A Stroll At the Biltmore Estate
The Student
As I strolled upon the green
and take in the breathtaking view of the front lawn
the onrush of winter geese take on the horizon,
waking me to my senses.
The silent roar of two lions guard the entrance
the entrance that now greets me from the summer sun as I
and my companion visit the house.
Beneath the opening arch,
the European marble beckons like wishing wells
In an open spring off in the distant countryside somewhere
and I am swaying to and fro in the
summer wind.
The sheer scale of the voyeur overwhelms the senses,
our eyes filled with sixteenth century tapestries and
seventeenth century bronze sculptures
paralleling Rome, Italy, and France.
At my right, the chess set of an imperial Frenchmen lay,
the pawns standing defiant for battle,
yet, unmoved they remain as I pass this way.
At my left, a library waits, and I--a deliberate reader--
stand in stupor at the sheer size of the Vanderbilt library
--my hands, restrained holding back, to read
every book the family ever read.
I am fascinated at the four-acre facade of American wealth, yet.
I can say not a word at this engaging portrait of nineteenth century life that now lays before
me.
But gone are the days
when you could sit and read all day
--as in the nineteenth century voyeur or library,
they say.
Gone are the days
when the outdoors beckoned the silent look
of two players at a game of chess.
Only the memory stands ready, as a friend,
just as the knight's of Vanderbilt's castle stand guard
at the foot of his staircase I climb
now trembling for words.
Only it can retrieve these lost fragments
of a poet's fragile mind, these books,
as I sit on a visit of its estate
composing a few lines.
Copyright © Ashley Mckennon | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment