Joyce Bridle (Oblate) OSB 

Stroud, Gloucestershire, England 

I was born 26th February 1941 in Keighley, West Yorkshire. I am a convert to Catholoicism, an oblate of St. Benedict, a carer and poet. My husband Donald is a retired gardener. My work has been published in twenty-three anthologies, including "Between a Laugh and a Tear." I reached the semi-finals in the UK Grand Poetry Championships in 1994, 5 & 6, and am a friend of Cheltenham Festival of Literature. I completed an Access Course at Stroud College and won a poetry prize in Adult Learners Week 1996. My philosophy of life is "to change dreams into reality." 

Synthesis of heart and mind 
Poetry's born of this, I find 

My Butterfly 

Go little butterfly

Dusty cocoon abandon

Emerge glorious

Incredible in colour,
 
Fly little butterfly,
 
To the ends

Of poetic utterance: 

Wings spread forth

From your chrysalis

Triumph of creation; 

Fly

Of the earth

And bear me swiftly, on  your wings

My butterfly.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Lynton: the Valley of Rocks, 1994 

If I hadn't cats, 
Which are children to me, 
I would up, do a bunk
And go live by the sea. 

As it is, I just dream
Of bracing sea air, 
And the Valley of Rocks
Ever beckoning me there! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Immortals 

Cupid doth shoot his arrow with immortal surety
In truth a marksman he, in miniature. 
We neither hear nor see, but surely we do feel! 
His aim is sure, his arrow swift
He neither shoots to kill nor maim
But hits he both, at once, the same...
All unawares, through life we go
Like busy bees or scurrying ants; 
If only we, like trees and plants
Could multiply with conscience free! 
Inhibited, restricted we; convention, gossip, modesty. 
Observe how cupid's shaft embedded is
For good and all eternity. 
A rubbish sweet my true love gave to me; 
I kept it for posterity...
It grew anon, a might mould
That Jenner in his Berkeley
Be very glad to see! 
My knight in shining armour tall
In dreams I hear him gently call
My name, or hers. What matter that? 
She was a phase, and all my days
I stir for him, unconsciously...
I know not where, nor yet from whence
That Cupid gets his notions from, 
But love hits mortals like a bomb...
And so we go. All kiss and clip
And sleep and dream of tongue and lip. 
For that is most we two should do
Yet Cupid pierced us through and through.