deepundergroundpoetry.com

Stately Home

 
        
Brown signs and oak leaves point the way           
through the arch and woodland sheep,        
classic bridge, geese-splattered paving        
to the car-park; check in take your ticket.        
National Trust defending to the end,        
the last of England's heritage.        
        
Close by the house a chapel,        
no longer needed, so it seems,        
once a parish church and incense        
curator, not a curate, at the door        
money box and tinkling pennies,        
plainsong chanting on a disc,        
behind the iron railings.        
        
Encased in marble, white and cold        
they lie more splendid than in life,        
continued through rooms  and stairs,      
proportions straight from Rome,        
a palace where once a village stood,        
ten thousand acres all their own        
and more in Leicestershire        
yet had to build it here!        
(The village gone three hundred years)        
The finest man could make        
Adam was his name, I hope they paid him well,        
his many tradesmen now without a home.      
        
For family glory they built this pile.        
A mausoleum conceit in every stone        
sleeping behind iron grills and dust.        
pillars and dome, beyond comprehension        
damask walls, you must see yourself        
this is what you buy . . . . . .      
as slaves cut down the cane.        
        
There is a room, curved and white        
hung with oils in gilded frames        
drawn by artists famous now as then,        
of those who sat,I recall not one        
despite sweeping dress and amble bustle.        
Adam needs no mausoleum,look round,        
a symphony of stone hewn in love,        
listen,,do you hear the chisel?        
look,do you see his pencil?        
learn, do you understand?        
        
Home passed the empty church,        
cold white marble, iron rails        
they lie dead, Adam standing in the park.        
One last glance,leave and drive away,        
sheep and ducks and waterfalls.  
 
  
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published | Edited 8th Jan 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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