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John Fleming Poem
Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
Gate,
Stood opposite the empty wood
Where the vacant threshold silently awaits,
I pause, when, resonating quietly back...
I now hear...
Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood
Tugging like a Siren upon my ear.
With a heartfelt pang I turn to move,
Before my staring should offend some
Old friends ghost
To manifest in vengeful affright,
Towards the comforting sanctuary proffered
By the warm kitchens weak neon light...
That sneaks out from behind the half-shut
Door,
But held - Transfixed!
Brought from wither-not-where to this one
Small place - Staid...
As if caught in a state of heavenly grace,
Conversing to the soft wind in harmonious
Angelic rapport:-
Thus soothes like enchantments waves...
Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon
Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore.
For what be this odd muse
That upon my aging senses does so readily
Enthuse...
And to my inner soul so inextricably
Implore?
Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to
Say,
Before darkly gathering skies extinguish
Over weak flames of the last spluttering
Ray,
Perhaps it is our inner voice
That seeks out the solitudes of
Tranquilities choice -
To witness and record and dutifully store...
Those rare and fleeting moments
We all too briefly adore.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2016
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John Fleming Poem
Hidden beauty resides not in the grace like charms
Of coy smiles
Painted across a gentle Madonnas face.
Nor is she vested within the chastened vows
Of saintly knights; encased Great-Helm:
Thus maketh the pale maidens meek pulse
To so fervently race!
She neither dwells in fair Michelangelos alabaster statues,
Or famed masterpieces hung upon hushed galleries
Hallowed walls.
Never does she proudly boast from-on-high
In lofty ivory towers,
Or brazenly shout across yawning grandiose marble halls!
For she will not be found in royal palaces,
Or sprawling estates of greatly lauded piles;
She is not to be found in ancient cathedrals -
Or exalted from their most sacred holy aisles!
She will not be found in hidden empires in brave new worlds
Frontiered by far flung foam washed shores;
Nor found prowling echoing dusty bank vaults -
If all the worlds bankers
Were to throw open all of their bolted cold steel doors!
For hidden beauty knows all the crafts and wisdoms
Of learned mens most subtle and tricky arts:
And cares not a jot, or gives a damn,
For all the poets and their foolish sentimental hearts!
But.....
Perhaps she shyly glowers inside a sun struck morn -
Her stealing lips simmering upon the dew kissed dawn;
Perhaps she wantonly flirts alongside a babbling brook -
Where sweet Virgil, Her, for a Muse mistook;
Perhaps she frequents the flowery paths of verdant pasture -
With all their lush, vibrant, unassuming rapture;
Perhaps you may find her in the dappled shades -
In and amongst the streaming glades;
Perhaps she traipses idly through heavens lights -
Of beached harvest moons and star tilted nights.
Or.....
Perhaps she briefly flickers across sizzling lightening strikes -
Accompanying thunderous cannonades of symphonic rolling might;
Perhaps she sometimes ignites the drifting tallgrass plains -
Glistening within fleeting rainbows blazing an arc over sparkling rains;
Perhaps she is in the gulf filled roar of stormy headlands -
Whose pounding seas smash and grind the sheering cliffs to sands;
Perhaps she burns across diamond ice in glacial mountains high -
Where frozen snows reach sharply upwards to rip open the azured sky;
Perhaps she slumbers in impenetrable greening forests deep -
Lain down with the hunted grey wolf...safe at last in contented sleep!
For.....
I am the glint rippling upon the gleam -
The tumbling cryptic flashing only partly seen;
I am the eternal flame that crackles in the grate -
The enigmatic, indecipherable, most profound innate;
I am the paradox within the intrigue -
That does so contrive but does not deceive;
I am the quantum within the curled up string -
The grain of truth from which all half-truths spring.
I am all these indefinable moments and much, much more...
which all of your befuddled senses are resigned to grapple with -
Whereupon to set such store!
So.....
Content yourself and make not the mistake
To assuredly set me aside to thus debate.
For i am beyond the conjectures of a mere mortal mind,
As by accidental-consequential reaction...i cannot be denied!
For "Hidden Beauty".....
Once freed from Pandoras box upon this spinning coil:
To fire and play upon your enchanted thoughts - and forever foil!!
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2015
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John Fleming Poem
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2017
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John Fleming Poem
The steadily falling cold August rains
Continue to pour upon Cheshires lanes;
Over flattening fields of soddened wheat,
Soaking the grass, splashing the feet.
Stands the Combine in the shed;
The unripened apples hanging rosy red.
Stands the caped heron all alone -
His glinting eye as cold as stone.
And in amongst the many puddles
We step around like our troubles:
So lurch ahead with our retreat
Like drunken fools in the street.
And through this months darkly frowns
The cleansing downpours wash the towns;
Scrubs the spire from ingrained time -
Absolves the guilt from the crime!
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2014
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John Fleming Poem
I shall resolve to leave this
Place now...
And steadfastly search out,
Nestling between ridge and bluff
Amidst the folds of a foreign
Land,
Several acres of unkempt ground
Fallow and rough;
Upon which stands...
Crumbled stone walls
With an exposed slate roof in
Some state of disrepair,
And a rounded brough
Complete with smooth,
Well trodden steps
Twisting around a narrow stair.
An Inglenook, therein,
Will I construct,
With deep reveals to cheer me
In my idling days,
And wide spanning arch
To sit before and stay the onset
Of this old age...
And all its creeping ills;
While in all the subtle crafts
In which I was taught
to be so ably Skilled:
Rebuild this castle
Inside the wistful echos
Of these deeply-spilling
And far resounding hills.
Then, with mind well set,
complete with muscles willing
Sinew
And perspirations honest sweat,
I shall toil upon this task;
For a little more precious time,
Coupled with fortitude and
Diligence,
In truth, is all one my humbly
ask.
And by my will...
And by my command -
Raise up these fallen blocks
Once more
Upon this goodly land.
For could it happen that
Every night,
Before I gladly retire,
I glimpse a trace of those whose
Face
Haunt the hot flames of my steady
Fire?
Disregarding manifested nightly
Shadows,
That, in their lonely spectral
Travels,
Creep across old squeaking boards...
Lain at right angles
Over the creaking joists
Hidden under ingrained,
Dusty, oaken floors.
And placing down my thick and
Heavy,
Red leather-bound book
I reach across for thread,
Sharp needle and hook;
When picking up the threadbare
Blue-velvet rags...
I stitch in the bright silvery stars
We once eagerly reached for,
But did not quite grasp,
In our younger days as lustier
Lads;
Perhaps pausing in mid-motion,
With a rueful look,
To pensively consider of that
Weary road
One lone stray drummer,
Still steadily drumming -
Steadfastly took.
Consider! Accession is but a
Trifle -
The anointed destiny of all
Royal Kings...
And all earthly prizes pale asides
Whatever riches accumulated
Wisdom gradually brings:
Born of labor,
Re-doubled effort,
Born of non-compromise...
And fated,
Gently resigned, nodding sighs.
Rising now on upright stiffening
Bones...
Listening to the dark hours
Belated howls
Rise over the laments
Of the Lime-torched rafters
Swelling moans;
And, plodding slowly upwards
Of my bell-less tower -
Seek out welcome sleep
Within my shaking, wind swept
Bower!
Slung low under the eastern
Point
Of a sharp crested Moon...
The radiant Dog-Star
Floods its rainbow colours through
Narrowed slits
Of the high turreted room.
Port-side lies my yawing bed
Rigged-out in white linen sheets;
Amidships my mattress spread -
Two firm pillows serve as cabin
To plunge about my weary head!
Storm rages down...
And storm blows below -
Redoubtable little boat
Swung back and fro!
Tossed and tipped from trough
To pitch:
Resolute timbers - Lashed afloat
This angry ditch!
Caught in the deep channel
Of my chaotic bind...
To seek safe haven I do
Endeavour to find:
A safe harbour on some newly
Formed virgin shore;
Along whose gentle currents
My sturdy tiller swings...
And now steers for -
Upon the white spumes
Of a steady bore.
Now...
Far, far, far above,
Past where Andromeda yields,
And Hercules, who upon the head
Of Draco kneels;
And far, far, far beyond
Interstellar dust -
Adorned the blazing Constellations
Throng...
I walk between the milky-ways
Of sunlit nights and shinning
Eternal days...
Which relentlessly spiral
Aboard boundless rays.
For, it seems, that a man can
voyage over the unfathomable
Bars
To chase his elusive dreams
Among the crowded stars;
Where, cutting the black voids
With heavens lights:
Hissing crystal tails of vaporous
Comets -
Condense within the blazing trails
Of burning meteorites!
Indeed! Men may sail on celestial
Seas -
As they traverse the showering
Heights:
Exploding forth in grandest
Majesties
In golden realms of the Gods
Hurled smites!
Seek their solace upon Eternities
Unending oceans -
Their fortunes blown by solar winds:
Mortal souls searching in perpetuity
Until the dawning revelry then
Rescinds.
Answering the call to old Gabriels
Horn,
As dappling sunlight creeps across
My undaunted little tower,
I open my eyes to the new born
Morn -
When summoned to the beckoning
Hour.
Descending from my fortified
Might,
Reinforced with new found zeal,
I reflect upon this newly provoked
Insight -
As the happy chapel bell begins
To joyously peel!
So awaken, Herald!
And usher in ennobled thoughts,
For enlightenment sought,
Inside where aspirations deem
To dwell.
Just as the planted seeds,
Of much great nourished deeds,
Do so germinate - all naysayers to
Dispel;
As all lofty creeds,
Must at some point,
Readily concede, in time,
To the bleak tolling
Of the cruel fates final knell!
Therefore, put yourself to the
Immediate task,
Against all obstacles however
Mean or extreme,
Whilst upon the faithful handle
Firmly grasp
Of worn tools whose blades are
Worthy and keen.
When bending your strong back
To take the strain,
Denying any quarter or appeals
To moderate refrain,
Over adversity you justifiably
Deign:
Your laudable goals,
Thus, to surely attain.
Hear me then!
Build tall your Broughs,
Withstanding fancies flight,
Disregarding all those
Who may well try:
Seek to disparage, ridicule and
Slight.
Suffer not scoffers, knaves
And braying fools
But raise up your proud
Monuments
Wherever you should most joyfully
Choose!
For in among the ruins where
Failure steals:
So prevails triumph -
To forever chase his grim presence
From your low-rubbled fields!
My gratitude to my good friend Mr George Dee Vuy for inspiring me to conceive these
last three verses with the beautiful word..."Ennobled"!!
Many thanks, George!
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2015
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John Fleming Poem
O beguiling crimson Moon
Fiercely blazing for want of thee;
Descending beneath faltering clouds;
Leering wantonly;
And She:
Her coy distractions and brazen
Enchantments
Laid bare and stripped rude...
Like the naked lightening tree.
Stealing forth his confoundments
Dealt by bloody, craven fingers
Which do betray and disavow
The sacred pledges
Made unto the black veils
Of night-time down...
When, drifting carnally upwards
Against your sleeping form -
Stooping to kiss upon that fiery brow...
Thus forged an incestuous alliance
Beneath the distant stars
Of a broken plough.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2015
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John Fleming Poem
The year has finally yawned and turned
Upon a half-revealed shoulder.
A vibrancy, intrinsic to a reemerging
Enforcement of the strengthening light,
In its deliberate and unconcerned
Way, heightening, with increasing vigour,
Each new days new made morn.
From out of the kitchen window I spot a
Cautious speckled-breasted Thrush busily
Occupying itself with the practicalities of
My soaked-through and unkempt lawn;
Hopefully a chance of an unearthed grub
Or careless worm.
What was once submerged in a slumbering
Drowse
Of seasonal disrepair
Now begins to gently stir ...when, of
course, favourable conditions thus allows.
The first scrambling moil of enchanting
White Snowdrops sprouting, mostly
Unnoticed, through the dark leaf molds
Blackened surrounds.
For one who looks: all the subtle
Indicators in shy abundance everywhere.
Soon the sparse and tentative spills
Of bulbous Crocus, faint Primrose,
Vigorous Forget-me-nots. A crowding of
Lavishly painted Daffodils;
They appear, uninvited, on our neatly
Tendered roundabouts and embankments,
Invading unruly verges alongside
Narrow roads flanked by the emptied
Whitethorn hedges; a safe haven in the
Returning Springtime allowing all manner
Of varied flora and fauna to thrive.
This gradual awakening. Firstly in the
Valleys; creeping ever upwards; unto
Steep Vales and distant hills:-
Here a thawing of the stiffened and
Spiky grasses;
Encouragement for an intermingling
Entanglement of Sorrel, Tormentil and
Butterwort to propagate between
Yellow-spotted lichen rock.
Further onward yet, steadily climbing --
Then the sweeping moorland displaying
Her quilted and patchworked masses
Of purple Heather;
A windswept moors desolate beauty,
Its perfect isolation, surpasses
All I have ever known...almost as if
Grinding time haltingly pauses and begs
To dally like slow and patient shadows
Falling over the fingerless face of a
Sun-dials chimeless clock.
Yes, the year has now reluctantly awoken.
Only yesterday, out of the unattended
Confines of the marbled fields, I heard
Spoken
The introductory contentions of the
"Golden-Beaked Herald"; thence
Proceeding to enthusiastically warble,
With much determined pomp and brazen
Audacity,
Above those tilted slabs when perched
Upon the barest branch of the graveyards
Old Cherry tree;
It were as if he was compelled to show,
Feathered throat widely open,
His complete unruffled soul before the
Indifference of the whole ignorant World!
That ageless song...nearly, I wager, as
Ancient as those retreating, elusive notes
From the pipes of immortal Pan.
Whilst, summoned from within that
Ouzel's sonorous melody, which sweetly
Unfurled
Over a crisp, hammering stillness, it
Seemed to be, in that short duration,
He desperately hurled
His fullest repertoire...for the
Consideration of one unworthy man.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2018
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John Fleming Poem
Do not vainly look in those remote
Places,
That, once, were acquainted with a
Small part of me;
Here I roamed beneath congestion's
Of tumultuous cloud;
Happy in idle dalliance; still the
Clouds gather together listlessly
Above the mauve quilts of purple
Hills...
Lit by that strange half-light that
Thinly spills
Through the gloaming of twilight's
Mesh.
For those that stayed...
They have long since lowered my
Emptied body down.
And ponder not, my friends, wherest
I might be?
And think not that I lie mouldering
And irretrievably dead
For my dimmed eyes have been
Re-opened...and thus I wander
Unchecked and free;
Though no more to haunt narrowed
Seclusion of those twisted and
Meandering lanes,
Where, accompanied by untidy verges
Rich with gaudy coloured Cornflowers...
Didst contentedly dawdle alongside
Dusted fields of ripening grains.
For death, in all truth, is just a
Gentle passing through when
Everything else is finally done and
Said.
And do not listen out for me
In jostling woods when scrambling up
Gentle slopes of shallow vales;
Rather, deep inside retreating
Bowers,
Catch the ever sounding notes of
Sweetest liquidity!
Soon a sharp tinkling of dropping
And yellowing leaves;
And, revealed in all their
Rudeness,
Stripped bare - gaunt trunks of
Ancient trees!
But the shrunken trees shall so
Prevail...
As my shrunken soul so too prevails.
And think, if only briefly, of what
Were the living bones
As you arise to early dawns newly
Fashioned vibrance and hue;
But those tired bones have long
Since atoned!
Or, perhaps, when you retire at the
End of each finished day
You could enrich my memory in some
Fond, albeit unimportant, enduring,
And a gradual slow-smiling sort of
Way.
For what is left is nothing but mere
Residual...
As if a finely carpeted sprinkling of
Glistening, summer dew.
But that immortal residual has
Now become part of the living
Currents eternal stream;
No longer held within thin bloods
Coursing grey veins;
At odd times, I would hope,
A sudden flashing recollection, a
Diminished image of a blithe spirit
That compels upon you...as does
A momentarily sparkling glimmer
Ignited by the brighest glint of a
Fleeting gleam!
Then let them say only this of me,
That, indeed, for him, this is a
Most fitting eulogy.
For I should wish of all there ever
Was...at least this much so
Remains.
Rest in peace, Daver.
Your respectful friend
Through words. john
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2017
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John Fleming Poem
Stood upright, between two roads,
On a thin metal rail,
A solitary, brown coloured bottle
Of beer,
Sporting a red and whitle label,
Emptied and callously abandoned...
Just like the tin can of cider
Plonked down beside you on your
Little polished mahogony table.
An unremarkable glass bottle,
As if a piece of submitted
Street avant-garde left on display,
Purposely discarded by some
Unknown person or persons here;
Whilst, with the whole passing
World
Seated in driving ignorance before
It,
All existence dashing endlessly
Away
When frantically tumbling and
Twirling
Inside the madly spinning,
Half-rounded Hemisphere.
Somewhere, after enduring a short
Commercial break...
Every advert dryly commented upon -
Each being accorded an equally
Dismissive and condescending stare,
One in particular informing it's
Disinterested audience
Of the frightful perils
On developing pancreatic cancer,
A warm couch, motionless,
Suddenly stirs and starts upwards
Like a cornered panther
Snarling before the hunters gun!
Your sullen visage momentarily
Betrayed
When briefly enraptured by dazzling
Images
Of the shimmering Aegean:-
And you, swimming alone, in your
Perfectly constructed little rocky
Idyll
Where brightly coloured shoals of
Exotic fishes teem;
Then that reinstated glare,
Fiercely conveyed with all the
ferocity
Of a blazing Grecian sun,
That perpetually resides
In all its burning arrogance there!
For I envision a single angry tear,
Pertaining to a faint hint of dark
Mascara,
Hesitating against a brushed
Indentation
As if a last remaining,
Desperately-clinging, raindrop
Being pushed acrosss the oily
Curvature
Of my panoramic windscreen...
A tear that contains, perhaps,
The whole of the worlds filtered
Oceans;
The pitiless look in those wild,
Turbulent eyes
Awash with the currents surging ebb;
Low utterances of broken trusts,
Unrequited love and misplaced
Devotions...
All precursors to oft repeated vocal
Denunciations
Spawned from some unjustified,
Obscure, nagging doubt;
Recalling my own dismal resignation's
When knowing better
Than to try and hopelessly intervene!
Same old recriminations and wearisome
Accusations
Now being muttered, I should'nt wonder,
Barely audibly throughout...
Will herald the onset of newly
Assembled confusion...
As you struggle wretchedly
In preparation for another troubling
Dream!
Overhead, lunar dignitaries, arisen
From behind confinement of their cells
Celestial bars...
But irrevocably anchored to the
Impossible deeps;
Here, patiently awaiting, in all their
Accursed immortality,
The defeated Titans and great usurped
Cronus soundly sleep;
And a gathering together when offering
Obedient prayers:-
Cloistered abominations of awakened
Stars -
Whose exultation's shine brightly in
Dutiful obeyance -
In worshipful praise of his most
Hallowed regime!
They whomst unashamedly dare to
Brazenly gaze
Upon portrayal of flushed irreverence;
Now attempting, albeit she greivously
Offended
Like a cast-out Angel,
To stagger up the step's defiant
Incline;
Which, in supportive awkwardness,
Stoically resists the steadying
Advantages
Proffered from thickly carpeted
Stairs.
But I have long since fled.
For soon I will join the thining lines
Of departing cars
That invade upon the unearthly realm
Of flittering Bat and barred Nightjars.
Please read part two.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2017
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John Fleming Poem
Springing free from glistening
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above
A distant lark now hangs in
Flight.
Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls
Into ripening bean fields
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.
Do now these gentle Slopes
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted
Thoor Ballylee.
Sweeping briskly past a tors
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...
Now, joyfully sporting in gushing
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.
Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.
Harken then to the feathered
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on
Ye!
For few men know of what he
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths
Forever lost within Innisfree.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2016
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