Being the Manx Bard has meant that I get confronted with new and unexpected poetic inspirations.

I was recently asked recently to write a poem for Cathedrals at Night, a celebration of cathedrals across Europe, encouraging people who may never have entered (like me!) to go in, see the buildings and experience something.

Alongside Manx Youth Bard Iva, I was very kindly given a guided tour one evening in April to gather inspiration.

There, inside the cathedral and its grounds, I ended up writing notes, then lines, then extracts, many of which made it into the final piece.

I know many fellow creatives will recognise this problem: when I write, my main issue is not getting words on a page, but getting them off.

I have so many thoughts that spill out of me and it’s a hard job to work out which ones are worth keeping.

This was especially hard with this poem.

Therefore, I want to thank my fabulous friend Georgia Lisette and my wonderful mother Ros, both fellow poets, for giving me feedback for the editing process.

Though there were hundreds of detailed references I could have put into this poem, I ended up focusing on authentic and implicit feeling rather than detailed, factual description.

Ultimately, the words present a rounded view of my night in the cathedral: simply, what I saw and heard and how that made me feel.

I hope the result speaks for itself.

To finish, I feel obligated to pass on, via Georgia, that the Manx cat mentioned in the eighth stanza has a Facebook group dedicated to him: ‘The Adventures of Baskin’.

Oh, how I love the Isle of Man!

Hush: Peel Cathedral at Night

Fading periwinkle through ironclad windows on high

Lower, the eyeline glass panes are almost black

A striking match, a stick ablaze

Then

Light

Warm, soft, flickering

Solacing yellow candle flames

Reflecting, refracting on moulded stained glass

Lifting a cheek, a shoulder, the edges of an opal green robe

Evoking highlights habitually unseen

How high must a roof be to become a vehicle for prayer?

Which beams, if any, can reach God?

Green and purple ribbons float down from a shining crown

Trembling like the wings of a white dove

The petals of a blood-red poppy

Now, tonight, this echoing hall is lit from below, instead of above

Light shines out and up, instead of in and down

Columns curve

Shadows bend

Crows caw in skies aloft

Daring to be heard above a silence so heavy

It makes you sit still

A rustled coat

Pen scratching parchment

Floorboards gently creak

Outdated darkwood pews clumsily sway

Thud

Thud

The chime of a quarter to

Feels incomplete

We wait

With bated breath

I move outside, to watch the birds flit in and out of rafters

And circle overhead

Out here, the stained glass does indeed shine from within

Candlelight throws out sunset colours

Long after the day has fallen

Beneath the clouded sky

Mists clamour around bare stone walls

Coating the pathways in a cold, wet haze

Yellow lamplight from streets nearby

Marks our faded way

A Manx cat greets us, gingerly

Then slinks off

Just as quickly

Into the shrouded night

Open, thoughtful hearts pulsate

From labyrinthine meditation

Orchards, herb gardens, tributes, memorials

These winding walkways write a love letter

To Mann

Inside again

I look up as I walk down the aisle

It’s… unsettling

I’m lost in dizzying wooden beams

They move incongruently around one another

Stepping atop the altar

I feel a sudden rush of power

An urge to run up the stone steps

And scream from the pulpit

Wave candles

Swing from chandeliers

Climb impossibly thin synthetic white ribbon

And explore the rafters

But instead I return

Back to ground level

Stackable chairs on shiny tiled floors

Glowing wax

A quiet peace

A hush

Disturbed only by the almost inaudible scratch of pen on parchment