Reads: 101  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 21, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 21, 2016



Dom Higgs came to the room
and spoke to me
of the monastic life
it was late evening
and the shutters were closed
so no moon no stars,

est forma mortis he said,

moon glow by bell-tower
especially after Compline
and the haunting looking cloister,

and she said her husband
wouldn't be home for hours
and there was time for it
so we did,

the French peasant monk
peeled onions
in the kitchen
peler sous l'eau he said,

I cut the grass
around the gravestones
of the monks
and flattened out
molehills before
the hour of Sext,

flying from the pains of hell
we desire
to reach life everlasting
Benedict said,

Hölle ist hier
the German monk said
pointing to his chest
with his thick finger,

Hugh made the chair
in the guest house
I saw it there
after he told me
he was no Charles Mackintosh
but it served it's purpose,

sancta Maris audi nos
Dom Peter whispered
in the cloister while waiting
to enter the church for Vespers
his voice thick as treacle
but pure as soft snow,

she undressed for me
with the skill of a whore
I a youth unravelling
the apple as Adam had,

Dom Charles sat
in the refectory at supper
his face still as a china doll
his eyes stern
and unblinking maybe
God-ward thinking,

Dio è con noi
the Italian monk said
as he showed me
how to sharpen the scythe
his hands powerful
fingers gripping the stone,

non veniam sine poenitentia,

the ultimate value of life
depends upon awareness
and the power
of contemplation
rather than upon
mere survival
Gareth said
quoting Aristotle
as we sat in the novice room
after Terce,

stars above me
moon bright as ghostly ship
I walked the drive way
letting curses let slip.

© Copyright 2018 dadio. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


More Religion and Spirituality Poems