Cathedral Swans
By Kilb50
- 1898 reads
Music of water, virgin white notes
of a dark river's stave.
Mute swans drift before a cathedral’s
ancient shadow.
Magnetised they slope towards
a bridge scented with blood.
I watch them nestle in shade
where once boy soldiers hid
barrels of pitch, stood on burning
ramparts, sharp-ended by fear.
Now, red ivy clusters a western wall.
White-pot, buttermilk, rickles
of stone hide musket shot –
the discordant seals
of a long forgotten war
submerged in the cloudy silt.
Memory takes flight;
a door-lock springs.
The swans return to this faithful city’s
evening promenade,
hang in the sky like a sweet
angel’s trumpet -
lost lamentations, a tasselled
coif of cloud.
When battlefields lie fallow
cathedral bells will chime.
When ghosts re-appear
mute swans will sing.
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Comments
Very strong imagery coming
Very strong imagery coming throughout the poem. I had to read this a few times as it was incredably beautiful.
Yasemin Balandi
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Such good poetry as always
Such good poetry as always Kilb.
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