by Nikki Macbeth
Mindful Living Guide
June 15, 2009
Seeking solace from the dead,
writers, drunks and
other solitaries we sit
in grassy churchyards,
walled from the relentless din
of age-old commerce outside
Traffic noise is muffled here,
wood pigeons and bumblebees
triumph
over the human voice —
the gargoyles gaze down
in silence
A squirrel darts and weaves,
quicksilver
around a chestnut trunk,
then leaps to the wall
and is gone —
along the length of the wall
old tombstones lean;
huge, uneven stone teeth,
softened and blurred by lichen
The clock is striking six —
the church, anticipating dusk,
draws its grassy skirts
around itself;
and believers and non-believers alike
shift imperceptibly nearer,
reluctant to leave this place
© copyright 2009 by Nikki Macbeth.




1 comments, thus far, from mindful passersby:
Thank you Nikki for this poem of the graveyard stillness; symbolic and everyday. I love that unfathomable peace one has when sitting among the tombs.
Must meet up soon.
Love Adele
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