The Gate

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keats
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Joined: Thu Nov 11, 2010 11:43 pm

The Gate

Post by keats » Wed Dec 08, 2010 2:43 pm

THE GATE © Neil McArthur 2010

The gate, although wrought, and strung less than taut
Hung straightly from hinges of rust;
The lock long removed, the post deeply grooved
Age told in it’s layers of dust.

I pushed back the gate, therein to create
A clearway from mailbox to door;
Up a path of cracked slate, laid at some long past date
But likely to last little more.

I set my worn boots on the path, at it’s roots
And started my trek to it’s end
‘Longside where I walked, the bushes all talked
And whispered, “What brings you, old friend?”

I glanced at the leaves, which swayed with the breeze
Speech lost from the thoughts I portrayed;
For word’s could not rise from memory’s prise
And my secret lay battered and frayed.

Mind torn from the spell of these thoughts which did quell
I trudged to the weathered front door;
And rose up the step with a falsified pep
Whilst doffing the cap that I wore.

The bell, in poor health, had congealed to itself
Through rust, from the long yea

manfredvijars

Re: The Gate

Post by manfredvijars » Wed Dec 08, 2010 10:23 pm

... is there some missing from the piece Neil ???

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Zondrae
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Location: Illawarra

Re: The Gate

Post by Zondrae » Thu Dec 09, 2010 7:17 am

uummm??

Where is the rest? Beautifully crafted peom but the end is missing.
The door bell? The telephone? or a power out? or did inspiration suddenly dry up.
By the look of what is here so far I am sure it isn't a brand new, just 'in the middle of writing', poem. It looks like many hours of polishing, polishing to get the internal rhymes and metre exactly right.

Can't wait to read the ending.
Zondrae King
a woman of words

william williams

Re: The Gate

Post by william williams » Thu Dec 09, 2010 8:25 am

Neil what a beautiful Poem. it bought back to me like it was yesterday
In 1958 I left my grandparents place where I had spent many wonderful years
And I returned after not seeing them for 30 years. You told It just what it like it was when I returned to see them. I was full of in trepidation and wondering when I walked down that path and you finished the poem at the right place, the place where my memories of them took over.

Thank Neil for the wonderful memory trip

Bill Williams the old battler

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keats
Posts: 1044
Joined: Thu Nov 11, 2010 11:43 pm

Re: The Gate Take 2

Post by keats » Thu Dec 09, 2010 9:18 am

Sorry to all, I don't know what I hit when I put the poem up!!! Getting old and forgetful, now. My apologies. Like waiting for the next episode of Days Of Our Lives!! (Not that I watch it)


THE GATE © Neil McArthur 2010

The gate, although wrought, and strung less than taut
Hung straightly from hinges of rust;
The lock long removed, the post deeply grooved
Age told in it’s layers of dust.

I pushed back the gate, therein to create
A clearway from mailbox to door;
Up a path of cracked slate, laid at some long past date
But likely to last little more.

I set my worn boots on the path, at it’s roots
And started my trek to it’s end
‘Longside where I walked, the bushes all talked
And whispered, “What brings you, old friend?”

I glanced at the leaves, which swayed with the breeze
Speech lost from the thoughts I portrayed;
For word’s could not rise from memory’s prise
And my secret lay battered and frayed.

Mind torn from the spell of these thoughts which did quell
I trudged to the weathered front door;
And rose up the step with a falsified pep
Whilst doffing the cap that I wore.

The bell, in poor health, had congealed to itself
Through rust, from the long years gone by;
I pushed it three times, ‘till I heard haunting chimes
And though to myself, “Why, God, why?”

The creak of the hinges brought shivers and cringes
As it opened to silent fanfare;
A lady so aged, from long years of rage
Stood barren and destitute there

Her eyes had declined all the comforts of time
Still a faint glint of hope flickered through;
Senility beckoned, and for one glancing second
She asked, “Michael, could that be you?”

I wished for to hide, as she broke down and cried
When my face replaced that of her son;
Reality came, like a cruel flood of rain
And unconsciously my deed was done.

“Mrs. Higgins?” I asked, through a war-hardened heart
“I’m sorry to show at your door;
With the news that your son, is numbered as one
Who will never return from the war.”

She spoke not a sound, her worse fears abound
Closed the door for to block out the sun;
To that gate full of fears, through pity and tears
I sauntered, my cruel duty done!

Heather

Re: The Gate

Post by Heather » Thu Dec 09, 2010 3:21 pm

Maybe someone topped up your glass Keats?

I seem to remember that you wrote a lovely poem about a postman or minister delivering the fateful message. That poem also involved a gate and a path. This isn't the same poem is it? Could you post it again Keats?

Heather :)

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