SHRINE

Woke up this morning with these first two lines in my head, from which the rest (in seven stanzas of seven lines) flowed. No idea if it's any good but hope someone might enjoy scanning it?

Shrine by Tim Veater.

In time your house becomes a shrine -

The walls and roof enclose a mine of memories.

The objects on the shelves,

The pictures on the walls,

The furniture, windows, doors, all recall

A multitude of comings and goings.

Unique the characters and events,

That altogether shaped your life -

The context and the back-drop to it all.

Four square the walls, the little box has grown,

Accretions, all in their own time,

Adding to the plan and elevations.

The tiny people grown have come and gone,

The sound of footsteps on the pebbled ground,

The distant voices still resound,

Within the inner space and ear.

It weathered gales and storms,

Rain, hail and snow and blistering heat.

Power cuts, blockages and leaks,

Of settlement and rots,

Of mice and rats, birds, bats and creaks,

Of passing dogs and cats,

Even a fleeting, bleeting goat!

As onward, onward bound the clock of time,

The pendulum within its walnut case,

Keeps swinging to and fro -

A metronome of grace.

Weekly mechanically the key is wound,

As ever more weakly I become,

As closer draws the final chime.

Once filled with bodies and their sounds,

The squeals of laughter, howls of scorn,

The plaster walls soaked up it all

The waves of energy and expectation

The fading light of musical exasperation

As human frailties took their toll.

The terror of the starless night and hopeless dawn.

Exiting stage left, in rancour

The characters moved off, moved on,

The house, bereft, remains,

Its contents emblematic of the moments gone.

Each item with its own report,

Finding the long lost deed is goodly sport.

Elsewhere, the dead died dying for a home.

Sequestered from the world I here reside

In nature's bower almost content.

A far cry from a mansion in the sky,

It none the less fulfills my fundament.

Within this humble pile, familiar abode,

I pass my time and luckily abide,

Calling this shrine my own.

Chaffinch

As I lay on my bed reminiscing times with John,

Outside a Chaffinch flew into my sight;

He landed on an Hazel twig

And in the sunlight, like a jewel shone.

 

I rubbed my sleepy eyes,

The better for to see this beauteous bird,

But it had flipped its wings

And in an instant – gone.

 

“Come back, come back”, I plead;

Too short this brief encounter.

You deign to stoop from lofty heights

On wings, to intercede and honour me.


Mixing great delight, with everlasting pain,

How passing pleasure intervenes -

A temporary thrill -

And then must fly again.


“Please stay, please stay”,

So I may see and feel,

My panting heart grow stronger,

List to my soul's appeal.


“Impossible” is nature's implacable reply,

Nothing remains or stays the same,

Such moments few and far between,

Cannot be recalled – except to memory;

I blink, the vision gone away -

All earthy joys will fade or fly.