Terry Collett

Gold Star - 22,667 Points (13/12/1947 / LONDON)

Afternoon Sun 1971 - Poem by Terry Collett

We walked through the woods
of the abbey to the beach,
sunlight on our heads,

Gareth talked of Wittgenstein,
Dom Joseph trudged forward,
his black robe like a huge rook,

the sea sound filtering
through the woods,
I lay upon her stomach,

gurgling sounds heard,
lay here, she said, soft fuzz,
gulls cried overhead,

the beach was private
and wood debris lay
strewn on the sand,

sad is my soul and it cries,
George sits on the sand,
his arms around his knees,

Hugh thin faced
threw pebbles to skim
across the waves,

Dom Joseph said,
God is our judge
there is none other to equal,

she held me close,
her tongue tongued mine,
the bed was warm,

the sheets strewn,
I sat on the sand
watching Hugh at his task

of skimming pebbles,
Iúdica me, Dómine,
the abbey bells tolled,

the echo sounded
through the woods,
for a truly religious man

nothing is tragic,
Gareth said that
Wittgenstein had said,

I lay my head there,
she smiled,
I heard the voices

of the unborn,
He will not grow tired
or weary, and His

understanding no one
can fathom,
Dom Joseph said of God,

hands about his knees
on the sands,
the sound of bells tolling,

best be getting back,
Hugh said, he rose
in his black robes

like a raven taking flight,
we walked back
through the woods,

I brought up the rear,
the sea sound saying goodbye,
a hot sun in the afternoon sky.

Topic(s) of this poem: religious


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Poem Submitted: Friday, December 4, 2015



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