Poem by Martin Hicks

Martin Hicks' latest book of poetry, In The Realm of Fantasy,  is available locally at The Book Shelf on May St; Books, Sport Cards, and Collectables at Wolseley Street by the Cumberland Robins; or by direct sales marthickins@gmail.com. Cost is 21$.
    
ESTATE AND MOUNTAIN ASH

Closed corner house has gingerbread,

Which is to say much ornate trim.
High bedroom towers match overhead,
Planned renovation prospects slim.

From main part there extends addition

With windowsill and woodwork peeling,
Great source of childhood superstition
Nail-boarded...but far less for stealing.

There's separate sagging porch in front
Few carpenters in town would tackle.
To make brief pause and be quite blunt,
Whole scaly monster lours ramshackle.

A minor point perhaps worth mention

In years gone by viewed by officials.
On still not-broken pane of mansion
Glints doctor's name with gold initials.

 Nearby in last stand on green grounds

Stay four-or five-large ash in all.
Not far removed blare brassy sounds,
Encroachment of the urban sprawl.

Group lives by whimsy not yet felled

And maintains stance, ignored, alone,
Although white fence post hasn't held.
Far distant boughs lend sanguine tone.

Some term trees rowan, most call ash,

Let berries hang down heavy clumps.
Left one bares full length wicked gash
And with tired leanings on next slumps.

Worn sentries show gate wounded bark

And ragged leaves with flecks of mud,
Still proud as limbs assigned neat park.
Pressed berry yields foe sour thin blood.

 -Martin B. Hicks