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Scenesters
a black coat long in mourning
is our second home
we walk in the shoemaker’s
weary chapel
our liturgy is a bit of bread
and the infinite street
Poèmes sur le thème : chapel
Poèmes sur le thème « chapel » sur Poets.by.
Carnivalesque
if I make filth and love
from that horse the body
I think myself obliged
to think myself happy
and not forget the winds that come
only to entertain us
a choir of voices buried
in one infinite chapel
a window is better than an absence
which disgraces the stone
awake I was angry
to sleep is to give way
The Lasting Supper
A chapel for Chance,
with organ and singing
and a sermon like a supper by proxy,
persuading me while at supper
to supper after supper.
Discovery
early to chapel
the dust is as poor
as a new continent
The River
Blessed pain, I lived in Axe Yard
disturbed by the river, an army without desires,
handsome but poor;
worn chapel of time, made this day.
The Wedding
In this chapel, ten by eight
A wedding.
Guests- ghosts from the past
Crowded – stood mute.
Before the alter of life
I stood
Waiting.
Wedding March played
In silence –
For all gathered
Were deaf.
Do thee, Bala, take her
For your wife?
Will you, Bala, care for her
Feed her, clothe her, cherish her
Till death sets thee apart?
Dread
Beside a chapel I’d a room looked down,
Where all the women from the farms and town,
On Holy-days and Sundays used to pass
To marriages, and christenings, and to Mass.
Then I sat lonely watching score and score,
Till I turned jealous of the Lord next door....
Now by this window, where there’s none can see,
The Lord God’s jealous of yourself and me.
The Nun's Garden
They have made me a lovely garden
With walls that are rugged and gray;
They have filled it with pinks and roses
And lilies that bloom but a day;
But the walls are so high and frowning,
And the paths are so smooth and straight,
And even their smallest winding
Leads straight to the chapel gate.
I have planted a bed of pansies
Along by the chapel wall,
But though I have watered and weeded
They never have blossomed at all.
The sunshine of God cannot fall there,
For the chapel tower is too high;
So under its cold, gray shadow
My poor little blossoms die.