The Secret Lives of Chimney Pots Vi
Strategically placed when raised
Upwards
By your masterful and well
Practiced hand.
To mingle with ever changing
Skylines
That frown down with arrogant
Scowls
Upon the indigenous populous of
This just and tolerant island.
To study and pontificate upon
Predictable behaviour,
When so lamentably remarking,
Then to inwardly digest;
Our conclusions borne through your
Repeated failure ,
Compelled by fortunes tempting
Behests,
When you attempt the restraints
That will Contain -
Throughout all the moral frames of
Moralities most demanding tests!
Now all walls have ears...
Or so "They" say;
And the open grates are set to
Eavesdrop
In every opportunistic way.
Our breast is the diaphragm that
Sits upon the jambs,
Protruding from the hearth,
Over which the burden sustained by
The load-bearing lintel reliably
Spans.
Constructed as the focal point,
Drawing invitingly into the cozy
Room,
We are regarded as the epitome
Of discretion...
Or so we have successfully
Endeavoured -
Ensuring that you most foolishly
Presume!
Whether the Prime ministers
Cabinet room,
Or the Spy-Master Generals office
Secreted somewhere, unannounced,
Obscured securely away,
We readily glean all the highly
Sensitive information that you
Absentmindedly and innocently Parley.
Be it in chambers or conference,
Just chatting to colleague or chum...
We are the treacherously embracing
Confidant
To which the mighty and powerful,
In time -
Shall all finally succumb!
For we once exhaled into the
Surround
Of an unsullied and more wholesome
Air...
Enriched with sweetest chimes from
Chapels both rustic and fair;
Before the advent of a modern age -
Swept all before in a frenzied rape
Of self-consuming rage!
Stirred by memories of years gone
By
Of the clanking school bell -
Now hanging silent and unrung
Across valley and dell;
Dreaming of the lost meadows...
Where in solitude one could pause
To hark -
Trilling, crystal clear songs of
The soaring, high above lark.
From Hadraw in the gritty Dales of
North Yorkshire...
To wooded Shropshires Angel Bank
And Glazeley.
From seafaring
Bristols Blaise Hamlet...
To the chocolate box village of
Polperro -
Astern of a Cornish, topaz-blue
Sea.
Jolly the red embers that comfort
Our fireplace
That escorts the curling smoke to
The slate...
And jolly the sound of the
Chinking cutlery
As it is lain besides the warmed
Dinner plate!
In deference to the wisdom of
Medieval predecessors
We politely applaud:
When conversing in indefinable
languages
Demonstrating unwavering concord.
Snuggling comfortably between yelms
Of Wheat reed, Longstraw and
Reed stalk
Attached by twisted Hazel spars
To seasoned rafters
Supported by Cruck beams
Containing the whitewash of wattles
And Daub.
Blooming red rose climbing a trellis
Beneath a covering of overlaid
Thatch;
Happy the sedentary and elderly
Couple
Daily lifting upon the old blackened
Latch.
Aged ancestors of a monastic and
Supercilious disposition -
Lordly keepers of an imperious
And superior tradition;
Shunning the encroachment of a
Modern civilization...
Whilst loftily towering in magisterial
And overweening disinclination.
Isolated in a Turner landscape,
Conceived by "Capabilities" gifted
Hands,
They look out onto perfect portrayals
Of ideal husbandries well apportioned
Plans.
The lingering custodians firmly staid
In Tudor and regency constrain...
Whilst pining for established
Etiquette and goodlie manners
Imposed through hierarchical ordain.
TO BE (UNFORTUNATELY FOR MOST I SUSPECT) CONTINUED. :)
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2016
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