Cathedral Swans

By Kilb50
- 672 reads
Music of water,
virgin white notes
of a dark river's stave.
Mute swans cast
before the cathedral’s
ancient shadow
magnetised (faithless,
perhaps) they slope towards
a bridge scented with blood.
I watch them nestle
in the shade where once
boy soldiers hid barrels of pitch,
stood on burning ramparts
sharp-ended by fear
dabbing tubers.
Red ivy clusters a chancery door
hides musket shot –
the discordant seal of a long
forgotten war – white-pot,
buttermilk, rickles of stone
submerged in the cloudy silt.
Memory takes flight,
a door-lock springs; the swans
return to this faithful city’s
evening promenade -
folly and blindness,
the secret of a still-water's bank,
they hang in the sky like a sweet
angel’s trumpet, lost lamentations of white
descending clouds.
When musket smoke stirs
ancient bells will peal. When ghosts appear
mute swans will sing.
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Comments
Very strong imagery coming
Very strong imagery coming throughout the poem. I had to read this a few times as it was incredably beautiful.
Yasemin Balandi
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Such good poetry as always
Such good poetry as always Kilb.
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