Thoughts And Sin Mcmlxxi Poem by Terry Collett

The French peasant monk
sharpened his scythe on a stone,

des choses
simples avec Dieu he said,

his calloused hands
did their task
with simplicity,

to one who has faith
no explanation is necessary
Thomas said,

bring wine when you come
she said I perform better
under its power
in bed that is,

I watched the peasant monk
as he sharpened his scythe
mine was less used
less blunt,

omnia enim possibilia
sunt apud Deum
Dom James said
as we brought apples
to the kitchen,

Gregorian chant sounded
from wall to wall
in the church at midday
as the office of Sext began,

George spoke of the chill
at dawn entering
the church how it
got to his bones,

Hugh pushed
the tea trolley onto
the cloister garth
after the office of None
his thin features
and thin hands
gripped the trolley handle
white knuckled,

dalle piccole cose
grandi cose vengono
the Italian monk said
holding a coffee bean
in the palm
of his hand,

she held
my small thing
in the palm
of her hand and said
see it grows
from small things
big things come
and laughed,

vines and trees
will teach you that
which you will never learn
from masters Bernard said,

Dom Joe(dear Bunny)
screwed up his nose
as he thought and said
God has a plan
for each of us but leaves us
to find it out,

his scythe sharp
the peasant monk swiped
the tall grass
his motion fluid
his head poised
as a dancer,

my prayer life was
as a puddle
shallow and murky
and I stirred it
with the fingers
of my words,

for a truly religious man
nothing is tragic
Gareth said quoting
Wittgenstein as we sat
on the beach watching
the tide coming in,

where I stood the waters
touched my life
and thoughts
and sin.