An Original Poem by JB. Stobbart

In Praise

An Original Poem by JB. Stobbart

 

We undertake a pilgrimage

to a transcriber of the heart,

mile upon mile drags, then speeds by:

 

we stand in your cradle of worlds

where Henchard, Tess and Jude are born,

where woodlands are strength and real wealth:

 

and between an avenue of trees

and a late conservatory,

her narrow life, her shade of sorrow,

 

between a desk with four walls humming

and a view over the garden,

a thousand poems of love undone,

 

our syntax torn apart by tomorrows,

a powdered plume of long-legged moths:

at a time, at a point, in this space.

 

and little did I know, days busy with me,

that though poetry is the praise of life,

its pilgrimage can be the making of us:

 

our steps, the humming in that room,

walking the avenue of trees — yes, these

are Great Things set against our loss.

 

This image may be subject to copyright

© JB. Stobbart - September 2020

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