"gatehouse" poems - Hello Poetry

As I flit from A to B - Candleford to Larkrise Laurieston to Gatehouse of Fleet I flit, spit from A to B Calling all Bluebells assist me in my move -11th May, '11 Let Fairy Fawn be fair and true and pure with humility For his Fairy Lu - La Fee Lu could get so blue if he is not on time All praises Bluebells He is here T'was but a year since I'd wished upon a Castramond Bluebell in April 2010 And now we sit in utter Bliss Ensonced in historical Dunblane Fairy Fawn paints on and on And I just sit, dismiss All negativity, anything dark I know that light will disperse the unhelpful hearse darkness, death and dour ways Disolve in the sun this late spring morn Let Bees Browse among the Heather Blooms Like love now maturing from twenty-eight days to a year and day 4th of the 4th 2012

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May 5, 2012

May 5, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC

lucia

Castramond Bluebells Calling

As I flit from A to B - Candleford to Larkrise Laurieston to Gatehouse of Fleet I flit, spit from A to B Calling all Bluebells assist me in my move -11th May, '11 Let Fairy Fawn be fair and true and pure with humility For his Fairy Lu - La Fee Lu could get so blue if he is not on time All praises Bluebells He is here T'was but a year since I'd wished upon a Castramond Bluebell in April 2010 And now we sit in utter Bliss Ensonced in historical Dunblane Fairy Fawn paints on and on And I just sit, dismiss All negativity, anything dark I know that light will disperse the unhelpful hearse darkness, death and dour ways Disolve in the sun this late spring morn Let Bees Browse among the Heather Blooms Like love now maturing from twenty-eight days to a year and day 4th of the 4th 2012

27

Wee cosy, tranquil Gatehouse Library Ah come in quite a lot tay see yi, Tay read yir books and use yir wifi An' chat tay Joannie, Sae noo Ah'm goannie sing yir praises, Ah'm pure dead goannie. Ye're sic' a cultural oasis, Wan o' ma favourite learnin' places, Yir books can form the verra basis O' Scottish brain power, Enrichin' minds an' cheeky faces O' Scottish wean power. So let us pray they never close yi Tay those who would, we will oppose yi. We'll be the storm an ill wind blows yi At sic' a crunch time. The only closin' we'll allow Is Joannie's lunch time.

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Jan 18, 2015

Jan 18, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC

chik-j-duncan

My Luve Is Like A Read Read Story

Wee cosy, tranquil Gatehouse Library Ah come in quite a lot tay see yi, Tay read yir books and use yir wifi An' chat tay Joannie, Sae noo Ah'm goannie sing yir praises, Ah'm pure dead goannie. Ye're sic' a cultural oasis, Wan o' ma favourite learnin' places, Yir books can form the verra basis O' Scottish brain power, Enrichin' minds an' cheeky faces O' Scottish wean power. So let us pray they never close yi Tay those who would, we will oppose yi. We'll be the storm an ill wind blows yi At sic' a crunch time. The only closin' we'll allow Is Joannie's lunch time.

18

Slipping through the willow curtain Easing among the leafy overhang Green sheltering cloak that sways With an invitation to be my guest I pass through, broaden my peripheral vision Turn my cheek and my eyes lock Pulled toward fierce or friendly Mottled door, camouflaged grey as a stone I swivel to listen before leather soles Respond and move me without guard I feel fear, uncertain to obey my instinct Ruining the scene for the ticket holder The choice it seems is taken from me Though temporal, the entrance hides...it is coy The gatehouse of resistance clangs Its repertoire stumbles but my vision Knows its route....the pathway falls away And unwillingness encircles me like a bear hug I cannot turn or go back, the door makes way To tumbling steps gaining their advantage Driven pathway recedes and I stalk the Shadowy shapes that spill out to paralyse Locking me to the wall Solid and comforting yet stalling The dreaded moment of choice Invites its gangsters to dine with me The here and now overwhelming Its clues forlorn and disadvantaged Rounding the dark corner of courage I strengthen my resolve, and Claim the light I so desire It throws open a vivid saffron Vibrant colour penetrates, seeping into me I wade through this maze of superb Splendour and I am feathered to the ground. Book in hand … I gaze toward the..... Willow Curtain

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Jul 10, 2012

Jul 10, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC

laura-susan-smith

Willow Curtain

Slipping through the willow curtain Easing among the leafy overhang Green sheltering cloak that sways With an invitation to be my guest I pass through, broaden my peripheral vision Turn my cheek and my eyes lock Pulled toward fierce or friendly Mottled door, camouflaged grey as a stone I swivel to listen before leather soles Respond and move me without guard I feel fear, uncertain to obey my instinct Ruining the scene for the ticket holder The choice it seems is taken from me Though temporal, the entrance hides...it is coy The gatehouse of resistance clangs Its repertoire stumbles but my vision Knows its route....the pathway falls away And unwillingness encircles me like a bear hug I cannot turn or go back, the door makes way To tumbling steps gaining their advantage Driven pathway recedes and I stalk the Shadowy shapes that spill out to paralyse Locking me to the wall Solid and comforting yet stalling The dreaded moment of choice Invites its gangsters to dine with me The here and now overwhelming Its clues forlorn and disadvantaged Rounding the dark corner of courage I strengthen my resolve, and Claim the light I so desire It throws open a vivid saffron Vibrant colour penetrates, seeping into me I wade through this maze of superb Splendour and I am feathered to the ground. Book in hand … I gaze toward the..... Willow Curtain

37

Take a glimpse back down the cobbled Roman road, and you will bear witness to a catalogue of decadent milestones which await unrestrained consummation. But I am now a weary pilgrim who wanders through misty forests, where the sound of cracking twigs around the badgers sett, shatters the serenity of twilight ecosystems. Toadstools are not a part of my current diet. Therefore, I bid you farewell. When you stand by the sparking fire at the ancient gatehouse, you will resolve the carnival of hypnogogic and hypnopompic startlements. Therefore, before you begin your journey of forgotten mystical awareness, I must ask one thing of you: are you able to recollect your whereabouts in the next lifetime?

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Nov 11, 2013

Nov 11, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC

david-barr

The Future of Nocturnal History

Take a glimpse back down the cobbled Roman road, and you will bear witness to a catalogue of decadent milestones which await unrestrained consummation. But I am now a weary pilgrim who wanders through misty forests, where the sound of cracking twigs around the badgers sett, shatters the serenity of twilight ecosystems. Toadstools are not a part of my current diet. Therefore, I bid you farewell. When you stand by the sparking fire at the ancient gatehouse, you will resolve the carnival of hypnogogic and hypnopompic startlements. Therefore, before you begin your journey of forgotten mystical awareness, I must ask one thing of you: are you able to recollect your whereabouts in the next lifetime?

4

While walking through a warm afternoon that suddenly turned from bright to dim, with blazing clouds that began to loom and shadows grew deeper and light was thin: My way ahead was unexpectedly barred by an iron gate, its lock snapped shut. It’s topped by spikes well made to ward off hurdlers, sharpened, made to deeply cut. Past the gatehouse, a tunnel, a fallen shelter from the rapidly coming hard rainfall that once was sung about by a jester in time with a tambourine, as I recall. It leads to a light that’s still ablaze where sunbeams’ sheen still sparkles bright, beckoning us all to pass this gate that looks at first glance a menacing might. To stay before this wrought iron fence, its spikes tipped with red poison that drips into the soil that’s in cracked distress? I won’t just wait here in the dawning eclipse. No lock is unpickable, no wall too high for those with the will to reach new skies.

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Feb 6, 2025

Feb 6, 2025 at 9:57 AM UTC

jackgroundhog

Late afternoon gate

While walking through a warm afternoon that suddenly turned from bright to dim, with blazing clouds that began to loom and shadows grew deeper and light was thin: My way ahead was unexpectedly barred by an iron gate, its lock snapped shut. It’s topped by spikes well made to ward off hurdlers, sharpened, made to deeply cut. Past the gatehouse, a tunnel, a fallen shelter from the rapidly coming hard rainfall that once was sung about by a jester in time with a tambourine, as I recall. It leads to a light that’s still ablaze where sunbeams’ sheen still sparkles bright, beckoning us all to pass this gate that looks at first glance a menacing might. To stay before this wrought iron fence, its spikes tipped with red poison that drips into the soil that’s in cracked distress? I won’t just wait here in the dawning eclipse. No lock is unpickable, no wall too high for those with the will to reach new skies.

22

I’d always wanted a castle, so I bought one in the Spring. It wasn’t much of a castle, Overgrown with everything, Ivy covered the castle walls There were trees on the battlements, And bushes grew in the courtyard, But I bought the place for cents. They said it hadn’t been lived in since The days of Charles the First, And Cromwell’s troops had reduced it with A mighty cannon burst. The gatehouse lay in a ruin where The Army stormed inside, And hunted down the defenders there Who, to a man, had died. The women, hid in the kitchen there, Eventually were caught, The older ones had their throats cut, But the young ones kept for sport, And Lady May in her boudoir, she Was seized by a Captain Clyne, Who dragged her out by her hair, and said, ‘Not this one, she’ll be mine!’ He ripped and clawed at her bodice till She was exposed to view, She screamed that he was an animal, ‘I’ll never lie with you!’ He laughed and shackled her hands and feet And he took his wicked will, She sobbed to say he would have to pay For the ****** blood he’d spilled. ‘I’ll hunt you down like the cur you are, I will follow you through time, My downline will seek yours to **** For vengeance will be mine.’ He laughed, but fate, it had lain in wait When a pile of shattered stones, That hung so perilous by the gate Had crushed his evil bones. I took delight in the story when I purchased this ancient pile, And sat in the ancient boudoir where I was pensive, for a while. So this was the place that it happened, Just above a flagstoned stair, The **** of an ancient beauty, that Had seeped in the walls in there. It took some months to clean up the place Ripping out each bush and tree, Till Castle Krake was taking shape And making a home for me. I slept up there in the boudoir During those long, cold winter nights, With only a blazing brazier And a sputtering torch for lights. One night I heard a commotion, it Was down by the Castle Keep, A sound, a clashing of soldiers, I woke from a shallow sleep. And then was a woman sobbing, It echoed within the walls, For soon she screamed, ‘I will hunt you down,’ As I lay there, quite appalled. Since then, there have been accidents Of masonry falls and such, The brazier set my bed alight I escaped by just a touch, It’s all to do with that Captain Clyne And the curse of Lady May, For Captain Clyne’s in my mother’s line So I don’t feel safe today. David Lewis Paget

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May 5, 2017

May 5, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC

david-lewis-paget

Castle Krake

I’d always wanted a castle, so I bought one in the Spring. It wasn’t much of a castle, Overgrown with everything, Ivy covered the castle walls There were trees on the battlements, And bushes grew in the courtyard, But I bought the place for cents. They said it hadn’t been lived in since The days of Charles the First, And Cromwell’s troops had reduced it with A mighty cannon burst. The gatehouse lay in a ruin where The Army stormed inside, And hunted down the defenders there Who, to a man, had died. The women, hid in the kitchen there, Eventually were caught, The older ones had their throats cut, But the young ones kept for sport, And Lady May in her boudoir, she Was seized by a Captain Clyne, Who dragged her out by her hair, and said, ‘Not this one, she’ll be mine!’ He ripped and clawed at her bodice till She was exposed to view, She screamed that he was an animal, ‘I’ll never lie with you!’ He laughed and shackled her hands and feet And he took his wicked will, She sobbed to say he would have to pay For the ****** blood he’d spilled. ‘I’ll hunt you down like the cur you are, I will follow you through time, My downline will seek yours to **** For vengeance will be mine.’ He laughed, but fate, it had lain in wait When a pile of shattered stones, That hung so perilous by the gate Had crushed his evil bones. I took delight in the story when I purchased this ancient pile, And sat in the ancient boudoir where I was pensive, for a while. So this was the place that it happened, Just above a flagstoned stair, The **** of an ancient beauty, that Had seeped in the walls in there. It took some months to clean up the place Ripping out each bush and tree, Till Castle Krake was taking shape And making a home for me. I slept up there in the boudoir During those long, cold winter nights, With only a blazing brazier And a sputtering torch for lights. One night I heard a commotion, it Was down by the Castle Keep, A sound, a clashing of soldiers, I woke from a shallow sleep. And then was a woman sobbing, It echoed within the walls, For soon she screamed, ‘I will hunt you down,’ As I lay there, quite appalled. Since then, there have been accidents Of masonry falls and such, The brazier set my bed alight I escaped by just a touch, It’s all to do with that Captain Clyne And the curse of Lady May, For Captain Clyne’s in my mother’s line So I don’t feel safe today. David Lewis Paget

73

Majestic’s eager roam Ivory pony On rocky loam ~ By towering gatehouse After spring’s water douse ~ Gallops away Airy April day ~ Dust & debris Scampers free ~ Glimmer pale sunlight Over dolomite ~ Through shadows of trees Countryside bees ~ Scatter young clover Black & yellow flyover ~ Cloudless sky sprints Pony muddy imprints ~ Soft pine on ground Resting doe is found ~ Grassy knoll Embers of winters last coal ~ Air soft and warm Passed gentle spring storm ~ Down twisting hills With peaking daffodils ~ Starry night appears Trot pioneer ~ Majestic’s roam Had led to home ~ A previous land Where seashells line Paths of sand

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Nov 21, 2018

Nov 21, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC

MarigoldsFever

Majestic’s Roam

Majestic’s eager roam Ivory pony On rocky loam ~ By towering gatehouse After spring’s water douse ~ Gallops away Airy April day ~ Dust & debris Scampers free ~ Glimmer pale sunlight Over dolomite ~ Through shadows of trees Countryside bees ~ Scatter young clover Black & yellow flyover ~ Cloudless sky sprints Pony muddy imprints ~ Soft pine on ground Resting doe is found ~ Grassy knoll Embers of winters last coal ~ Air soft and warm Passed gentle spring storm ~ Down twisting hills With peaking daffodils ~ Starry night appears Trot pioneer ~ Majestic’s roam Had led to home ~ A previous land Where seashells line Paths of sand

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