| |
ENGINEHOUSE NEAR BURNTHOUSES
(Photo Study by Pat Maycroft)
The Enginehouse stands in its winter,
windows black, unslated roof, strands
of beams like thin strands of hair,
the snapped off downpipe, rainwater
left to trickle down stone, unhaunted
ghost house, beautiful in its once life,
heart and work gone, an abandoned
house weathered to ruin; and slowly,
gale by gale, waves of weather strip
and pick the bones; the Enginehouse lives
through love of shape and form, poetry
at work, the obliging snow, trick of track,
bristling winter tree at a field's distance,
hedge of cobweb & eyelash; we know
this Enginehouse, this old-age, remote,
rarely visited, gaunt, yielding & unyielding,
the engine has moved out, life has moved on;
the poetry remains in stony resistance,
in sky, snow, treads, tree and stone all
silent as a moment of prayer, wishing for something
to stay and last, as even stone will level
and retreat back to earth, under landscape.
S.J. Litherland
ENGINE HOUSE (BURNTHOUSES)
Eyes dim, slates gone and losing hair
Once proud, now figure of disgust
She should be taken into care
She's old. She's suffered wear and tear
We know she wouldn't want a fuss
Eyes dim, slates gone and losing hair
We've always tried to do what's fair
Of course we love her but it's just
she should be taken into care
She cannot manage step or stair
Lost balance how can we trust
dim eyes, slates gone and loss of hair?
She's frozen, given to despair
She'll soon be ruin, rubble, dust
She should be taken into care
I fear she's gone beyond repair
Dried up, her engine's turned to rust
Eyes dim, slates gone and losing hair
She should be taken into care
Marilyn Longstaff
| |
