Terry Collett

Gold Star - 22,605 Points (13/12/1947 / LONDON)

High Mass 1971 - Poem by Terry Collett

A monk,
dark robed,
stared at the sun
on the flower garden,

hands tucked
into the wide sleeves
of the robe,
another stood behind him

in the line,
head lowered,
eyes on his sandalled feet,
I stood at the front

with Brother Hugh,
eyes on the orange brick wall,
thinking of Mass
and the words in Latin

I'd learned for the hymn,
she stood by the bed
in the room and said
shall we?

and how?
I said,
you shall see,
she replied,

the bell tolled
from the tall tower,
we began to walk
into the church,

in twos,
line following line,
fingers into the stoup,
water on forehead

from shoulder to shoulder,
kiss me here,
she said,
and here and here,

and I walked to the choir stalls
and took my place
at the front,
Monks settled

into their places,
the abbot tapped on wood
and the Mass began,
chant,

voices,
unison,
slow paced,
high and low

like a huge wave
of Latin sounds,
I kissed her inner thigh,
lips touched soft flesh,

her hands
holding me in place,
one monk raised a voice
in high solo,

I see the words in Latin,
followed with a finger,
she put her finger there
and fireworks began,

her breath deep in my ear,
Corpus Christi,
blood stained,
eyes gazed across the aisle

from the high altar,
arms outstretched
as if in flight,
nailed in place,

hammered,
lance-pierced side,
and she said,
more and more

and I entered deeper
and one of the monks
(French peasant)
walked down the aisle

beside another
carrying the cup of blood,
who is this
that comes?

Dom Leo raised the body
above his head
Corpus Christi,
he said,

bell sounded,
one tolled,
I walked in line
to partake of the body,

opening my lips,
and he placed
on my tongue,
her tongue touched mine,

sucked,
licked,
here,
she said,

here,
the monk with Parkinson's
placed a wavering hand
with the body of Christ,

black robed,
fingers aged,
he mouthed his amen,
incense smell,

high,
rising roof wards,
I saw the abbot
make the sign

from shoulder to shoulder,
the Mass is ended,
one chanted in Latin,
I closed my eyes,

prayers said,
couldn't get her
half-clothed
from my head.

Topic(s) of this poem: religious


Comments about High Mass 1971 by Terry Collett

  • Rahman Henry (11/24/2015 2:20:00 AM)


    Excellently ilustrated poem, I like and love it so much....10.... (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, November 24, 2015



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