Bad Thoughts And Fears Mcmlxviii Poem by Terry Collett

Dom Thomas
sat in an armchair
and smiled
his large eyes sparkled
parlare con Dio come si
fa per me he said
I said I would try,

smell of incense
in the cloisters
after mass
as I walked to the library
to help sort books,

the tall thin monk
shaved wood slivers
off the block in a vice,

I watched his hands
grip the tool he said
le travail de Dieu est
tout bon travail,

the work of God
is all good work
I mused later
mowing the grass
behind the church
and the monks' cemetery
sun above me shining,

la luce del sole
che splende su di me
birds in the surrounding trees
making song
molehills among the graves,

molehills entre las tumbas
the Spanish monk said
looking beside me
in the cemetery
he walked off
shaking his tonsured head,

pour moi la prière
est une poussée du cœur
St Therese wrote
so I read in the book
in the common room
at the abbey,

rain on the roof
of the church
as seen from the guest's room
black and shiny
as black leather,

sans amour les actes
même les plus brillants
comptent comme rien
Thérèse de Lisieux,

acts done without love
count as nothing
I recalled Therese saying
and my deeds
seemed so then,

bell tolled for Matins
I walked down
the creaky stairs
to the door
and Dom Matthew met
and unlocked
the church door
and I gazed
at the 5.30am church
in utter silence
and listened
for God's breath in my ears
to drive away
bad thoughts and fears.