief as my stay has been
I have found peace
I have wandered freely
I have been at one
I will take that with me
To recreate, in my own backyard
But, I am also certain, that whatever I take away
Will in no way deplete the stocks
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Wednesday, 20 November 2019
Tuesday, 19 November 2019
Plead
I don’t want to be
I don’t want to be
I don’t want to be
So lost for ideas
Especially
After reading from
Jonathan Steadall’s book
Where on Earth is Heaven
I should be preparing a letter
To send to the BBC
Asking them, with some determination
To take his films out of the vaults
Show them again why don’t you I ought to say
For nothing much has changed
Show them again why don’t you
For the searcher’s search still goes on
We are all, all looking for something
We are all, all a little bit lost of song
We are indeed all looking for our very own heavens
Or at least, for what it is that is right, or wrong
I don’t want to be
I don’t want to be
So lost for ideas
Especially
After reading from
Jonathan Steadall’s book
Where on Earth is Heaven
I should be preparing a letter
To send to the BBC
Asking them, with some determination
To take his films out of the vaults
Show them again why don’t you I ought to say
For nothing much has changed
Show them again why don’t you
For the searcher’s search still goes on
We are all, all looking for something
We are all, all a little bit lost of song
We are indeed all looking for our very own heavens
Or at least, for what it is that is right, or wrong
Monday, 18 November 2019
Yelp
Never to be 01:20
Surely it’s later than that
What with the ears ringing
And the frozen shoulder saying
Don’t forget it is I where it is at
Where the pain is at
To be, ever to be more precise
I pour out a pot of tea
From the flask
It might be warm
It is warm, but nourishing
No, I doubt that
So I will go home tomorrow
Either that
Or I will go half mad
To carry on
With these lunatic’s ravings
Earlier
At night stop two
After one hours sleep
I had a line to write
For that part of this broken brightness
It was exactly where the pain was at
To be, ever to be, more precise
Surely it’s later than that
What with the ears ringing
And the frozen shoulder saying
Don’t forget it is I where it is at
Where the pain is at
To be, ever to be more precise
I pour out a pot of tea
From the flask
It might be warm
It is warm, but nourishing
No, I doubt that
So I will go home tomorrow
Either that
Or I will go half mad
To carry on
With these lunatic’s ravings
Earlier
At night stop two
After one hours sleep
I had a line to write
For that part of this broken brightness
It was exactly where the pain was at
To be, ever to be, more precise
Sunday, 17 November 2019
Departures
Tonight may be my last night here this year
And thus my last Vespers
I am thinking of driving home tomorrow evening
I know it is a six hour drive
And I know that I won’t set off much before five
For tomorrow I am meeting up with my son
And I have no desire to curtail, or foreshorten
What little time we share together
As I write this it is becoming self-prophetic
What is the point of spending another night
Of broken sleep, here in the monastery
When I could be home with you
There you see, it seems almost settled
All I have to do is make the time to pack the car
Sometime between Vigils, and Lauds perhaps
Or maybe after Lauds would be less of a rush
Only eight in tonight’s Vespers congregation
And six of those, myself included
Are residents in the monastic quarters
We may feel that we have an obligation to fulfil
Of the remaining two, one came half way through
I won’t then stay for Friday night Vespers
But I rather hope they have a better congregation
What with it being the weekend and all that
And thus my last Vespers
I am thinking of driving home tomorrow evening
I know it is a six hour drive
And I know that I won’t set off much before five
For tomorrow I am meeting up with my son
And I have no desire to curtail, or foreshorten
What little time we share together
As I write this it is becoming self-prophetic
What is the point of spending another night
Of broken sleep, here in the monastery
When I could be home with you
There you see, it seems almost settled
All I have to do is make the time to pack the car
Sometime between Vigils, and Lauds perhaps
Or maybe after Lauds would be less of a rush
Only eight in tonight’s Vespers congregation
And six of those, myself included
Are residents in the monastic quarters
We may feel that we have an obligation to fulfil
Of the remaining two, one came half way through
I won’t then stay for Friday night Vespers
But I rather hope they have a better congregation
What with it being the weekend and all that
Saturday, 16 November 2019
Script
I came here to retreat
To spend time with the monks
To write, to read, to walk
To take photographs
I asked the old monk could I take his photograph
Why would you want to do that he replied
Well, last year my partner came with me
She saw you in the refectory
She spoke highly of you
So I wanted her to know that you were alive, and well
What did she say exactly, the old monk asked
What did your partner say about me
Oh, she said you had a presence, an authority
She thought you showed great empathy
For ordinary people; actually she also said
That you were a vigorous social animal
To which I reminded her that you were in fact a monk
The old monk stopped me, almost an interjection
Look son, take your blessed photograph, right now
And mail it immediately, to your farseeing partner
I took his photograph, we shared a coffee
He asked about my partner
I said you were kind, caring, generous, loving
Is she beautiful he asked, with a glint in his eye
Yes she is beautiful I said
But right now, now it is time for me to be going
To spend time with the monks
To write, to read, to walk
To take photographs
I asked the old monk could I take his photograph
Why would you want to do that he replied
Well, last year my partner came with me
She saw you in the refectory
She spoke highly of you
So I wanted her to know that you were alive, and well
What did she say exactly, the old monk asked
What did your partner say about me
Oh, she said you had a presence, an authority
She thought you showed great empathy
For ordinary people; actually she also said
That you were a vigorous social animal
To which I reminded her that you were in fact a monk
The old monk stopped me, almost an interjection
Look son, take your blessed photograph, right now
And mail it immediately, to your farseeing partner
I took his photograph, we shared a coffee
He asked about my partner
I said you were kind, caring, generous, loving
Is she beautiful he asked, with a glint in his eye
Yes she is beautiful I said
But right now, now it is time for me to be going
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