The Cathedral
Pastoral in its hunch between the cottonwoods,
warm and inviting, a shelter for the momentary run-away,
a grandfather escaping the sharp fork of Grandmother’s tongue,
a private theatre for stories trailing up with contraband tobacco.
Hay, tossed by forkfuls, rained into the loft,
a coo of pigeons praised their new straw quilt.
Mangers, spread-eagled in their wait,
filled with a can of oats as reward.
Generations of animals wriggled into life
in between the bales, stacked at the far-end
for the thoroughbred mares, beating the hardened earth floor
with impatient hooves, to give birth to a new runner.
All Grandfather had to do was begin walking towards the barn
and ten cows would being their slow march to stalls
to be serenaded by the static and scratched music
of an old radio that voiced hymns in the evenings.
He was God then, and the red barn was his cathedral,
where he sat on bales and sermonized the ways of the world.
Without him, it splintered, and the falling down took decades
As if it caved in trying to hold the last few memories.
Perhaps all life began in such places, God’s husbandry
in rough-hewn boards, a place of shelter and reprieve.
Memories rejoining the earth. New stories rise
from the weather-worn rubble of cross-beams.
Author notes
the very thought of it gives rise to warm memories.
Written May 31st, 2006
In a list
A contest entry
- Barns by ea.
300 points, ended June 2, 2006, 4 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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I like it alot!
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Hello again,
I see the path your thoughts take in the last line. It is a fine resolution to the open ended cycles of birth, relationships, death and rebirth present in the other stanzas.
I can only say that if the ending feels good and leaves you satisfied then it is enough.
Some methods of closing a poem are..
Inversion-
Perhaps all life began in such places, God’s husbandry
in rough-hewn boards, a place of shelter and reprieve.
Memories rejoining the earth. From the weather-worn rubble
of crossbeams, new stories rise.
Tense Shift-
Perhaps all life began in such places, God’s husbandry
in rough-hewn boards, a place of shelter and reprieve.
Memories rejoin the earth where new stories will rise
from the weather-worn rubble and cross-beams.
Personify
Perhaps all life began in such places, God’s husbandry
in rough-hewn boards, a place of shelter and reprieve.
Weather-worn memories rejoin the earth,then rise again
from rubble, their stories our new cross-beams.
just info...nice poem as is
df
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thank you wiltedrose. When I think I am alone, I remember how close we were and how much he molded my life and I no longer feel alone because I am part of some of his good qualities. thank you for your comment.
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thank you lavender. Some poems simply wend their way out of one's soul..as this one did in me.
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I am a writer and an artist and Kniow that presentation is important, but a fram must never take precedence over a painting. With my poetry, my poetry msut stand on its own when it is sent out to publishers or in a collection. Publishers pay their own artists to find art pieces or do art pieces to compliment work, most often. rarely do you find a publisher who wants a piece to have art with it.
There are a few times I have seen art added that is done by the poete, here, and those really impress me. Found art is lovely but not the same.
Thanks for you comments. -
I had you picked for gold from the start. Those last two stanzas just took me places. Congrats!!
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After reading this the first time ~ I knew it was a sure winner. Very deserving of the gold. Congratulations... x LB
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A wonderful poem, even without a barn picture - that won gold in this contest. Think hosts should say if they want just poetry or a whole presentation. Many times the photo is what sways the judges - like this where you win just for the write. Congratulations.
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thank you grannyere....and they are good memories. so few kids today are able to retreive such wnderful images and a the connotate. It was such a peaceful, calm, comfortable time of life, where soutions were as close s a walk or talk with grandfather.
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ty ea..theya re dear memories for me. Funny how, after allt hese years, I can still recall such sensory details.
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Such memories this old barn brings to mind - many have these in their fields and recall the days when they were much younger. Easy to read and understand these sentiments you have expressed in these lines.
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This is so vivid and fills me with the smells and sounds of a working barnyard. I love the details like the spread-eagled mangers and the scratchy hymns coming from the radio. Rough hewn shelter and the stories it houses. Very nice write, sista.
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My meories are so full of senses....there is nothing more ocmforting than a wool sweater with horse smell...Made me quite homesick to remember.
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but, yes, you msut...it takes one on a wonderful trot down memory lane. *smiles*
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This piece sounds exactly like my barn. We didn't breed thoroughbreds and never raised cattle, but it was a cattle barn before it was a stable barn. It is in its last few years, just ready to fall down. You did an excellent job capturing the old memories. I wouldn't remember the horses stomping for their food and attention, but the kisses they would give through the bars in their stall doors in exchange for a treat. This piece was creatively brought forth and painted a picture in my mind. The flow was magnificent and kept me reading more and more. Keep up the great work and good luck in the contest!
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You've given a beautiful account of what could have also been my childhood. "Poppy" (my Grandfather) loved the barn, the team of horses, the harness hanging from whittled pegs. Hey... maybe I should write something too!
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thank you, LB. No other person on earth has impacted me as much as my grandfather.
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Wow this is totally brilliant. So much vivid imagery within your written words. A story told in perfect poet prose. I was right there inside of your piece the whole distance. I think this one will be hard to beat. A real winner here... x LB
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