(che)+Something+for+all

Megaliths net the mind, Reminders of a time that’s really slow, A time when blood mixed in soil Was the only way, And the green sinews of a world Of lost axed groves Stretched time and time again Pallisading Cedd’s bequest; His name for this lumpy scattering, Bubbling with water-buffed pebbles, Half naked with moss.

From this geological pulpit, The land sags away south to the beck, Hot-spotted with microliths Of hunter gatherers Padding up the valley.

Cedd followed, dropping off Sometime, somehow for some purpose; A 7th century Northumbrian visionary, A refugee from Essex At the court of Rendlesham? Or just your average Anglo Saxon, Settling without a fuss of letters, And proclaiming this stone! but no further? A cry taken up by other homesteaders, Secured by their own stone across the valley

Whatever the local enticement, To dig in twixt worth and stead, Personalised messages from Cedd, Sidle from his stone Silent as unicorns, But powerful nonetheless, Impatient to clatter into prophesy.

Clenched strata resolve the ordinary Into gestures of beckoning Towards what is here and beyond. Both realms are at hand To receive every light in the mind Via a cracked ice-borne timepiece, A portal in a grid of millennia, Wanting a web of tales and tellers.