Coffee And Bread 1971 Poem by Terry Collett

I sat in the refectory
for the first time
a monk was reading
from some book
on Queen Mary Tudor,

Deus videt in corde meo,

visitors sat in the center table
surrounded by monks
and no one spoke
except the monk reading
from a high platform
his voice in monotones,

and she spread herself
on the bed
legs wide
and said
enter my port,

Hugh talked of singing
in unison as if I wasn't
as if he hadn't chanted
like a cow in labour,

he should knoweth that
whoever undertakes
the government of souls
must prepare himself
to account for them
Benedict said,

I watched the monk
limp along the cloister
head bowed
and carrying a spade
head to one side,

bell rang from bell tower
God's voice Dom Charles said
picking apples
in the abbey orchard,

she spoke in that soft tone
she had velvety silky
and kissed me over and over,

Dieu ne se trompe pas
the French monk said
clipping the hedge
by the garden wall
and passing me
the clippings,

tolled bells rang out
across the cloister garth
and George spoke
of priesthood at some time,

the scent of incense
as I entered the church after Terce
and sunlight in the high windows,

Gott im Mauerwerk
the Austrian monk said
rubbing fingers down
the brickwork in the cloister
feel Him he added
and I did,

it is not enough to possess
a good mind but to use it well
Gareth said by the abbey beach
quoting Descartes,

Dom Joseph(dear Bunny)
smiled his broad smile
like a sun rising at dawn,

the abbot tapped
on the table
and the reader
ceased reading
and prayers were said,

after Lauds
I made my way
for black coffee
and brown bread.