I enter the chamber, a shifting storm,
my footsteps echoing against marble and memory.
I do not knock. I arrive.
The air in the room thickens
I take my place at the ancient refectory table~
my hands folded, as if I hold the hinge of history.
I watch them~
the wary eyes, the clenched jaws,
the careful arrangement of words
meant to sound like certainty.
I lean forward.
I speak softly,
my whispers bending the room
more than their shouts.
When tempers ignite, I rise~
not in fury, but in full authority;
and the chamber falls silent,
as though the very walls recall
the ruin that discord once unleashed.
I press them,
not with threats,
but with the weight of consequences
they already know too well.
And when at last they yield,
not to each other,
but to the fragile truth between them,
I exhale~
a slow, deliberate release,
for I have steered the storm
toward a narrow passage of peace.
I am Political Negotiations.
I do not choose sides.
I choose outcomes.
Jan de Vliegher 'Treasury' *
a grande scale installation refectory
Waiting at the bus stop,
it started with a glance,
but somehow, they got talking,
pretty much by chance,
when the 501 arrived,
they both went up the stairs,
where luckily there was,
a front seat they could share,
Jess said how she liked,
to sit and watch the view,
Sam pointed out the mast,
and other landmarks too,
the bus meandered onwards,
through worlds of brick and stone,
they talked of life beyond college,
and all the things they’d known,
Jess was half expecting,
for Sam to ask her out,
with the town hall clock in sight,
she couldn’t hang about,
soon they would both disembark,
to go their separate ways,
she felt now was the moment,
for her to seize the day,
Jess told him her tutorial,
was due to end at four,
Sam said he’d be waiting,
by the refectory door...
Powder blue sky without imperfection
horizon soothed with voiles of heat haze
amiable breeze a caressing distraction
to alleviate celestial fieriness ray's,
floral tapestry feathery foliage of green
contrasting multi coloured layered themes
of delight, peaceful, tranquil, clear and serene
turning reality into soul satisfying dreams,
sultry evenings attracting light drawn insects
Silhouettes darting between dark and light
Creating shadows delivering special effects
in the minds directory no cause to rewrite,
fruit trees, cereals in fields, lush berry bushes
flourish anointed with enriched liquid gold
spray dispensed by ripened Angels blushes,
creating summery tales, stories to be told,
nectar harvesting bees happily pollinate
causing hive of activity within honey factory
dancing left, right, directed route to navigate,
Sourcing products to replenish their refectory,
summertime new beginnings, recreation
for young, old, beauty to enjoy and behold
natures creations, Earths natural plantation,
balanced, nourished, satisfied, controlled.
In Paradise, in it's grass, they dig holes.
In which, to place the ashes of those who can pay.
The grass grows between the Cloisters, Cathedral and
the silence of stone monks.
From within the Cloisters, echoing steps on flagstones, ricochet out through gothic arches,
along, with whispers, low hum chatter, and the noise of a refectory serving dinners.
This pleasant blend rises above Paradise, like a singing congregation and choir exalts, filling hearts with glory.
There must be days when the green blades can hear the psalms at matins, through to the hymns of evensong, smell the dinners served, and recognise familiar voices and their steps.
Days when the sun warms the ground, blessing the soil, which is listening to the warm of Paradise.
Well worth paying for.
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