Thoughts of a look-out on Hadrian's Wall

Stationed on this island cursed
Unrelentingly I thirst
For the sunlit streets of home,
I miss the azure tide and Rome
But duty must come first.

Looking at rain-sodden land
Where barbarians have planned
Strikes and still remain a threat;
We came, we saw, we conquered yet
Up here they make a stand.

Beacons shining all night through
Give the wall a mystic hue,
Druid spells may forge the silt
Yet can't affect the line we built
To split a land in two.

Why do I feel such unease,
Is it just the restless breeze
Or the way we crushed the foe?
It's homeward bound I want to go
Across King Neptune's seas.

But until relief appears
I'll patrol these Empire tiers,
Such a long and thankless task
While senators who pose and bask
Take credit with their peers.


©

Exquisitely crafted poem Musty, with wonderful imagery as per your usual high standards.

Like the reference to Senators as well; a variation on a theme from Little Men?

Thanks Troy The senators reference wasn't connected to the little men poem, but it does show that some things never change I guess.

It does make you wonder why the Romans decided to invade Britain. I suppose some of those soldiers were dragooned into it but they can't have been happy.

However the Romans certainly did a lot of good while they were here.

[quote=Biz;51392854]It does make you wonder why the Romans decided to invade Britain.

Oil of course. This is the politics forum isn't it?

[quote=Noe Soap;51396465]

I take the opposite view Biz - any advantages they brought were nullified by their abandonment of Britain. I consider the Romans to be the Nazis of their day and they stunted our religious and social development with their rule. Not the majority view I know, but that's how I see them.

I'll guess you know more about it than I do, Musty. I was mainly thinking about roads, but I certainly wouldn't take kindly to the country being invaded. I must read up about it........but not tonight, I'm off to bed. 'Night.

Those long straight roads were for Roman military use only Biz - swift punishment ensued for any Britons who dared to trespass on them Although many British played along, adapting the Roman lifestyle and becoming wealthy, it was only those who towed the line that benefited. Non-conformists like Boudicca and the Druids were slaughtered.

the path I chose

In childhood although I attended classes
My mind stayed where the daydream-river passes.

I joined in yet I never tried explaining
How I found my own shell more entertaining.

The busy fray, the merry rough and tumble,
They seemed to hold me back and make me stumble.

On growing older came the recognition
That solitude was not an imposition.

And so I shunned the herd's successful riders,
The path I chose was strictly for outsiders.

I fled because in crowds of people I'm less,
Alone I sought the meadows, green and timeless.

The stream and cornfield may lack conversation
But they can also be a soul's salvation.

How sweet to spend a day where nature blesses,
The heart healed by a warm breeze that caresses.

And when the sun begins its red surrender
I understand eternity's agenda.


©

I didn't know that Musty. You've whetted my appetite to learn more.


A very wise choice. We all need people at times, but there's no doubt they often disrupt. Solitude can be blissful freedom.

A wonderfully evocative and well written tribute to individuality Musty.

Truly superb stuff.

Thanks Biz & Troy

I enjoyed this one Archiver I like the way you shortened the word 'universe' to connect it with 'rhyme'.

You do have your own unique style archiver. I had to read that about three times.

Thanks for the nice comments both. I'm not surprised you "had to read that about three times" Biz. I had been reading the "Are the brain and the mind the same thing?" thread and the idea of consciousness pre-dating the universe (and being the attractive force causing the increasing rate of expansion) all seemed to fit.

Bit of a departure from my usual 'style' really. I usually make them rhyme above all.

I have dipped into that thread archiver, but haven't followed through. I now understand what
"the bang" meant. Mind you I think consciousness starts at birth - in humans anyway.

Alfriston: The Rising

I The Rising

One night in June
A silver moon
Lit Alfriston's quaint village
Where Sussex charm
Would come to harm
From those inclined to pillage.

Mossed headstones shone,
Each cross placed on
St Andrew's churchyard glittered,
The dead lay here,
A hemisphere
The dear departed littered.

What made them rise,
What opened eyes?
What chance disturbed the soothing
Long years interred,
What fate occurred
To start cold fingers moving?

Dear reader I
Have no reply
To why they had awoken,
Soon coffins smashed
Because they bashed
The wood till it was broken.

Like plants that bud
They clawed through mud
And reached the surface quickly,
The stench of death
Clung to their breath,
A perfume sweet and sickly.

They limped with grins
Past shops and inns,
Warm venues half-remembered,
Midnight displayed
A dead parade
Time rotted and dismembered.

Though most were old
A few I'm told
Were middle-aged or younger,
No spell can blight
The appetite
Of cannibals who hunger.

While doomed to waste
They'd grown a taste,
Raw meat became their diet,
They hoped to find
The human kind
In Alfriston so quiet.

II The Feasting

Old Farmer May
Had checked the hay,
His day contained no dramas,
With livestock fed
And wife in bed
He put on his pyjamas.

From sleep he stirred,
A bump he heard
Which left him feeling pensive,
He grabbed his gun
At half past one,
Awake now and defensive.

Downstairs he crept
To intercept
The break-in he suspected
But never guessed
That those who rest
In peace were resurrected.

And when he saw
The kitchen door
Ajar he entered slowly
To find a pair
Of fiends in there,
Disgusting and unholy.

So shocked he stopped,
With rifle dropped
In seconds he was beaten,
They made him writhe,
Still quite alive
Old Farmer May was eaten.

A tangled mesh
Of uncooked flesh
Eventually must narrow,
Yet craving food
His bones they chewed
Down to the very marrow.

Although she tried
So hard to hide
His wife could not forever,
Upstairs they went
Led by her scent
Then dined once more together.

III The Burning

An army base
Was called, the case
Required retaliation,
One aim that night:
To shoot on sight
The creatures of damnation.

As all the tanks
And different ranks
Ringed Alfriston, in clashes
Flame-throwers burned
With heat that turned
Cadavers to grey ashes.

The locals swore
To say no more,
No scientists came sieving,
No files were read
About the dead
Who fed upon the living.

Denials fail,
I've told the tale,
Our Sodom & Gomorrah
When endless greed
Filled each bad seed
And Alfriston with horror.


©

You've just gone and posted the best poem I've ever read again Musty. I went to read it again, but couldn't read beyond the 'II The Feasting' heading. Just everything about it though. A remarkable tale perfectly portrayed. Thanks again.

(I'm too scared to Google the locations )

Forgotten Expectations.

The day she went missing
she'd been seen kissing
the boy from the fair
with the long black hair
and muscular build,
who's highly skilled
at training horses.

The local Force is
pursuing the angle
she took the bangle
to pay for the wedding.

Last seen heading
for places unknown
to 'lower the tone'
of their next destination?

Her old expectation
of chains at the sink
and the smell of the drink
on his breath every night,
now replaced with the light
of the moon and the glow
of people you Know.

She found she could sing
so well that the king
of the gypsies himself played for her.
And some nights she would dream
of what might have been,
but soon it all was a blur.

And her children, all five,
grew to love all alive
and to cherish each day
the 'old fashioned' way,
full of manual labour
and time to savour.

Thanks Archiver - I hope I didn't scare you too much Alfriston's a lovely old village that I visit from time to time. It's on Wiki I felt a bit bad drenching it in horror, but I like to base fantasy poems in reality.

Forgotten expectations is lovely. I'm sure it's about a girl who falls in love with a Gypsy.

Wow! I'm glad I didn't read that before I went to bed last night. It sounds as though you enjoy horror films. It's just possible that there'll be a tourist boom in Alfreston..........or on the other hand people might start to move out.

Aww! Sad beginning but a blessing that she met the gypsy boy. Wouldn't do for me mind, I rather enjoy modcons and my home comforts.

Definitely a poem to be read late at night Biz

Absolutely stunning poem Musty, defo one of your best to date.

I detect parallels with Edgar Allan Poe in some of your darker poems.

Blinding stuff indeed.