[ɜː] [ɪ] [ai] [əʊ] [au] [ɔː/ ʊə] [e/ eə:] [uː/u] [ei] [æ] [ɑː] [ʌ/ ʊ]
The Cleric
I
heard
new
words
prayed
at
cows
in
the byre,
found
his sign
on the crock and the hidden still,
smelled
fumes
from
his censer
in the first smokes
of
morning.
Next thing he was making a progress
through
gaps, stepping
out
sites,
sinking
his
crozier
deep
in the fort-hearth.
If
he
had
stuck
to his own
cramp-jawed
abbesses
and intoners
dibbling
round
the enclosure,
his
Latin
and blather
of
love,
his parchments
and scheming
in
letters
shipped
over
water
-
but no, he overbore
with
his unctions
and orders,
he had to get in on the ground.
History
that
planted
its
standards
on his
gables
and spires
ousted me to the marches
of
skulking
and whingeing.
Or
did
I
desert?
Give him his due, in the end
he
opened
my path
to
a kingdom
of such
scope
and
neuter
allegiance
my emptiness
reigns
at
its
whim.