There’s something in our entrails knows this dread.
You hear it scratching – that’s alarm enough.
That snorting half-suppressed, that flagstone scuffed,
a passing shadow of a massive head,
and we scent darkness, dark beyond the dead.
It hovers like Unreason. Does it know?
Canals of self-containment overflow,
like wits’ weak walls, at that approaching tread.
Our fingers, feeling for that flimsy thread,
Seem senseless, unresponsive: can’t perform
the simplest act. No order now, no norm.
The Void insists. The Hunger will be fed.
With locusts of the Labyrinth in swarm,
the mitochondria of Panic sprout and spread.
Golden light upon the shattered wood,
snow upon the worn stone steps.
A fragment of forgotten rose,
caught in the rusty hinge's bloom.
Grey leaves cling to winter's bone,
ethereal mist upon the river's spine.
Frost's pale kiss upon the flagstone.
Crisp silence broken by the wind's score.
I'll attend to the worn wooden gate!
Commencing the fragility of things,
Growing fragile with each fading ray.
Gnawing like the whisper of the wind's prosthetic wires.
A Honey-Suckle for me!
Wandering along the flagstone path
Hardy shrubs line the iron gate
Delicate golden trumpets
Sniffing the sweet scent in
The humming of bees
Sweet nectar on
Ruby lips
Natures
Kiss
Springtime dawns
Springtime dawns
just beyond
the screen door,
across the porch
Dew swept lawn,
emerald weave
shimmering moisture
collecting foot prints
strolling towards
an arched entryway
gingerbread trimmed,
covered in jasmine
alive with rainbow
flutters, prismatic
butterfly wings
partaking of
nature’s pure nectar
Beneath it a
flagstone walkway
abstract stones
assorted shapes
and patterns
meandering through
lavender and hollyhock,
daisies and tulips
and upon it
you and me
hand in hand
watching the sunrise
wash the sky
in floral hued quivers
as we welcome another
beautiful day
of love
Good morning Soupers
(Mary, Mary quite contrary, tending your garden just so;
planting your bells and cockle shells, and hoping to grow.)
I built a little house,
And dared to plant a few flowers in the garden.
Surrounded by gray stone walls and a prickly hedge,
The violets and the daisies grew unmolested.
I wasn't inhospitable.
I placed a bell on the front gate,
And built a flagstone path towards the kitchen door,
For all legitimate passers-by.
But you came creeping,
Like a thief in the night.
Over the wall,
And past the gate;
Sewing seeds of dissent
Wherever you trod.
I suspected something might be wrong,
But I did not want to see,
So I buried the thought.
Trouble is, burying and planting
Can have the same effect.
An alien bush
Grown from a monster seed,
Appeared like a feral plague.
I pruned and trimmed,
Pruned and trimmed,
Trimmed and pruned,
To no avail.
So now I see in the light of day,
Please take your weeds
And go,
Go far, far away.
For the entrance is the door,
And visitors ring the bell.
Those who stalk and slink
Mean nought but ill
I think...
I think.
Green lush of green
lush green is green
a leaf of language
a branch of word
a flagstone steps
Heart of the earth is free,
white flowers
Clean heart,
fine arts literature
sketching art
arable land
planting gratitude
Green is nature
cool breeze
citing cloud
loyal heart
clarity of thinking
for the future!
As second immortality has its dawn
Beyond it new powers top down will spawn
At its visage second abyss will look upon
Knowing it is superior as far as is concerned freedom’s flagstone
The four terminals increase, end of increase, finality and infinity
Are surrounded by numbers of higher majesty
The meaning of all is connected to numbers and to finality
So its sense isn’t lost by powers of beyond infinity
All numbers beyond four terminals are represented therefore
As written in ancient lore
But it is the third abyss that has the floor
It is superior in freedom to device and mesmerizing once one open’s its door
The destiny connected at mortality abyss
Equal to second abyss is
It takes higher number and equals the first mortal abyss to third beyond immortal abyss is
The trend continues that is why abyss is bliss
The American Nightmare
I stand outside the fence
Looking through black cast iron bars
So many flowers
A million roses growing in the garden
Oak trees as old as the town
Their canopy giving the yard a cool place
A stream wanders through the freshly cut grass
There’s not a single weed in sight
What a beautiful paradise
There are light in the windows of the house
People are there eating their dinner
Roast beef, potato mash and fresh strawberry pie
They laugh at some stupid joke
There is smoke coming from the flagstone chimney
I smell the scent of newly cut cherry logs
This has to be the American dream
I look in my pockets
Two dollar bills and four dimes fill my hand
Torn shoes and worn out pants
This is my American nightmare
Looking through a cast iron fence at others living the dream
Beside remembrance road,
Up rugged steps,
A little further on,
A gate,
And through,
Along a flagstone path,
Lined by sturdy trees,
Now in their Autumn shades,
And roundabout,
Gravestones, with Epitaphs,
Some hard to see,
Of past loving thoughts,
For those through time,
That left this world behind,
Gold heaped beds, crisp to foot,
Lead on, and there,
Within the filtering light,
A door of timber,
Where in, such beauty,
Prized eyes behold,
And all about great calmness,
Absorbs with Godly thoughts,
Within this parish church,
This Holy Ground.
In Knotty Ash where magic lived
The trolley runs all day
The pillbox on the corner stands
Five flagstone from the bus stop
Outside the News and sweetshop door
The start of Eaton Road
The next left down East Prescot Road
Woodbourne winds around the back
An’ up above the nex las shop
Was where we ‘ad ar flat
The front door opened to the street
then straight up stair at that
With a landin’ an’ two bedrooms
With winders to the street
But if y’stepped two steps straight on
Past the bathroom door
You’d be in the famly
Dinin’ Livin’ Parlor Room
We called ar ‘appy ‘ome
With not much left but kitchinette
An’ veranda to stair down
The back garden had a shelter
Left over from the war
And three brick walls for climbin’ on
With a big door for the tea shop
And a single that was ar’s
Lookin’ back it was n’ much
But back then it was ‘eaven
Sitting on a curbstone
Wondering at words and what they mean
Like what induced the man to call it flagstone?
Was he flagging needing a flat stone to lie on?
Or did he wish to iron a flag?
Did flag mean flat in someone’s second language?
Was flagging just a method used to quarry?
At least we know this stone is curbing traffic
I’m off to post a letter
Or maybe pole an “A”
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