Venta Belgarum Poem by Barry Van Asten

Venta Belgarum



We stood within that great cog of Christianity,
Hushed by its history, thick as honey...
The tapestry of faith hung heavy, in the Quire;
A walled mystery concealed by doctrine and desire.

Here, a revolution of thought, a battle of will
Echoes through time...and blood through veins
No longer flows on Magdalene Hill.
All things remain: the Itchen, the City Mill,
The College and the Pilgrim's Hall...

Sad to see wind chimes beside a grave:
The song of nature, unto a child, caught
In the soft moving of words, wind-sighing,
Sung in a dead dialect of thought!

From Morn Hill we marched on the South Downs;
The rain tore into us like Flanders' lead.
In the Cathedral, the shade of St Swithin
Sweeps over the stones...and Jane Austen
Frowned, as the crypt emptied its dead!

In the Deanery Garden we sat and gasped
At the measure of change; of people and places.
We climbed St Giles's Hill and paused on the past:
A medieval monster; a great limb of faith
Withstanding the tide of banal change
That consumed a way of life, forever lost!

Winchester.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Barry Van Asten

Barry Van Asten

Birmingham, England
Close
Error Success