victorian canal life - the reality (a true tale from from my maternal heritage )
We left our abode
in old Cowfair
haggled a price
for an old shire mare
Onto the
landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat
farewell to our
Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living
from old point lace
dawdled slow
up to Cosgrove
taking our meals
. . around a blackened stove
our moveable house
painted castle& rose
not a life
we would have chose
Eighteen fifties harsh
&
mean
coal cargo
so nothing stays clean
doff your cap touch your forelock
every two mile
at
the gatekeeper's lock
Fresh food scarce
except for fish
perch & roach
a staple dish
clothes dry
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep
all too few
family life impossibly hard
so back to a tied cottage
in
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Categories:
point lace, family, history,
Form: Bio
We left our abode
in old Cowfair
haggled a price
for an old shire mare
Onto the
landlord's canal boat
lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat
farewell to our
Buckingham birthplace &
its meagre living
from old point lace
dawdled slow
up to Cosgrove
taking our meals
. . around a blackened stove
our moveable house
.painted castle& rose
not a life
we would have chose
Eighteen fifties harsh
&
mean
coal cargo
so nothing stays clean
doff your cap touch your forelock
every two mile
at
the gatekeeper's lock
Fresh food scarce
except for fish
perch & roach
a staple dishc
clothes dry
on a washing line strung
out for a timeout
the toddlers young their
number so soon increased & grew
places to sleep
all too few
family life impossibly hard
back we went to a tied cottage
in
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard
Categories:
point lace, boat, people,
Form: Rhyme
Sussanah
great grandma times three
a pillow puffed up on her knee
with
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair
daily
shaped their homespun ware
such
humble women
cottage-tied
a dextrous art did reside
fashioned
stitch by stitch,
pillowed lace in patterns rich
tinkling bobbins
bewildering skill
inch by inch grew
the intricate frill
twisting threads
in pairs &groups
knitted together
by interlocking loops
an established craft
of world renown
grew around this county town
plain or decorative
old point lace,a lost
rural industry
there's no longer a trace.
Year Posted 2007
Categories:
point lace, family, memory,
Form: Rhyme
Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting threads in pairs and
groups,knitted together with interlocking loops.An established craft of world
renown grew around this county town.Plain or decorative old point lace,a lost
rural industry of which there's no longer a trace.
Categories:
point lace, family,
Form: Narrative
Yellow pollen drifts converge,
adorn nude logs in gros point lace;
red veined, orange campfire strings glaze
blue-gray above my lover's face.
I succumb to reflected eyes,
greening hazel like wise old frogs,
feel black water breast swiftly swell
against a quickening white fog.
Swamped, rose-gold tinged moments,
rocking red boat danger portends;
I glimpse distorted, fear-gray image . . .
his eyes foolish and young again.
Copyright, July 29, 2014
Categories:
point lace, life, love,
Form: Quatrain
We left our abode in old Cowfair,haggled a price for an old shire mare.Onto the
landlord's canal boat,lock stock and barrel for a life afloat.Farewell to our
Buckingham birthplace and its meagre living from old point lace.Dawdled slow
up to Cosgrove taking our meals around a blackened stove.Our moveable house
painted castle and rose,not a life we would have chose.Eighteen fifties harsh
and mean,coal cargo so nothing stays clean.Doff your cap,torch your forelock
every two mile at the gatekeeper's lock.Fresh food scarce except or fish,perch
and roach a staple dish.Clothes dry on a washing line strung,home for a time
whilst the toddlers were young.As their number increased and grew ,places to
sleep all too few.Family life impossibly hard so back we went to a tied cottage in
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard.
Categories:
point lace, family, nostalgia, people, life,
Form: Prose Poetry
Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting threads in pairs and
groups,knitted together with interlocking loops.An established craft of world
renown grew around this county town.Plain or decorative old point lace,a lost
rural industry of which there's no longer a trace.
Categories:
point lace, family, history, life, nostalgia,
Form: Prose Poetry