Thursday, 23 May 2019


Up at the Palace they’re hard at work
unearthing aged stakes, so I mourn.
They are not the same thing, you know,
the low wood fence and the high metal
The unyielding spike, ungentled
by the years, an alien still.
One of a hard garrison
imposed on the old green world.
A declaration in steel
of expected infractions,
prophecy of careless contempt.

Here no child will climb or lean, or know
the grace of a lichened decay
or first reach with shaking hand
to a half-known half-knowing creature.
At this monument to vanished trust
no lessons can be learned of lightness
and harmony; of humility
before the reclaiming years.


  1. Thank you for this. I find a lot to savour in this poem: the details, the pace, the mood. 'Ungentled by the years' — I like that. It takes flight at the start of the second stanza. 'Monument to vanished trust' — yes.
    There's not enough poetry like this being written these days, I think.

    1. Thank you very much for those kind comments, and for taking the time to read. I'm glad you liked it.