Category: Poem

Occasionally, just occasionally, a line or a phrase or a word develops into something worth examining more fully.

#Poem: Thoughts on Encountering #Dunoon’s ‘#JimCrow’ for the First Time. #blacklivesmatter

Racism should have no place in our society. Othering is a pernicious and vile practice – one which affects communities across Scotland. Gossip, innuendo and rumour all contribute to conduct which results in bullying, discrimination and disempowerment. It may not be full-blown racism, it might be sexism, or homophobia, or sectarianism – whatever it is, we are better than this and the campaign to deal with Dunoon’s ‘Jim Crow Rock’ is proof-positive that change is being demanded.

Thoughts on Encountering Dunoon’s ‘Jim Crow’ for the First Time

At first it seems it is Crow,
That sharp-faced Corvid –
Yellow-eyed, black-billed,
Black-footed and Wing-tipped
In iridescent black-blue –
Perhaps hooded in sombre
Grey – seen against a scudding
Winter sky - a darkling flag
Tumbling low over the waves to-
Ward a deep copse roost.

But no –
This ‘crow’ is anchored
Upon the foreshore, stilted
Mid-step, painted by the
Unkind brush of local
Tradition, shaping an Other
With a vile cartoon graffito
Of red lips and white tooth
Strip – it is an indecent dis-
Memberment of that
Which we all share.

Deirdre of the Sorrows

Deirdre’s story is a sad and epic tale of love, betrayal and heartache – as well as death, blood and vengeance. Only in Cowal, among its gentle lochs and hills did the great Irish beauty find a measure of happiness.

Deirdre of the Sorrows

Draped over his shoulder
The cloud crept toward dawn
And masked the soft-edged sigils
Of drought dulled heather.

Her scent curled about his
Tonsure of Rowan and Alder,
As he opened his chest
In a supple twist of his hips –

He revealed the long loch
Of his cavernous belly,
And the glittering breadth 
Of his seaward ardour.

Only then did she weep,
Effacing herself,
Until all that remained
Was a shiver of mist in the air.

Tinfoil: a #poem in response to #lockdown, #covid-19 & the danger #conspiracytheorists pose to #vulnerable #ruralcommunities everywhere

This poem was written with a particular story in mind, one I heard from a volunteer I work with in our community’s response the lockdown. We’ve been lucky so far in ColGlen I think, but it staggers me how stupid some folks can be, particularly those who think ‘they know better’ than the full weight of scientific consensus.

Tinfoil

At dusk I stood at his gate,
His sanitizer in my hand,
A greeting stuttering
On my lips as he crossed
The head of my shadow
And entered Covid range.

I stepped away into the lane
My hands warding against him,
And my penumbra pursuing
His steps, until a bramble
Bit my neck.”You are sweet”
He said, “but this we do not need.”

Later, collar soaked in water,
Hands washed to Dion, tongue
Whetted with Jarl, I explained
The fear this gentle man provoked –
With his jaunts South, his weekend guests, 
The tinfoil hat of his credulity.

Take a #Knee: a #poem in response to the #death of #georgefloyd because #blacklivesmatter after centuries of #othering

It only takes a knee to comfort a child,
To receive a knighthood,
To listen to a god - to be inspired;

Just a knee for grouting around tiles,
To ask a girl if she will,
To loosen bolts and change tyres;

Perhaps two for French cricket,
To warm a lamb as its fed,
To chase mice, all smooth and sleekit.

It only takes a knee placed very precisely
To stop a man’s breath,
To fully express centuries of othering.

Nous sommes unis: By their guns become not their gun #paris #beirut

By their guns become not their gun,
by their killing hasten not their death,
by their hate, forget not the Love
which should infuse every breath:

so embrace them for they are unaware
of the mud they smear upon their souls;
embrace them so that they might learn
only Love is the answer to their call.

Vassal

The grass grows still.
Gulls remain a-wing

Their cries unfilled, despite.
One step follows another,

Paused perhaps,
Unwilled for a moment.

The sun rises, falls, still.
Stillness is still, still.

Happiness is unaffected,
Sadness unmannered,

Grief raw – none of these change.
The swing of plaid

at the back of the knee,
this too remains – implying

something does not.
That vassal doubt perhaps?

The effect of Scottish Independence on England: @DeborahOrr nails it!

Scottish independence would change England more than Scotland

Had to share this article in Saturday’s Guardian, which was in turn inspired by J. K. Rowling’s recent donation to the Better Together campaign. A really interesting take on what is going on – and right in line with Angus Reid’s Modest Proposal which speaks to, in my mind anyway, the UK’s present democratic deficit.

A Modest Proposal
from the poem, Call for a Constitution

if I as a writer of poetry
were called upon to give a form of words
to model the nation’s behaviour
it would be this: ownership obliges
everyone to respect and to care for
the sacred; to respect and to care for
freedom of conscience; and to recognise
the gift of every individual
to respect it, care for it, nourish it;
to respect and to care for communities;
and to care for the land, and wherever
the land has been abused to restore it
so that it can support all forms of life:
five principles, five fingers on the hand.

NB. Just realised appropos the above, today’s the day when the Scottish Gov’t published its consultation on a constitution. Not as poetic, but I really liked the idea of popular sovereignty – we’re all our own rulers. Heady stuff – a lot to be admired, a lot to be discussed …

#WorldPoetryDay Too brilliant for ash or clay to contain/they constellate beneath the swaying grasses/their yellow, a sun partially interred

And here is it in verse form, with all the proper punctuation.

Too brilliant for ash
or clay to contain,

they constellate
beneath the swaying grasses,

Their yellow, a sun
partially interred.

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