You all think you’re middle classThere was a time I too once didThen Papa turned six feet downand whispered“wake up man your life is shit” Being McLeod of Clan MacLeodI was reared to Hold on FastAnd not forget there’s Tink in meAnd so I AmHighland working class How I conned myself to seeGhosts that squat … Read more
I tried so hard it was in me tobut I could never contain you. My eyes were blinded with your beauty.The tongue within me was tied in two. Those fingers tapped so impatientlyfor a midnight Friday call. Your voice was upon me relentlesslylike a heat wave. A catastrophic fall gave wayand was the measure of … Read more
An hotel room in Golspie can bethe loneliest of lonely dens.The cracked mirror half-heartedlyreflects olden histories and mythologiesthat remain perched high upon a benway above the soft-snoring sea.The Golspies call him, “oor Mannie.”He strides atop Beinn a’ Bhragaidhon the North Sea coast.Does the Gaelic mean with a bang?Or does the Gaelic point to the boast?
In that place where there is no need for timeThe placeless place where it’s aye sunriseEach lotus bud enwombs each pearl of lightTo be in you and I so that we don’t waste the nightasleep.
Faced with factsWe all must ask What’s the pointOf guising masks.Garden wallsDon’t stop fliesWithout proofTruth ofttimes lies.Pilate askedWhat is the truthThat The Christos choseNot to prove.Truth is thoughtAgreeing to thingThe song the singerIs bound to sing.So face the factThe guising maskHides truth that weMight find aghast.
Da yowie wi de broken moothAn’ de sclerotic underneathIs put oot o’ her miseryButchered an’ hingedAn’ reestit in da freeze
He keeps himself to himself dying from Agent OrangeHe only talks to himself about what he had seenHe keeps himself to himself when he ended up being foreignHe’s been fighting the war since he was seventeen It was 1965 in Claysville, MissouriSigned up for the Draft of his own free willKissed his mama goodbye and … Read more
If we tear down icons and tear down fenceswe should firstly ask why they were erected. And if the Reformation torched our chapelsthen of anarchy just ask what might happen.
There is a spring on top of the hill that we oft times try to climband it runs by into a burn that slips by slowly as we sit besideit, running into the sea’s ebbs and flows and waxing and waning tidesaround us those of us still waiting for Gaia It is to the moon … Read more
We paddle in oor forefathers’ tearsholding the broadswords they’d handeddoon the centuries.Politiking tore them from usso stand we naked an’ strandedin fear an’ awe o’ democracyliking it or nothas it a’ come doon tae this?The yea or the nae o’ it? This politiking kicks history into the fires and leaves us with pig ore and … Read more