Bath Abbey

Bath Abbey
On that rainy day many years ago
That space also then a shelter
A hideaway from the design education courses
Where we played games, and made mischief
Where we were adults being teenagers

Computing was the new space
Itself to become one hell of a shelter
After those helter-skelter times
With socials and a midnight discotheque
Before the significant police presence

Brought the evening to a close
Dance then was our shelter
Dance, inebriation, and music
Was, for the moment, the food of love
The shelter of lust

This might not have been exactly
As I remember, but it was neat
We did find shelter, we were alive
Inside, and outside
And way beyond our regular shelters

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With the sound of the bell

With the sound of the bell
It is as if
I am in the monastery at Plum Village
Although, as yet
It is not a place where I have ever been
But it is somewhere
Where I feel I would be welcomed

The vibrations
And the slowly decaying hum
Act as a shelter
They are that covered archway
Into the refuge, into the shelter of meditation

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The door-well

The door-well
To the north transept of Bath Abbey
Or looking out
From the rooftops of Durham Cathedral
With a view of Her Majesty’s Prison

A police raid at Sunday night’s discotheque
Was it Van Mildert’s portrait
Which looked down on me
Or was it someone more revered
On the wall in the dining hall

A photograph, of a painting, in a catalogue
I sat on that bench, wearing earphones
A series of plaques
Make the piece named Monument
This was my escape to art as shelter

Another photographer, this one makes a film
To explore yoga, meditation, healing
I tell a friend, also a photographer
About this mindful body of works
To share in the shelter of these images

Another message; about rejection
Or is it about perseverance
Then the grateful words on non-avoidance
If I do not take a risk
Will I find the wonderment of shelter

May Day
Lying on the headland grass
I do have a photograph
When I wore a green and silver shirt
As an emblem for a lover seeking shelter

Who, earlier in the day
If truth be told
Had already
Found his accommodation
Though that photograph is not at hand

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I had been allocated a study bedroom

I had been allocated a study bedroom
Advised that I could use the refectory
And the library, for my study week
Alone at Warwick University

I don’t recollect if I had a choice of where to go
Or of what I, or they, hoped I would achieve
In this time, mostly of solitude
These moments of being the outlier

I cannot remember the halls of residence
Or if there was a Thursday night party
Which there usually is
At Open University Summer Schools

This was my Technology Project year
Almost the conclusion to my BA Honours
Yet it might have been the final straw
To break me away from engineering How often I have found my shelter
In those study-like bedrooms
With bed, desk, window
And next to nothing else

How often have I entered
Through utilitarian doors
To settle myself, to ground myself
In the strangely familiar surroundings

A corridor waits outside
To a kitchen, or a common room
Maybe to a set of stairs
Or directly to the out of doors

I have written there
In longhand, and on computer
I have made, and also received
Telephone calls from lovers

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Mark Chagall

Mark Chagall
Whose stained glass we saw
Last year, in Tudeley Chapel
He died in 1985
He was born in 1887
He was the oldest of the artists
Who died in 1985

You too would find longevity
If you take the time
To sit awhile
In the peace of Tudeley Chapel
As the sunbeams stream through
Moishe Zakharovich Chagall’s
Stained glass windows

You too should discuss humanity
If you arrive
Just after Sunday service
When the congregation
Are no longer congregated
But free to talk
To talk widely and deeply

You too could wait outside
Sit on a bench
In the graveyard
Or wander around this place of shelter
With your SLR camera
Taking photographs
Of this years July flowers

You too may also smile
Be thankful
Be happy
Be peaceful
Be thoughtful
Be at ease
Be here simply to be

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