Random words: monk, palace, café, bosom, dashing and bemused
The Monk
He used to live alone, a hermit, foregoing the
Tenderness of like companionship in those vows
Of chastity, celibacy, poverty and obedience.
There was nothing else preferred but for him to
Live for the contemplation of his god.
Yet, alone and bemused by his self-imposed isolation,
Seeking like fellowship, took him on a journey to
A Palace of Privation – this Medieval Monk. Seeing
In the distance a Monastery of like-hearted men, The
Monk held within his bosom a surging, dashing pleasure.
His only redemption for this abounding happiness that
Filled his lonesome heart was prayers for guidance and
Fasting. Working within a communal garden, making
Cheese and wine, The Monk, without an earthly father,
Given away by god, discovered Frangelico, a nutty liquor.
Hazelnut contained within a bottle shaped more like a
Friar wearing the monastic, ubiquitous roped belt, The Monk’s
Habit was of undyed wool, face hidden by a cowl. Shrouded
Away, deep within the monastic walls, The Monk pleasured his
Heart with café’ royale as he scratched dutifully upon parchment.
To him would come those poor seeking mercy, never turned
Away, alms shared, heads bowed. The Monk, ever joyful in his
Service, often sought his solace by walking the Flaminian Way,
That great artery between Rome and Italy, ancient and worn. He
Served, This Monk, passed his Middle Age, content and wedded to his god.
About Me
- The Poet or Not
- Writing poetry is a way for me to express both my joy and my pain. Love it or hate it, you will get a fairly good dose of it here on my new blog, unless I find that posting it here sacrifices my first publisher’s rights. That would be a source of vexation. I am a true bibliophile with a nice personal library. If I like a book, I must own it. The only things I truly don’t like to read are romance novels. Otherwise, I read authors such as Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Lee Child, James Grisham, Patricia Caldwell plus many, many more. Janet Evanovich makes me howl. My taste is truly eclectic. The night seems to have more room for me so I generally go to bed when the rest of the world might be waking up at 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning. That is when I read for hours. My service/working dog awakens me everyday at the crack of noon. This is fine; he does not buzz, rattle or shriek into my ear from some mechanical apparatus; he awakens me quite gently with either a few little whimpers, a soft lick of the tongue or, when desperate, a quiet little wolf. Character limit says you have suffered enough.
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