Came the Spring
By Silver Spun Sand
Wed, 30 Apr 2014
- 1444 reads
8 comments
There was a barn stood here, once;
resplendent with spider-webs, bedecked
with shrivelled remnants of dried
and tattered wings; twisted corpses
of insects, long-since dead, ensnared
in tangled, tensile threads... crumpled
magazines – newsprint, ochre, crisp –
curled with age, stacked on some
long-redundant mattress, springs exposed,
horsehair and wadding chewed into scraps
by marauding field-mice and rats.
Rickety stacks of rusted paint-cans;
Victorian Red, set solid as cement,
stashed on worm-riddled boxes
that once stored the Coxes and rosy
James Grieves from an orchard,
since many years – gone to seed.
The smell of times-past – the ghost
of children’s laughter, hung up to dry
from gnarled and twisted rafters, where
swallows dived through a hole in the roof,
lashed by relentless winter storms...
their cone-shaped nest, safely cradled
by ancient oak beams, ready-lined
for next year’s brood. Cruel irony then,
came the spring, all of this was history,
and in the field where once it stood...
where bearded barley grew, so tall,
so proud, a cash crop was sown...
affordable housing, in regimented rows.
and the Norfolk thatched barn, only
a memory, along with the swallows –
once called it home.
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Comments
You've brought it alive, Tina
You've brought it alive, Tina. Can almost touch it. The nostalgia of places that were once the heart of life is deeply painful. There's unspeakable loss in regeneration and your objectification of those seemingly random objects captures it all so well. Beautiful piece.
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Enjoyed this poem so much
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Enjoyed this poem so much Tina,
with all it's wonderful reflective portrayals of the barn, but then the saddness of what became of this shelter to so many creatures.
This is as good as any of the most profound poets of another age. One I could hear Richard Burton reading, as in his Dylan Thomas days.
Very much enjoyed and thank you for sharing.
Jenny.
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