Category Archives: House poems

Dismounting

Dismounting

Philip pushes off and starts peddling
the ancient penny-farthing

he initiates talks with the National Trust
realising this is his only hope

wobbling alarmingly at first
on that high saddle above the big wheel

negotiations prove long and tricky
numerous issues need addressing

he grips the handlebars
and keeps his balance

one by one the problems
are sorted out

swishing past the tumbledown mansion
into the overgrown gardens

now confident the derelict estate he inherited
can be brought back onto an even keel

he knows how to avoid a crash landing
from that rickety machine

sure this is the way to save
Erddig and himself from disaster

at the end of his ride
he leaps down with aplomb

he signs the handover documents
and gets off in one piece

History play

History play

The driveway leads down
into a leafy tunnel
of gnarled branches,
filtered sunlight flickering
across our windscreen.
A catch of breath: as if
through a gap in curtains
we glimpse a stage set,
the ancient house
out in the open over there
in the glare of footlights.
Only for a moment,
the trees closing in again.
Enough to whet our appetite
for the drama ahead.

Meller Reflects

Meller Reflects
Erddig 1730

It’s a mirror. One of many
in which the master admires
his wig, his class, his taste
for the good life of a bachelor.

In the Saloon, a pair of sconces
with their gilt gesso frames
and glass candle branches,
a Belchier silvered table
topped with mirror glass;
the house grows in opulence
under his meticulous gaze.

His vanity is everywhere
dazzling his failing sight
and our expectations.
There is no Alice to pursue
through glass, only the hope
of reeling back a precious past.

We look into his mirrors.
The undead stand behind us
but we cannot see them.

traces of the past

where a worry of woodlice
left their footprints in dust
the paint started peeling
locks turned to rust

plasterwork crumbled
water poured in
wallpaper faded
the carpets wore thin

beneath tarnished reflections
in a collection of clutter
from the blue to the red
and the very last flutter

behind curtains part opened
and windows half closed
hung the faces of people
serenaded in prose

as history floundered
where the coal turned to dust
the ovens left cold
with our last daily crust

Remembered, a sort of wailing


Draft 2

Remembered, a sort of wailing

There’s a saw.
And a bow. Side by side
on a rosewood table
in a room full of oohs
and aahs and chuckles.
We imagine the saw arcing
from the clasp of a player’s knees,
and the bow shredding itself
on each up-note.
We picture lots of teeth
vibrating. Not one of us
feels a pang of sorrow
for the dusty lute, rusted harp
and airless pipe organ.
We’re practising a refrain for later,
There was a saw.

 

Draft 1.

Remembered, a sort of wailing

There’s a saw.
And a bow. Both lie
on a mahogany table.
They’re in a room full of
oohs and aahs and chuckles.
We’re imagining the saw
tucked between a player’s knees
and arcing, the bow shredding
itself in each vertical fall.
We picture lots of teeth vibrating.
Not one of us feels sorry
for the airless pipe organ,
rusted polygraph and dusty lute.
We’re too busy storing up
There’s a saw.

 

 

 

The Servants’ Hall

The Servants’ Hall

They surround the long oak table
as they have for centuries.
Below stairs, the very
foundations of the house,
supporting the edifice above.
This is where generations of staff
gathered and here they still are,
lining the walls of their world,
their faces, names and skills
celebrated in portraits and verse.
So numerous they spill out
into the basement passage,
past the row of bells,
up the service staircase
to where duty calls.

Pleached Limes

Here’s a slightly mad poem from the Erdigg workshop.

Pleached Limes

On a cowless path between corsetted trees,
well-heeled ladies shade from Apollo;
you could say they are bleached,
not done to a turn, but taking a turn,
promenading far from the ha-ha
and tanning studio of the open field.

There are daguerreotypes of such antics
hanging from the walls of this jerry-built pile
with its steel ceilings, fake marble pillars
and luddite squires who had no truck with electrics,
banned wheels and telephones, even the post.
But did like stilts, and fire extinguishers.