Canterbury Cathedral from St. Martins Church – Vincent Edward Manda


Flowers and stone

And vine and bush and thorn

Atop the grounds

Of a church of thrones

Holding hallowed bones

From a period of lasting change.


The ground itself;

Soft and green

With flashes of red, pink, yellow and white,

Seems both hungry and pliant

As you step on through

And sink a centimeter or two

Like the stone

Of Elise Grace Gammon

Leaning lopsided to the right,

Half of it

Resting in eternal night.


Beyond the faded names

And weathered words

Are ferns of aquamarine

And reaching evergreens

Rustling in the calm and peaceful breeze,

Their branches parting slightly

To reveal the Gothic towers

Of Canterbury Cathedral

And with it

The faintly remembered tale

Of Beckett’s mistaken downfall.


The peace and quiet

Is broken

Only by the barking of a dog

And quacks of ducks

Struggling to swim against the flow

Of the not visible

But ever present

River Stour.


The swooshes of occasional cars,

Though expertly masked

By singing leaves on swaying branches,

Remind me that the time is approaching

And unlike the stones

Of the Church and Cathedral

And the dust that lies beneath

Rest can not be eternal

Without also being final.


his name rhymes with ‘mince’. He’s rarely without a notebook and can usually be found next to the closest bottle of red wine. Previously a writer for The Roehampton Lane Journal.

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