Memories of the hill in another age

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Trucks traverse the span

Their passage echoes up the gorge

Leave their momentary mark

Like breath on a cold window

The home is gone

Lives resumed in other places

Still the diesel reverb

Sounds off of the water

Follows the old path

To a cold window with prints

From the last time any were there to hear

Only a mirage

Though the forest patiently waits

Loneliness only sounds for those who listen

 

Comments

Tom C. Purcell Added Dec 4, 2017 - 8:26pm
(crickets chirping to the super moon as he reminisces his youth, his glory days)
Neil Lock Added Dec 4, 2017 - 8:43pm
TBH my friend: If I'd written this, in place of "To a cold window with prints" I'd have said "To a warm, bright window with cold pints."
 
There. Fixed that for ya. :-)
The Burghal Hidage Added Dec 4, 2017 - 8:51pm
Hell even a cold bright window with warm pints would be nice, provided the right brew was on tap
The Burghal Hidage Added Dec 4, 2017 - 8:52pm
T'was many a bottle which found it's end up on that hill :)
Tom C. Purcell Added Dec 4, 2017 - 8:53pm
Heh, I'm no poet but your limericks did present me with the image I typed...
opher goodwin Added Dec 5, 2017 - 6:50am
Echoes through time
from a lost oasis
Where one once was
And will forever remain
Pressed up against the glass
The Burghal Hidage Added Dec 6, 2017 - 9:22am
And on a lighter note, since I've not yet reached my 48 hours, here is an ode to the builders of Stonehenge:
 
Stones they set in earth
A temple to observe
A treasure holds it’s worth
In movements they preserve
 
This edifice stands still
In a misty shroud afield
Testament of the skill
What tools did they wield
 
Moon retires, depose the Queen
Sun ascends the ring
Banish night to reign supreme
Arise! The Sun is King
 
The hunter’s moon has waned
Field and forest were deserted
And those who then remained
Made the lands to farms converted
 
When the Sun became the measure
By which we mark our time
Into hours of toil or pleasure
And in darkness sleep sublime
 
We divide our days in hours
Weeks and months and years
Yet now we cower
Before a whole new set of fears
 
What promise was there granted
Was it all in vain
When those stones were planted
Upon the Wiltshire plain
 
Dr. Rupert Green Added Dec 9, 2017 - 2:23am
"Trucks traverse the span
Their passage echoes up the gorge
Leave their momentary mark
Like breath on a cold window
 
The home is gone
Lives resumed in other places
Still the diesel reverb
Sounds off of the water."
 
Over the bridges they travel, air horns giving note of their fleeting presence as do the reverberation echoing from the gorges.
Its a trucker's life--from a home to home on the road under the purr of that Leyland diesel born to run but being reign in by the double clutching now and then.  
 
 
 
The Burghal Hidage Added Dec 10, 2017 - 6:13am
:)

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