Poems
A selection of Dorset Trip Poetry
By
Jun 16, 2008 - 4:09:53 PM

Domicilium

 

Max Gate, the home of Thomas Hardy,

Slow-worms slither in the garden,

The sundial with the joke on it,

The Latin joke which is “what of the night”,

Wessex and Snowdove, with the tragic death,

Wessex the famous dog in black and white,

In the little forest, where the ghost of Emma haunts.

 

Fraser

 

Max Gate

 

Max Gate, Max Gate, the home of Thomas Hardy

Wessex and Snowdove playing together.

Max Gate, Max Gate, the home of Thomas Hardy

The grave of Emma comes to life.

 

The daily slow-worm arrives at dark

And the greenery comes to life.

The common grass snake comes to visit

The hedgehog in the dark rustles for food.

 

Max Gate, Max Gate, the home of Thomas Hardy,

Perfect music played by the cello.

Max Gate, Max Gate, the home of Thomas Hardy

The light flicker through the cracks in the leaves.

 

Rory

 

The Gravestone

 

A walk through a shadowy passageway

On a path where the trees sway

I get there to see the sprinkles of light

And find the gravestone of Wessex.

Daisies dab the ground below

My thoughts want to say hello

The white and purple petals look like raindrops

And the yellow nectar is the golden sun.

Towering trees, an arch of death

I wish I could remember Snowdove’s last breath.

Buried under the soily ground

Grass snakes slither nearby.

 

Sasha

 

 

 

The Grass Snake

 

Slithering through the grass is something

Something wet and scaly

Between the gaps are dazing sunlight

When the blinding sun is breaking its way through

Scaly skin on this creature

Shines in the sunlight

Something lives in a hole as deep as a pond

Something that’s afraid of you

Something slithering under your foot

If you’re truly lucky you may just get a glimpse of me.

 

Ayush

 

Max Gate

 

The home of Thomas Hardy,

Where he wrote his poems.

His last dog Wessex,

Attacked everybody, growling and snarling like a bear,

Biting and maybe murdering.

His two lovely, beautiful wives,

Emma and Florence

Roam the garden and the house.

Thomas Hardy now also haunts the house,

Or reading, writing in his grave.

Please let his spirit rest in peace.

 

Adam