At the Morning Milking

Only old Yochan tholes, he’s thrawnenduring at the morning milking.Every other crofter drives to Tainto shop for milk, is Yochan’s thinking. But if we don’t work what doth we dowith idle hands? Yochan insistscrofting thus answers the call ofDr Frankl the Logotherapist. When we have a why to live for we canlive with any how. … Read more

On Stony Ground

It’s a hard, hard lifeAnd the damned thing,Thanks to God, the harderwill never yield to live itself. Wherever be that truthAlive in joy’s inaction:Wise to live a life in art, orthyself a charmed distraction. Thus, life can be a little easyIf viewed when lying downEspecially if a love is by as, youlie on stony ground.

Sprauchle to Green Corrie Loch

Within her smooth bealach cleavageBetwixt two ancient gneissic breastsStones as white as snow pink glistenOn paths that asp-like rise to crest The ancient ways and corrie ridgesCoiling round her secret jewelsLochans hid from spirit’s gentilesAssynt’s myths misunderstood As faeries laugh and wash her tressesSnaking down her marble sidesHer shining crown hurls Helios at usLaying us … Read more

Possess Me

What we can BeIs a matter of Poetry.You keep sending meEssays on freedom. Freedom from what?Conclusions in flightRunning away from thingsNot running towards them? Give me the light of ideasThe dreams and the blissThat are not ‘out there’Like attractions to visit; But hang in the airQuiet in the mountainousZen-still in the burnsCascading around us. If … Read more


You are ever so graceful as you poise your fistsStraighten your slender arms and slowBow lower than low beneath the rising sun. Then standing tall straining you smile as ifThe Shinto inside you is a burning charmYou shut out your pain hoping peace will finally come. You have lived to serve everyone. The UC, the … Read more


Who sat on the beach smilingaround the fire?Playing our tunes madlyas if the sunrise was never coming?Singing wild and free?Who sat watching that strangerthrowing pebbles into the sanddrawing lines and proclaiming“this is the way it’s going to be?”(with his boundaries and geometry and negotiation and symmetry)Who allowed our skeleton to fall brokendown and to take … Read more

Grasp the Thistle

I guess we’re growing oldlike thistles in the drought-parched park where we all dieslow in summer;Our seeds have blown away as shadows slowly fallto cover up the cracksof crippled lovers. We leave nothing more than dustthe carvings of a stonethat michaelang’lo smoothedwith sweat and a chisel;For fate is just the same foreach and everyone soface … Read more


Economic policy up hereis Whoreism,defined as:“prostituting land to uncaring wild-camping tourism” And a Whoreist we canthus define:“as one who visits the Highlands, blindly litters and defiles” Alas it comes to this:(if we believe the moneymen)our prosperity dependson what it isthe Whoreist spends. This is the fallacyof an economic thesis:to sellour Highland soulfor Whoreist-faeces?

Earrann Bìth

She went to Courtto Justice find.It was not thereto find alas.Do lawyers lie?Are judges blind?Is? the Law of Scotsan ass? Oh Earrann Bìththe gods decreethat Justice youwill one day see.The men who laughedand the witches too will dearly payfor raping you. Set your sailfor o’er the seaThere is JusticeEarrann Bìth.

River of Love

Let us drift down river you and IOn the flood, effortlessly We’ll sweep beyond the places we passedWhen we rowed upstream adventurously We’ll slow and look aghast at the over-hanging branchesThe Tacksman’s tree at last is hanging lifelessly The bark on its back ripped-off like rags and flowersNakedly searching for a soteriology Lest we shake … Read more