The Feather Quill

I wish that we’d never found it now,

I wish that we’d stayed away,

Avoided the twisted mansion that

Was fashioned in Cromwell’s day,

But we were just a couple of lads

Out there, and having fun,

We wouldn’t have thought to change the world,

Nor hurt just anyone.

 

The place sat deep in a bluebell wood

Surrounded by a marsh,

I said, ‘Should we?’ and he said we should,

My friend was a little harsh,

We waded up to our knees out there

Until we reached the porch,

The rooms within were as dark as sin

Till Joe took out his torch.

 

The house had once been a splendid place

Though the floors were deep in mud,

Of fetes and balls there was still a trace

Then the fields submerged in flood,

The house sank on its foundations then

No doubt, to cries and tears,

Its noble crew had deserted it

For all of two hundred years.

 

I raced my friend to the stairway that

Led up from the central hall,

Half of the rail had fallen away,

Was resting against the wall,

When up above in a tiny room

Stood a bureau, finely made,

Inlaid with delicate parquetry

That lay concealed in the shade.

 

But over the lintel of the door

Was the carving of a man,

His wings spread wide, with the sharpest claw,

He was from some evil clan,

His teeth protruded over his lip

And his eyes were fierce and black,

I caught at Joe and he almost tripped

But he shrugged, and turned his back.

 

And on the dust of the bureau lay

A long, fine feather quill,

I knew I shouldn’t disturb it there

But I thought, ‘I can, I will!’

And beside the quill was a manuscript

In an old and faded hand,

Calling for the death of a king

That I couldn’t understand.

 

I knew, I’d read in my history books

That a cruel, evil one,

A man called Oliver Cromwell had

Caused pain for everyone,

He’d raised a citizens’ army and

Had thought to kill the king,

But fell to the King’s Own Cavaliers,

Was beheaded in the spring.

 

I knew this, yet I still signed my name

With that awesome feather quill,

It seemed to have me so hypnotised

That I quite had lost my will,

So then when a roll of thunder shook

The house right through to the floor,

The man in black that was carved, alack,

Came bursting in through the door.

 

He snatched at the parchment manuscript

And let out a howl of glee,

Then screamed, ‘I’ve waited forever just

To play with your history.’

I know that you think the civil war

Took the head of a rightful King,

But how could I know the power of a quill

That could upturn everything?

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Another good and eerie tale David.

[Celie Rose]

I liked your poem.‘I’ve waited forever just To play with your history.’the power of a quill
That could upturn everything? I found this chilling. Well written. Keep writing.

[IamRealTusoul]

Awesome work dear friend,,,I love it...

[TL Boehm]

I am always impressed by the way you weave a cautionary tale around a meter, and lace it up with a bit of history! Well penned my friend.

[Valentine]

Really like this one. It makes one think of just how much history of all nations has been altered by the hand with the quill. Olden days there was no real history gathers. Valentine

[No one]

wonderful story in a real meaning

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed this tale. You have my favorites topic. History and mystery. I liked the surprising ending to the tale. Thank you my friend for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[richieb]

Great story flow David, loved the verse: " I can, I will!" No stopping the flight of the quill now. I'd say a little "Tom Sawyer" attitude in the poems explorers. Nothing wrong with that. Richie B.

[Rachael Lea]

I love this! Then again I love all of your work. What a wonderful flow and amazing story line this has, am I really surprised though?? Of course NOT I wish I could write something like that. You are truly gifted!!!