It’s New Years Eve again today And with it comes more mourning. Memories cloud my happy times And diminish them til morning. Father flat cap fishing from the breeze To catch a netherworld netful. I’ll throw myself upon objectives But feel nothing but regretful. I’ll weld together resolutions And watch them turn to rust. I’ll…
Month: December 2019
Dec30
Who? Who could bear the depths of sadness in his eyes And guess the damage done to Russian thrones? Who could see healing young men scandalise A nation enough to scorch his old bones, And put a bullet between his red eyes? Who would see the rise of the red tide Flooding the gates and…
Dec29
Unripened new budding gently placed Upon his split brow, Brutally cleaved in twain. To join with the blood and bone, To meld his mettle with metal, Cleft amidst the granite And driven upon an edge: To new ways; To new kneeling; To new tears; To new sorrow. Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, saint and martyr,…
Dec28
Ode to Outlaw MacGregor When the weapons were rust for poor Argyll Glen Shira gained MacGregor’s clan. Supporting Seaforth at the Glen Shiel trial They say he was sliced amid the van. But Rob only dwelt in that Glen awhile Loch Doine and fair Breas became his home. He herded cattle across blushed heather Where…
Dec27
The agony of a princess Led to her despair. She couldn’t see the point. Pain left her threadbare. The slump that never ended Pushed her in the ditch. From doldrums in stagnation Crawled an irritating itch. She habitually scratched For pleasure and relief, Delighted and empowered Birthing blesséd grief. The joy of daily drinking Pleased…
Dec26
The street life tarnished the rest of society. Gliding it all away into obscurity, So it lost all its luster. It reduces the senses, Like mother’s strongest gin, Sending her bounding, Insane and naked, Straight down to the Thames For a swim with her lost children. The incessant droning din Of performers in Covent Garden…
Dec23
We’ll take tea at the hour on brisk mountain walks, Plot routes around rivers to stalk the poor storks. Our balls are divine, so mellow, so swinging, We dance in formation accompanied by singing. Helping the poor in decrepit, old houses, Rearranging their rooms and sewing their blouses. We like nothing more than riding in…