Monday, 26 February 2018

Mar Dhea / Perhaps

Once upon a time I moved home,

After years Away-

Quite by accident, I assure you.

And now, time and again,

Auld Wans will lean in to ask-

"Well so, now, are ye settled?

Daughter, are ye happy here?"

The "Yes" seems assumed

Before the question has even landed-

Jarring and inevitable,

Like the daily Ryanair

to Over the Water.

But, it's not so simple-

For God Forbid anything

On this Sainted Isle

Should ever be so sinful

As to be straightforward.

'Tis a miserable, wet, cauld place-

Ye'd not be long Gettin' Frostbit,

Unless Will Grigg is still on fire.

But, sure, never worry

About the immersion,

Or democracy

And equal rights;

Big Arlene has the boilers running anyhow.

Ach sure, we'll be grand-

For there has been

A jar of poitín

At the back of the hall cupboard,

Since before the dinosaurs

Faked their own deaths

And devolved to become politicians.

Now wheest and eat your sassidge rolls

And take your brown lemonade-

But mind which fleg you wipe your mouth on

And don't forget

To always say your prayers:

“Now God save us from

The Ra and the Pope-

And Blessèd Virgin protect us

From the ghost of King Billy

Hiding under our beds."

And so, the Auld Wans still ask

"Daughter, are ye happy here?"

And I always say "Perhaps".

For I've enough sins under my belt-

And God Forbid I should err,

Betray my heritage,

And give a straight answer.

Saturday, 17 February 2018

Breaking the Silence



Pardon me now if,

When I speak,

My words are clumsy-

Bare and unlovely

Stumbling from my tongue.



Pardon me now if,

When I sing,

My tone is wav'ring-

Pallid notes trembling

Whisper from my throat.



Pardon me now if,

When I write,

My lines hesitate;

Letters insensate

Trip over the page.



Pardon me now as

I speak up.

My nerves are shaken-

Thirty years taken

To unearth my voice.



Sunday, 11 February 2018

Lullaby for a Fallen King

Sleep now, my love,
And ever-dream
Of the moments we've but rarely seen-
Peace and laughter,
Hearthlight and home...
The future lives we might have known.

Hush now, my love,
Your battle's won.
The pain will pass now duty's done,
And when you wake
To kindred's call
You'll feast then, in your Fathers' Halls.

Rest now, my love.
At journey's end
I pray we'll somewhere meet again
I know not how
But if I may,
I swear to follow you someday.

Sleep now, my love,
Within my arms,
Safe here forever from all harm.
I'll kiss these tears
From your cold face-
Oh, bitter is this last embrace.



Image: Hallosse

Friday, 9 February 2018

Fear

Fear.

What is fear?

True fear is writing alone, late at night in an empty house, with a doorway behind your chair. It crystallises in the unexpected snick of the handle as the door creeps open in the gloom, jarring you from your thoughts. There is no more delicate dread than the sinister draught that softly caresses the back of your neck and the unseen eyes that bore into your back......

Miaou.

Rorschach, you absolute cactus.

If I should die this evening, kindly ask them to write "cat" under cause of death, rather than "cardiac arrest."