Slate
By Philip Sidney
- 2213 reads
The mountain's past is written on slate,
grey from a distance, soft mauve in the light,
mixed in its making, mineral and plant,
subtle colours captured from another time.
Tramp the hidden way to stumble upon
tumbled down walls, fallen chimneys,
smoke, a ghostly wisp carried on rain-sweet air,
roofless hearths stained with stygian soot
remember voices that spoke daily, once
lives filled with work, troubles
and dreams -
elbow on the stone sill
pausing, to take in a changing sky,
pondering the miracle of multifarious grey.
Now -
human traces and the bones of the land
coalesce,
rock on rock,
slate, pressed by time and weight
holds the memory
of ash.
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Comments
Beautiful - has that ghosts
Beautiful - has that ghosts of past feel. Admired the way the description walks the reader through. Love this one, Philip.
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Hi
Hi
Lovely description with all the shades and hues and the feel of the bits of mountain.
Jean
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HI Philip, at last a story
Hi Philip, at last a story about fifty shades of Grey actually worth reading!
Lovely poem, well honed and polished.
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Much improved, Philip. Well
Much improved, Philip. Well done.
I alluded to shades of grey - subtly, I thought - on your original version.
Best, Luigi
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This is lovely, Philip. A
This is lovely, Philip. A past, falling back into its landscape. Saw similar thangs as I rode through Cornwall last weekend. Could be ruined crofts, also.
Parson Thru
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Different, but similar. I
Different, but similar. I like the way you link the rock with ruins, merging together in that landscape, and with the memories of the workers and their homes. As many shades of grey as of green! Rhiannon
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This is brilliant! I too was
This is brilliant! I too was reminded of landscapes like Cornwall.
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