Partitions and Parallels
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It is January, it is cold, and i am visiting Calke Abbey Stately Home, owned now by the National Trust. I walk around the grounds, and then up the hill to the small church and graveyard, owned by generations of Lords and Ladies of the upper class of England. There are many of the previous owners buried there as are there also high ranking clergy and a few of the members of the staff, such as head groundsman, housekeeper, etc. This i find very surprising, because special tunnels were built in and around this place, which were for the 'workers' to arrive and leave, so the family and any guests never had to see them. Gardeners, labourers and the like were never to be seen. And here they are, laying in the same space with no barriers, or are there? Are the partitions invisible still? Have parallels now gone? Or are they still part of each other? My poem was inspired by a gravestone from 1700's of a man and his daughter who were in some way part of the labour class of this grandiose wealthy place and its people.
Partitions and Parallels
Silent, sliding, shadow-moon sly
Glides from the slit, in a
Crow-flocked, Cloud-frocked,
Winter-mocked blue sky.
With half-open eyes, he stares at the last
Who lay their still-sleep of Three Hundred Years Past.
Below lies Thomas, old grounds-man head
With permission he rests amongst the high Lordly-dead.
Beside him, his daughter, Sarah, aged five,
Whispers message of doom, to those yet alive.
More high-staff, scattered, buried around,
Next to Knights,
The Most Reverend,
The marble and mound.
Here now, commoners trample, with no ‘by your leave’
On vaults and tombstones
Where Ancients still grieve.
Whilst the ghost-grey eyes unnoticed, sublime
Marks the
Tick- tocked,
Click-clocked,
Face for all time.
Copyright © Janine Lever | Year Posted 2022
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