This was written for my mother when I was single and the boys were young primary school children. My mother treasures the poem, and I am still really pleased with it. It just seemed to sum us up. A real testament to my mother.
Will this be too hard? a poem a week, written by me (or my Dad, or my extended family). I have a stash of older ones, which will do for the moment, but it means I will have to start putting my thinking cap on. That's got to be good, getting the brain cells moving!
My Dad was here recently, he visited on his own while my Mother was up North. As always, he bought a little poetry of his down to read to me. This particular one caught my fancy. I love the sentiment...but not all the individual words. Personally, I would never pick "odiferous" as an adjective! nor "decrepitude". They worked for him and I guess make it what it is.
This was written once my parents came back from walking El Camino in Spain, and it describes an actual bell that they saw. Their trip was a few years ago but the date on this is 18/08/09.
There was a farmyard in Spain, With mud, odiferous and deep And cows, and a poor farmer With a wheelbarrow, Doing his best to make a go of things.
Above the stone barn there, A bell turret with a great Bronze bell, Hung motionless with disuse and Years forgotten. Streaked with the green decrepitude of age, Siezed in place, silent, Beyond notice
All around, fields and woods stretched green. The eye sess that, and the birds Swimming in air - no more. Yet in that indifferent silence I heard such a ringing That time cracked open.
Mud, cattle, trees and sky Were gone, And I set sail upon such a sea That I can never leave.
I should like to be, one day, Such a bell, Hanging in slence, rusted, still, Unnoticed by the years, Waiting till someone comes, Looks up and listens. Then I shall ring and ring And ring.