The spirit of the place.
Wandering among histories,
ancient bricks and aging timber
rusting hinges
well-worn paths.
The whole panorama
a compendium of different journeys
from kiln and forest
mine and forge.
Each individual artefact
touched with ingenuity,
blended, changed.
Each piece of the puzzle -
monument to an anonymous craftsman
time, toil and torment.
Wood and iron, clay, mortar,
fitted to monument a season gone
a need passed.
The year scarred buildings still stand,
silently recording their paths
guarding witnessed sights
overheard conversations of plots and love.
One generation telling its story to the next
but only in part,
keeping mysteries, protecting truths.
How strange these buildings must find us
as we meander through their time,
or how dangerously similar we must seem
tripping on the same cobbles
falling for the same lies.
The shivered tingle that invades us
as we straggle through
is the spirit of the place
time captured moments held together
in wood and iron, clay and mortar.
4 comments:
Wow, Keith!
Another poetic wonder! One feels he is walking with you through past
ages.
You have pleasant blog here! I wonder if you are always writing.
I came across a link to your site via ChristianWriters.com. I enjoyed the poem. I live in Virginia in the U.S. and could easily see the cobblestones in Richmond and the old Georgian buildings in Jamestown and Williamsburg. I often think if the buildings or trees could talk what mysteries would be divulged. Wonderful piece!
Very best site. Keep working. Will return in the near future.
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Your are Excellent. And so is your site! Keep up the good work. Bookmarked.
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