Come to my home; make a spot for yourself.
Musician and artisan you be.
Fill my hearth with gaelic trills,
and songs of sweet harmony.
Friend and neighbour gather round,
tonight we will dance and reel.
Shamus returns from a day on the ridge,
crost the bridge of trunk and steel.
Come to my home and make it your own,
musician and artisan, come.
There’s a fire in the hearth, do come warm your heart.
Your music has found its way home!
Across the Highlands,
throughout the Uplands,
their cadence can be heard.
Boots click and stomp, amidst
drumbeat tympani in harmony.
Precision, a decision to align
to the refinement of the unit.
Thump, thump, snap and stomp.
Mallets twirl above the rotund
bass drum. Step, hault, step hault.
March to the beat, feet loud and strong.
Sharp and crisp,
the snares snap, metre regimented;
percussion marks the step and time.
Bellows inflate, prepared to begin the reel.
Tartan-clad and kilted, pipers wail
the prevailing wind providing
a drone familiar and hypnotic.
Marching in haulting steps, lines
straight and symmetrical.
The snare snaps, we are regiment;
a company sharp and crisp.
Aye, across the lough
to fields of heather,
breezes whisper their secrets;
matters of the heart left buried.
Deeply seated when first
the misty fogs lay clutched
to the barren shore. ‘Tis I
and your memory held fast,
a lasting marker upon souls
tethered and drawn nigh.
Nights spent with the softness
of your name upon my breath.
I sleep with lips of honeyed-kiss
pressed to my forehead.
Blessed lough of wonder you have brought me
here where I will keep eternity’s vow.
A tyke in the candy shop,
one stop to nirvana.
Pockets and purses of pennies and pence
displaced by gums and toffees,
jellies and chocolate.
Rainy day savings of the lads
and wee bonnie lassies,
porcelain pigs gutted
left starved save for the
sweet confections savored.
But at days end, the sour stomach
retches and fetches those treats
and sends them replete to the basin.
Pennies and Pence flushing the drain!
~ I had posted this piece on the Poetic Asides site as “Nickles and Dimes”. It appears to be a majorly North American influence (my time spent in Scarborough, Ontario, Canada, not withstanding). The pennies and pence refer to my years of youth between Glasgow-Edinburgh.
It is in the air, can you feel it?
It is frizzing up your hair,
can you deal with it?
The skies full of marbled clouds
and rumbles loud enough to
rattle Glasgow. Winds, gay gales
of ravenous breath devours,
all in its wake. And so it begins.
Misty, clouds of vapor intensify.
Drops enlarge and magnify.
Winds whip and wreak havoc,
your umbrella has inverted.
And these monstrous drops of precipitation
have forced closed the Edinburgh station.
Rain, rain everywhere,
Dear Lord this weather stinks.
Twinkle, twinkle constellations,
shine upon these sorry nations.
Clamouring always to be free,
from wars, and hate and tyrranny.
Luminescence from above,
fill our star-filled eyes with love,
make our every night a vision,
free of animous; derision.
Brightly shining from afar,
how I wonder where we are
to be so crossed by your appearance;
your astrological adherence.
Guiding light a million-fold,
deep in space you must be cold.
If you would drop out of sight,
it would make for one dark night.
Twinkle, twinkle fireball,
from my heart, I thank you all.
Big boys don’t,
we were reminded.
Never mind that emotions flowed,
it was verboten to allow
the saline to wash across
ruddy cheeks, young man!
But, situations dictated,
they predicated the boiling
of combustible tears.
In later years, we became handbound
never letting the flow
of that emotion show.
Yes, situations dictate;
the loss of a mate can trigger
tears that were bigger than
our youth remembers. The birth
of your progeny; joyful and blessed,
offers the best tear, the Prince of Wails
requests the presence of some Kleenex.
We are all members of this humanity.
Let your vanity fall to the wayside.
For after that fall, goes your pride.
Do not venture to hide away your feelings.
Wear the veil when need call for it.
Your masculinity will not take the fall for it.
Mister Jester’s misty emoting; tears of a clown.
upon lined paper.
Markings that mean
the difference between
miscommunication and this
notation. Melodies ensue
as maestros pursue
what our composition
conducts. The destruction
of the savage breast rests
on the symphonic movement
of our rhythmic pace.
The displacement of silence
with music denotes
melodic logic. But our
jumbled order will have us singing
a new song. Such is the staff of life.
And the band plays onward!
Your message of astonishment
lays docile; upon us you
make your bed. Each syllabic
utterance dances, prances upon
the gilded edge of reason.
Bound together to keep
our thoughts aligned,
out of heart and mind they spring.
All our world’s a book,
and all we pages play a part.