Projected Light

The sunlight falls

Onto the roses

Also though the leaded light window

Then over my shoulder’s stitches

To cast its shadows

Onto the long wall with pictures

All across this expanse

The effects of the breeze

On the trees, the leaves, and the hedges

Becomes apparent to be

As if a troupe of ballet dancers

On the rippled sands beside the sea

From a flurry to a calm

In plain sight

Before the crystals cast their light

How else to catch the wind as it breathes

But through the wavering shadows

Of those fleeting autumn leaves

The bronze statue

On the tall lacquer table

Is unmoved by the plant wobbling

Textures of the darkness, shaken

With the light

As on another morning we slowly waken

Hanging On, Falling Off

The rain, and the darkness, this teatime, reminds me that one year I stopped off in another place of religion.

Ostensibly it was to look at the stained glass windows, beside the cloisters, but the light was not so good.

Besides which the contractors were half-way through their renovation work, so the access was somewhat restricted.

Since that time Patisserie Valerie (where I had those sumptuous, warm, Pastéis de Nata) has been through an administration process.

Alas, the branch in which I sheltered from the rain, wondering how long the High Street could survive, has been closed down.

That evening I stayed in a budget hotel, dining in my room, on supermarket take-away food, for my evening meal.

As if I was trying to live out the sublime to the ridiculous, for no other reason than that I thought I could.

Other Methods

The old photographs

Do not wish to be opened

I Skype my son

Who I usually visit during this trip

He points me in the direction

Of a software update

Unfortunately, on this occasion

His guidance was unsuccessful

I did though post an image

Of him with his girlfriend

Walking beside the river

Appearing to be at one with the world

I then had to Zoom

Yes, our monthly Arts get together

Where I showed a piece of writing

About Munch, by Knausgaard

Life in person is different

To being alive behind a screen

Yet our Arts group did come to life

Through the wonder of wi-fi internet

Changes

The plan was

To drive down today

I had booked

To stay seven nights

Well that will have to wait

Maybe in the New Year

I will make another attempt

Although by then, well, who knows

Instead a virtual visit

A stay at home retreat

With a short spell

Of hospitalisation

I could look up my video

Of autumn leaves

Falling slowly from the trees

To land softly on the ground

I could trawl through my photographs

To find the still water

With reflections

Of a life that I have lived

Doing, And Done

That’s it then

We have been to Pisa, Florence and Siena

We have seen those rolling hills

Of Tuscany, with a nod of beauty to Vienna

Not quite as vibrantly verdant

As the advertiser’s imaginary pages

Not so sure that the slant

Lines up, to the hard on the feet stages

But for sure there is something

In the Italian’s passion for religion’s bones

In Pisa, in Florence, in Siena

Everywhere we touched the Catholic’s stones

We are Rome’s new benefactors

Paying our entrance dues

We’ve replaced the communion communication

With our lifelong sprawling queues

We’ve travelled on the railways

Past graffiti and mundane council flats

We’ve rolled our designer suitcases

Over centuries-old stone flags

We’ve been to restaurants and cafés

Eaten gelato, and drunk Peroni too

We’ve tested the art of the Uffizi

Gormley, on the ramparts; he we already knew

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