Recollections From the Golden Cree Ii
Past unconcerned hens that distractedly
Scratch
Under frowning protestations from the
Sheltered Lee;
Into the cloaked shadows lain across the
Cobbled courtyard,
Behind which squats the twisted form of
The old brooding, arthritic apple tree.
Past the neat little cow-byre
Hosed and fastidiously scrubbed out twice
A day
With a fine tooth-comb;
The quaint and dipping, straw filled barn
Attaches itself determindedly
To the crooked gable
Of Barjargs contented farmyard home.
Those cubit-width walls of Igneous rock,
Once weathered and drab,
Now thoroughly soaked in glistening white
Washed foams.
Slated, cool pantry with smooth and
Polished marble slab;
Where, lying somewhat dejectedly,
To dispose:
Many a brace dispatched by the indifferent
Priest -
Glassy eyes staring out blankly
In death's stiffened and vacant repose;
The early mornings freshly collected
Brown eggs
Carefully arranged in woven baskets;
Pints of thick and creamy, unpasteurized
Milk
Poured into decorative, high-sided, orange
Coloured bowls.
Orange like the rusting sunbeam trapped
Inside each steaming droplet of summers
Oily dew;
Orange like the flattened landscape
Arising distantly...
Under the slowly emerging far eastern
View.
Blurred outlines upwardly forming
When slowly peeking through;
Gathered veils pulled back to reveal
Wantonly appealing, shimmering twirls
Of palest streaky blue.
The seldom trod tracks that I knew so
Well -
Remnants of an unremembered
Iron Age;
Ancient tramping peoples
That bravely traversed - to hopefully evade,
The terrible grasp of Merricks awful hand
That squeezed the Silver Flowe
Into tangled blankets of knitted bog and
Squelching peat;
Black slimes that downwards...downwards...
Downwards seep...
Smothering the cleansed bones of this long
Forgotten race;
Fragments of these shattered tribes
Now nourishing sweetest meadow flowers...
Where, sprawling thinly, they perpetually
Strive
To quietly propagate;
Sacred memories of blue painted faces
The swirling shrouds of chilling mists
Do avow to forever keep;
Comforting and protective roots gently
Wrapping around the sanctuary of their
Deeply immersed and sunken sleep.
Still onward's flowed the singing river
As between her watchful banks she
Gratefully swept;
And covered by the racing stars I
Wrapped about myself -
And in happy contentment soundly slept!
Onward flowed the jagged ripples
That fractured the obscured reflections
Within the streams -
As onwards sped the joyful passions
That bubbled over inside my eager dreams!
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