Tuesday, 26 July 2011


There is a time of year at Morning Prayer,
when light falling slant though the east window
catches the plain north wall and plays with it.

As the leaves move on the ash tree close by
dapplings of colour take the breeze’s lead
dancing, laughing and weaving together.

Pools of liquid light flow across the wall
splashing it in eddies, ripples and waves,
baptising the flaking off-white lime-wash.

Then I find I’ve stopped piling on new words,
like rare pauses when a phrase in the Psalm
unexpectedly becomes translucent.

The poem builds on my post on 3rd September 2009, when there is a picture of the north wall of the chancel of St Nicolas', Great Coates which doesn't to justice to this phenomenon.

The picture is of the poor exit for water from the Lady Chapel roof at St Michael's, Little Coates discussed in the last post.

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