Refugees of Reason

Upon the Stones of Kenilworth

The might of the past still partially stands
Though many an eager actor now sleeps,
Their exploits leading each to the same place;
Ancient stones stood well against sieges past,
Abiding still, resisting their enduring destiny
With erosion, gravity, and time's own forces,
Until came the swell of visitors swarming
Upon the stones of Kenilworth. 

History permeates through the topsoil here,
Held in place by a carpet of green grass
That flows about the red crumbling Brays
Beyond Tiltyard, past Mortimer's Tower,
All the way down towards the Swan,
Unable to guard against waves of flesh
That scratch their sign, sealed with a date,
Upon the stones of Kenilworth.

Their disfiguring, crowded graffiti carved
Into the impressionable sandstone blocks,
Chronicles, with their own destructive powers,
Wearing down the stones of this stronghold,
Once a pawn for barons, dukes, and kings --
These walls weathered sword and cannonball
But these multitudes of visitors weigh heavy
Upon the stones of Kenilworth.

Looking down between walls four stories high,
The floor boards long gone, where Sir Dudley
Wooed his queen above the Great Hall
Three floors below; at least the throngs
Cannot reach across and make their mark
Without meeting the fate of Amy Robsart,
Tumbling calamitously to inglorious end
Upon the stones of Kenilworth.

Today, beyond broken walls, livestock graze
Where once past king's protective moat flowed:
A Great Mere constructed by Tiltyard dam,
Is now lush green growth and a laying place
For the likes of sheep in a pastoral scene;
Reminiscent of Gainsborough's later work,
They lift, with lazy reticence, their heads to look
Upon the stones of Kenilworth.

~gtk

My wife and I had the good fortune to travel to the United Kingdom this summer. The poems Do You Think and Upon the Stones of Kenilworth were inspired by our visit.