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J. Elk-Baptisté

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019

J. Elk-Baptisté

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By, Cranach’s

Should we go by fjord

Or long way ‘round

By, Cranach’s right of way

Churn through muck thigh-hjgh

Won’t save time and too

Rig may need a good push

Hauling through last Friday week

Had Toby down in filth

Going past them Cranach sties

Run-off come down hill

Stink to make maidens cringe

And their mothers weep

Bid cat, toodle, last chance now!

Speak up, we must depart.

Cat has much of work to do

Out in barn and loft

Climb aboard sweet, Nellie-dear,

Leave cat to tame them mice

Old man, Cranach’s double

Damned with that dog of his.

Barks daylong and half night too

Sound to rattle horses,

To curdle milk in stalls.

True no value there.

Mystery light shines bright,

From Cranach’s farthest field.

Wise to stay from copse down there,

At dawn this time of year.

It’s not angels play where fences

Cross, but strange spawn of lower form.

Move on good boy now!

Will take fjord track,

With waters high and dangerous, yes.

But, Priest can bless our crossing there,

After all “to do”.

When we are safe there at the kirk.


Did you whisper to her in the shadows

In the hollows of the back streets

Did it feel true when you asked

Will you see me as light or would you

Prefer to tarry with, Lord Carnarvon

In a tomb of precious artifacts from

Time long passed

A younger life

When the slaves died

And the Queen shed tears

In the Ibis Garden

And our children worshipped sunshine

Knight’s Crossing of Winter-brook

At the crossing in the pale dawn

Erstwhile, before the shepherd girls

In meadows, in field and barrow,

In among the outcroppings of high places

Count the Lord’s favor, as new lambs,

Bleating and crying in the last of

Rising mist and low valley fog.

Far off over at Winter-brook Knights Crossing,

The sounds of battling, shifting, drifting afar

All the way to the meadow-land.

An historic event rendered upon the akashic,

There more surely marked than those marks

Made even at earlier time upon secret cavern walls.

Sound of swords, blades dividing

The shafting light of morn’

Taking life from life

And the lasers of far, far off, forgotten past

Flash and turn good living flesh to stone

Cold fire is long now, gone from Winter-brook.


The first of your children passed

Very early on

No sooner had the golden man slipped

Away from under your roof

To Italy he fled

To travel by Vesuvius,

Ferroviaria, they said.

Pizza Grande..?

Taxi drivers and thieves were


And desk-clerks critical of their guests

Katherine De Medici was not at home

Ancient trees around her villa

Saw soccer players

Your little one left, and,

Mine carried on over the moon-ball.

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