Mosaic Master
Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,892
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep
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by Aesop in Homer's Homilies
The Old Armchair
The aging chair took pride of place, next to the flickering fire. And of all the things within the room nothing was thought of higher.
Embossed and leather bound it was, and filled with real horse hair; And woe betide the one who sat when Grandad should be there.
For fifty years and longer it served to rest his head and Grandad’s spirit lingered there long after he was dead.
It spoke of many olden times that came down through the years. Of two world wars and times between, the hopes the joys, the tears.
Grandad would sit, with pipe in hand, telling stories of his youth. We didn’t care what was fiction, and what was Gospel Truth.
He’d tell us on a winter’s night, beside that fireside glow, of lands of burning desert, and realms of ice and snow.
Of when he was a bosun aboard the “Holy Grail” The splendour of an ocean race in a ship full rigged with sail.
His time worn hands would grasp his stick, and he’d thump it on the floor, to emphasise a salient point as his tale was told once more.
He’d pontificate on philosophy, and all things worth the knowing; For he was conscious of our youth and the paths where we’d be going.
That ramrod back and glint of eye, inner strength that you could feel, a golden heart and a tender soul, with a will of tempered steel.
But this was all of yesteryear and now I’m in my prime, as I try to decide on what to do with a chair that’s served it’s time.
Frayed and perished; cracked with age, it seemed the die was cast. Fated to feed the bonfire, November approaching fast.
Then my eldest son stood up and spoke, with a tremble in his voice. He said we spoke of destruction, as though we had no choice.
“Well, I remember Grandad, though he’s faded in my mind. I will have none of this sacrilege. I feel the ties that bind.
That old armchair speaks to me, though I hardly remember the man, for I sit here when I’m troubled and it helps me all it can.”
So that is how it came about that we had the chair restored; Back to its former glory with hide and studs and board.
But as we took the chair apart, upon that fateful day, little did we realise that the chair had more to say.
For there in the bowels of the chair, where no human hand could reach, a glint of metal caught our eyes, and stopped our trivial speech.
I picked it up with a trembling hand my mind at a total loss; What on earth could this object be in the shape of a Holy Cross.
For Valour beyond the call of duty it said on the front; like verse; And Grandad’s name and number when we turned it to reverse
The Victoria Cross was what it was; Awarded at the Somme and all those years it lay deep in the chair unknown to anyone.
I felt the tears well in my eyes, and a shame I could hardly bear, when I thought of the greedy bonfire and what I had planned for the chair.
Of all the tales that Grandad told, when head of the house, ‘the Boss’; He never mentioned his greatest tale, the winning of the Cross.
But his armchair had kept the faith with him on this proud and fateful day Grandad had told his splendid tales But the chair had the final say.
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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the RingsCollaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. KanterNominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here! "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner
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