Today my shelter will be of the past
That one euphoric period of my being
Which today’s memoir tells me
Did not go on forever
It was a time with an inauspicious beginning
Or at least a past emerging from a darker past
To kick things, at least so I was thinking
As I struggled to find my way in
Instead I break off, go outside
To tear myself away from despondency
With no expectations, or baggage
And there I see a fresh morning in its glory
After what seems like weeks of rain
There is an absolute brightness
To the day, to the outlook
Such that my spirits are all immediately lifted
My belief in myself that I can survive
Indeed prosper in this thing we call life
Yet it is a view which I see almost every day
Yes so so very often I open that particular door
To step outside into our own little world
An old refurbished structure, once a stables
Now a sort of adults playroom
For writers, meditators, painters and musicians
A place where in a couple of hours
There will be bacon sandwiches and coffee
A time for writers to chat, to write, to chat
As if the world needs someone to sort it out
But, leading up to all of that cacophony
Which to some may be a symphony
I have the cool air to breathe
I have the new day to see in
Thursday, 13 February 2020
Wednesday, 12 February 2020
Today my shelter is the future
Today my shelter is the future
For tomorrow I go to Buckfast Abbey
To sleep monastic side
In the monk’s guest-bedrooms
All there will be silence
Silence as a shelter
Silence as a virtue
Silence as a way of carrying on
Yet nature will not gift me silence
Indeed quite the opposite
As I walk beside the gushing river
Listening to the undoubted mass of birdsong
My shelter will also be in the routine
The daily prescriptions of
Matins, Lauds, Conventual Mass
Before evenings of Vespers and Compline
For certain I will have the shelter of books
Books for reading, books for writing
I will often find my own word shelter
In the stained-glass Chapel also in the Abbey
And, because this is a trip to Devon
I will see my youngest son
There will be a smile
Along with amusing conversation
So not all of this shelter will be silence
Although in Dartington’s meditation garden
I hope to find peace, I hope to find calm
I hope to enjoy my own contemplations
My future shelter is also in my automobile
Six hours driving, in each direction
With lots of good music on the stereo
And maybe a shopping retreat along the way
For tomorrow I go to Buckfast Abbey
To sleep monastic side
In the monk’s guest-bedrooms
All there will be silence
Silence as a shelter
Silence as a virtue
Silence as a way of carrying on
Yet nature will not gift me silence
Indeed quite the opposite
As I walk beside the gushing river
Listening to the undoubted mass of birdsong
My shelter will also be in the routine
The daily prescriptions of
Matins, Lauds, Conventual Mass
Before evenings of Vespers and Compline
For certain I will have the shelter of books
Books for reading, books for writing
I will often find my own word shelter
In the stained-glass Chapel also in the Abbey
And, because this is a trip to Devon
I will see my youngest son
There will be a smile
Along with amusing conversation
So not all of this shelter will be silence
Although in Dartington’s meditation garden
I hope to find peace, I hope to find calm
I hope to enjoy my own contemplations
My future shelter is also in my automobile
Six hours driving, in each direction
With lots of good music on the stereo
And maybe a shopping retreat along the way
Tuesday, 11 February 2020
The shelter is in the doing
The shelter is in the doing
Yesterday the shelter
Was to be found in the being
In the being which precedes the doing
The being who reblogged photographs
Who posted poetry with pictures
Towards all four corners of the world
The shelter is in the adsorption
Yes, this shelter is found by being absorbed
Fully absorbed in the doing
The doing which also includes meditation
After writing at the standing desk
Writing words for no one else’s consumption
The shelter is in taking the photograph
Of turning the photographs into a book
Or at least into a book cover
Achieved by rotating and cropping
By being in there with the decision making
This way or that, that way or this
The shelter is in the deep listening
Listening to the Drawn in Pale Light playlist
Music then
Along with the leaves and branches
Providing a canopy for the settled soul
Before bumping into something more esoteric
Which takes one to the jazz night
That night when the shelter was the jazz night
Jazz on a boat, on a boat on the river
Yet with a group of individuals
Who right now
I can hardly remember any of
So better perhaps to return
To return, return to the being
And the doing of that shelter
Yesterday the shelter
Was to be found in the being
In the being which precedes the doing
The being who reblogged photographs
Who posted poetry with pictures
Towards all four corners of the world
The shelter is in the adsorption
Yes, this shelter is found by being absorbed
Fully absorbed in the doing
The doing which also includes meditation
After writing at the standing desk
Writing words for no one else’s consumption
The shelter is in taking the photograph
Of turning the photographs into a book
Or at least into a book cover
Achieved by rotating and cropping
By being in there with the decision making
This way or that, that way or this
The shelter is in the deep listening
Listening to the Drawn in Pale Light playlist
Music then
Along with the leaves and branches
Providing a canopy for the settled soul
Before bumping into something more esoteric
Which takes one to the jazz night
That night when the shelter was the jazz night
Jazz on a boat, on a boat on the river
Yet with a group of individuals
Who right now
I can hardly remember any of
So better perhaps to return
To return, return to the being
And the doing of that shelter
Monday, 10 February 2020
In this morning’s Meditation
In this morning’s Meditation
I thought of the waiter
In the outdoor bar in Florence
How did he get to that place
Why did he leave his home
Where did he live in Croatia
Whose national football team he loved
Whose people he was so proud of
Whose needs he could not yet satisfy
Where does he go to in Firenze
When his day shift is completed
Or does he work late into the night
Surely his shelter
Is not in a Medici palace
Or even a four-star five-star hotel
His spirit comes alive with conversation
He is sharp with a swift humorous retort
Which makes the four of us smile
Yet he doesn’t quite share
In the shelter of our covered table
From which soon we will get up and leave
Is this his vacation workplace
Does he have family, children perhaps
I hope he finds a shelter which suits him
I thought of the waiter
In the outdoor bar in Florence
How did he get to that place
Why did he leave his home
Where did he live in Croatia
Whose national football team he loved
Whose people he was so proud of
Whose needs he could not yet satisfy
Where does he go to in Firenze
When his day shift is completed
Or does he work late into the night
Surely his shelter
Is not in a Medici palace
Or even a four-star five-star hotel
His spirit comes alive with conversation
He is sharp with a swift humorous retort
Which makes the four of us smile
Yet he doesn’t quite share
In the shelter of our covered table
From which soon we will get up and leave
Is this his vacation workplace
Does he have family, children perhaps
I hope he finds a shelter which suits him
Sunday, 9 February 2020
I Heard Yesterday
I heard yesterday
That a friend of mine is seriously ill
He has been referred to a charitable hospice
I donated a small amount
A very small amount I’m afraid
But now I know more of his condition
Will he find his place of shelter
Should I visit him in his shelter
If so for what; surely not to write poetry
I have been transitory in his life
He has closer friends
He has a loving caring and devoted family
I did read his poetry this morning
I wrote to him to say how I remembered
His rehearsal for his spoken words
We were no more than a dozen
In an upstairs room
Belonging to the Victoria Inn in Lincoln
We read words, we wrote words
We shared a camaraderie
Which continues there to this day
I have not been for several years
But follow the group on social media
A physical shelter has become a cyber shelter
I do have friends who are religious
Though my friend of today was not that
Instead he found shelter in doing
He found shelter in being
Being playful, being mischievous,
Being adventurous
I hope that his new shelter
Serves some of these purposes
And prolongs his perspicacity
That a friend of mine is seriously ill
He has been referred to a charitable hospice
I donated a small amount
A very small amount I’m afraid
But now I know more of his condition
Will he find his place of shelter
Should I visit him in his shelter
If so for what; surely not to write poetry
I have been transitory in his life
He has closer friends
He has a loving caring and devoted family
I did read his poetry this morning
I wrote to him to say how I remembered
His rehearsal for his spoken words
We were no more than a dozen
In an upstairs room
Belonging to the Victoria Inn in Lincoln
We read words, we wrote words
We shared a camaraderie
Which continues there to this day
I have not been for several years
But follow the group on social media
A physical shelter has become a cyber shelter
I do have friends who are religious
Though my friend of today was not that
Instead he found shelter in doing
He found shelter in being
Being playful, being mischievous,
Being adventurous
I hope that his new shelter
Serves some of these purposes
And prolongs his perspicacity
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