these hours alone, contemplating
life, and all that it is and isn’t
giving; the small chores, the silences
the singing; small prayers
as if my will is all that keeps you
going in your daily dealings
with the world
I read
that monk-sailors in skin curraghs
fled human evil (the days scarcely
after King Arthur), the world already too
full; sailing through whales and ice floes
to build huts like beehives, stone
cold and full of other languages:
patience, poverty, toil
I just finished reading and am still processing Tim Severin’s book The Brendan Voyage.
Hermit practice… mystical words… “I read” (I love how you have isolated this line) and the last line “patience, poverty, toil” – small prayers? I’m not sure. Noble ones! Beautiful and dense poem as ever 🙂
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”as if my will is all that keeps you/going in your daily dealings/with the world” Sigh!! Just love that. But what also works for me is the solitude in both stanzas, even though they are about such different kinds of actions. Nice job!
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What I love about poetry is making connections…thanks for your words!
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