Horizons and herring made us Vikings
No estuary beyond our sixteen oars and shallow-drafts.
Silver arm-rings we wore, bound by allegiance,
Chained thralls shared our graves
Ninety miles a day in a fair wind
Sea-sick abaft oak prows and reeling sails.
Monks in towers prayed for stormy seas but
Stiff with salt it was nuns not gold we wanted
After conquest we traded ...
Monday 4th May 2020 11:09 am
Who will ever tell or know
the unheard silent echoes
from passing lives laid low:
those ghosts of chanted psalms
once melodious in their praise
lie buried beneath the turf
within walls they helped to raise;
and who can see the cowled monks
whose ghostly whispered prayers
whose canticle or hymn
whispers through the evening's airs -
through the great stone entrance a...
Thursday 18th April 2019 7:51 pm