Poems
Above the City Lights
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
Sitting among blue flowers
whose name is hidden from me
above the city lights
this side of Orion's belt
in a moment much like any other,
the Earth gently heaves at rest
and tries to speak a word that I might hear
but it is also hidden...somewhat.
Hidden by far too many words
and deafened by shrill philosophy
and ponderous consensus
the path to me is tortuous
with weeded twists...
and yet I listen
this side of Orion's belt
this side of the answer
as you do ...sometimes.
Among blue flowers whose
name I just remembered.
I sit in hope
this side of Orion's belt
and listen....somehow
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... all Creatures Great and Small
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
What great design and palpable stamp
are in me
as I against the red bricked wall
lean wondering as the rain streaked cat
lopes to his quarters dry and simple.
Small creature unaware of Tuesday night
or clusters of stars with significant names
or invisible worlds where eternal solutions
just wait for the finding....
if you just knew.
But you don't....
You know shelter and scratching
and food in a bowl.
So you leave me and scurry
while I stand damp by the bricks
feeling wise and germane.
Yet deep in my bone
beyond greatness and truth and
images of worth....
I think but of shelter and scratching
and food in a bowl.
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Ancient Circles
acrylic / canvas
Bringing what I thought was little
a small token
a bloodless sacrifice
laying it with no small reverence
on the blue grey granite
glistening with wet
extruded from the tattered
mountain clouds.
In rough homespun
we smiled bad toothed
jostling each other with love
older than the rock.
Linked with thoughts
as deeply shared
as the lung breathed air
as common place
as the moist brown earth.
Wrapping names 'round
things we'd seen
wrenching tales from the
doomed and mirthless gloom
adding texture to smooth
colour to dark
sweet lies to
corruptible mind numbing truth
. . . I join my friends in the circle.
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The Renaissance Canal
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
Earth and flowers scent the air
on the banks of my canal,
while I the regal rebel audition for eternity.
My thoughts are awash with the smooth stones
of pilgrimage
while a fish bumps my unexpected fingers.
Farmland gently whispers the quiet tune
of yellow corn and red splashed bird
as I glide through its stomach.
Accepting as the Christ child
it hears me briefly but is undisturbed.
Not far is the city which cries out my name
but I have stopped my ears with sun
and on my eyes a balm of wing beat
and in my mouth the taste of answers.....
so I am not swayed by its infantless cry.
Today I also hum the quiet tune
on the banks of my canal.
The regal rebel !
The first breaths !
The birthing !
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Lady of the Loch
10" x 14"
acrylic / canvas
Does an angel leave a footprint
and have I smelled her hair
close to where the lillies white and orange
float and scorn the earth?
Down there where the dragonfly skims to rest
upon those emerald plates
and underneath the sunless trout
. . . eyes the sparkling wing.
Have I seen her face moon caught
and all at once not there
down there where the reeds might snag her dress
and leave a piece behind
. . . grey green and silent.
And surely I have heard her song
which stops the thrush in hers
and sighs across the kindred lake
to where the red deer
lifts his head unstartled
. . . and forgets to feed.
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Magnolia Tree in Lightning
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
Never in the temple
when God sang through the stones,
never hugged an iceberg
in a cold and empty sea,
never flew with ibis
as they skimmed the jungle's roof
and never wore the sword of truth
with my army brave behind.
But I have seen the spider
on his silken tapestry dance,
and I have seen a child of stone
gazing at the sky
and in the crashing blow of lightning
I have planted a magnolia tree.
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Once Upon a Time
8" x 10"
acrylic / canvas
Was there ever once upon a time
when Sir Galahad and I
fought for a maiden's hand
and Arthur of round table fame
rode in our Chevy '56.
When scaly dragons drank malted milk
with girls in poodle dresses
and we sang such silly songs
before the days of rock 'n' roll
once upon a time.
was my mother really Guinevere
did Merlin and I drink Coke
did bad guys wear black armour
that we might not be tricked
did we shoot pool in Camelot
and everything was free . . .
once upon a time.
Did God live in our kitchen
did He smell like new baked bread
was there a time before my dad got drunk
and smashed the house around
before the days of little pills
to get you through the day
before anger was the cool response
. . . before the great divide.
Was Sir Lancelot my father
once upon a time.
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Scottish Gothic
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
He and she and back to where you can't really go
and notions of how things will be in the past
and heather beer
and there to a place of stillness
and early and simple and nothing to remind us
'cept trading on the Internet
and roaring with the Yamaha.
And clean like peasants never were
yet catching still a glimpse.
And dealing with the sheep...all three
The farmer's lot....no rest
and down the Three Crows for a pint.
And baking bread and growing leeks
"Let's fly to Spain this weekend!"
Not having six kids...having none
and eat your heart out Grandma Moses...
but we were born too late.
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Sheep's Lament
18" x 21"
acrylic / canvas
Oh can't he hear the fox's cry
and can't he see its yellow eye
and over there in that cruel night tree
the blood beak'd eagle searches me.
Please tell me that he doesn't doze
and misses the black wolf as it goes
passed the stream with moon glazed teeth
to where I lie in helpless grief.
And there's the lion with feet of death
can't he sense its heartless breath
its coarse red tongue, its sinews strong
if he sleeps I fear it won't be long.
. . . But wait I think he moves his arm
grasps his stick which wards off harm
his eyes are shining like a star
. . . and I am safe and danger far.
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The Terrible Beauty in the Garden
24" x 18"
acrylic / canvas
I have a garden which no one knows
my soul is freed there
where the truth grows.
There's an angel who lives there
who welcomes me in
and shows me the places where the healing begins.
In the midst of the flowers
I weep like a child
for the prison within me
innocence defiled
And it takes its strong wings
and around me it folds
and against its calm bosom
my tired head it holds.
It shows me the rose
and the terrible thorn
on the same stem growing
on the same stalk belong.
And the doors of my prison
are flung open wide
into the terrible beauty
my soul steps outside.
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The Fool
8" x 10"
acrylic / canvas
Among the wise I throng to work
to where my mind resists,
to make a difference.
Important beyond measure
I wait the forty years
to rest and watch the butterflies.
Not so the fool
who keeps the same hours as the lily
who's slow and witless mind
opens slowly like the flower
who's notes from his whistle
clear and sweet
sail above the sageless water
float among the mindless trees
and back to him
who knows so little.
Unimportantly he looks upon the butterfly wing
and marvels at its being there
while his tune
so full of promise
goes unheard.
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The Smell of a Bee
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
He came by often when I was yet small
small enough to still see faces
in the clouds that headed somewhere,
and he could too
and would point them out
and tell me where the sky
had come from
and why the fathers grieved the sons
yet why the world was swathed in love
and why the night so dark and silent
held no terror
for my soul.
And how all life would dance around me
and every step was made for me,
how a bee could smell of honey
how my mum could smell of rope
and under rocks
upon the beaches
he would show me ancient planets...
Oh. how I loved to glimpse
his tunic...
and how I thought
he would always be here.
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Vision at St. Abbs
The smell of fish came coiling
on the ocean wind
that day the silence cozied up
and overcame the fisherman's laugh
and stilled the mast rope's slap.
The jurisdiction of the waves themselves
was wondered at as quiet fell like molten lead
and lapping held its briny tongue
at the harbour of St. Abbs.
Shaved from a piece of marble vapour
substantial as a night sweat dream
she hovered above old Scotia's rock
and held him like a snake gazed rat.
The words trilled out her beautiful mouth
like bubbles from a small child's toy,
"Your shadow that fell upon the wall
now falls upon the iron gate
and innocence surrounds you like
a host of stingless bees . . . choose well!"
The sound welled up with seagull's cry
and creaking boat and canvas crack . . .
for she was gone and sound was left
. . . and innocence . . . and I.
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Cafe au Lait à la Nude
(Sold)
When I count to three take off your clothes
and join me in a cuppa.
Rip off your togs down to the buff
surprise your spouse at supper.
Unencumbered by your cladding
the brew will taste divine
join some friends at the coffee shop
au naturel's just fine.
to drink coffee while your bum's bare
is such a freeing thing
sipping tea without a stitch on
is enough to make you sing.
The full monty with a java
espresso in the raw
Tetley tea when starkers
don't care if they guffaw.
Here we go take off your hat
and put the kettle on
strip off your gear, fill up your mug
and sing a wistful song...
1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . .
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Circus Strand
(Commissioned Work)
acrylic / canvas
And here they are
on the circus strand
gaudy and gleeful
and ready to charm.
Red beaked clowns buffooning
on the rocks...
the oyster catchers smile.
The drying cormorant
in feathered cloak outstretches
and in his pocket...
a rabbit and cards.
The black faced seal
without his multicoloured ball
at ease in his briny confines.
Ducks walking on water.
Crows laughing at gulls.
The otter the acrobat
dances for fish who
glide like the lady
who holds the big hoop.
And the noises and lights
reflecting on water...
the big top at the seaside
the circus strand
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Behind The Wall
acrylic / canvas
Overlooked when the world was happy
in his alcove crooked and fastened shut,
glimpsing a fair minded morning ...
just out of reach and
behind the wall.
Juggling words he couldn't hold them
when they fell with silence to indifferent earth
and fashioned phrase ,
that seamless garment...
just out of reach
and behind the wall.
Cupped in loving hands and nourished
a June bug protected
by a child
he'd see the others smiling, thriving...
just out of reach
and behind the wall.
The stones they hid a beautiful secret
and through the gaps
she could clearly see
the solemn one,
so well adjusted...
but out of reach
and behind the wall.
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In Praise of the Strawman
acrylic / canvas
Their moonlit limbs glide
over the styles
white shining as desert bone
and as quiet as snow,
alarming the horse
by the blackthorn tree
who shudders and climbs
deeper into the gloom
that he might not be seen
by the petticoat girls
with jaws of clenched purpose
and eyes of dark mischief
as they sail over fences
resolve hard as oak heart
and hair like insanity
fleeing their heads.
He need not be fearful
old Toby the cart horse
these nocturnal marauders
have no interest in horse flesh.
Soft footed as dormice
stout feet on the earth
the darkness it clings to them
like a child to the breast.
They are pursuing the straw man
who is still at his post
his blank eyes not seeing
that jackdaw and raven
have long since retired.
Star kissed the crow's eye
gleams out of the dark tree
and shuts once again on the dance
of the field
for they have now gathered round
the crop's lonely sentinel
and are singing his anthem
as ancient as death
they remember the others ,
dirt watchmen of the valley
protecting the sod
like their own flesh and blood.
But his face is rough sack cloth
so he can't feel their fingers
as he's tenderly reminded
that he's never forsaken
though he spends all his daydreams
alone with the sky.
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Moonfish
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
In a night of sudden madness
the fish defied the odds.
"Let's not ! Let's not ! Let's not !"
the salmon whispers gurgled
as the great bear moved in slumber.
"Let's not fight and gasp and roll
onto our backs and let our skin our flesh
become as bellyfill for the white head eagle
and lay there eyeless with panicked gills
and take the shameful end
Let's not !"
"We'll lay the eggs !The eggs ! The eggs !
we'll work as one , take to the moon
and not lay down and rot
for racoon's teeth
Let's not !"
And in the most astounding feet
a bid, a leap
the sound of immortality
stirred the jackdaw's thoughts
then silently his eyelid closed
as did the portal on one glorious night
as the moon kissed sky
. . . was filled with fish.
And day break climbed
as tooth and claw and beak came down to feed
. . . and stream was fishless
. . . and sky was moonless
and the only sound that still clear morn
was spawning water's laugh
and a far off breath.....
"Let's not. Let's not. Let's not."
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On Fields of Gold #2
48" x 24" acrylic/canvas
On fields of gold they intersect
the person and the partridge.
small players below big sky.
deep in thought...then startled
. . . then exit.
Touch tangent, heart racing
the person and the partridge
lost again in themselves.
but now connecting, belonging
paths crossed, contact made
the person and the partridge
move on . . . somewhat wiser
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Pilgrim
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
"Pilgrim overboard !" The call was heard
above the seagull's scream.
"He's left his prayerbook and a note.
It seems he's left the team".
We were sailing to the Holy Isle,
to St. Mungo's blessed shrine
when this strange desire to drift away
assailed my weary mind.
One Celtic cross too many
one Hermit's cave too far
hairy chaffing underpants
and stale prayers in a jar.
So I scribbled down a farewell note
"Goodbye cruel world . Blah. Blah ".
then slipped out of the wooden boat
and set my sights afar.
I throw off my robes of monkhood
and joined a travelling show
to walk the tightrope daily
wearing tights that did day glow.
I laughed with bearded ladies
carried drunken midgets home.
I sang and slept with the Bengal tiger
and shared his breakfast bone.
With no thought for tomorrow
and thoughts but for the day
from Glasgow down to Tuscany
I lived to dance and play.
I learned to juggle ferrets
to spit fire from my nose
and I loved those show folks dearly
in their shabby glitzy clothes.
But one evening in December
in a town that had no name
dung covered and carried naked
by those of sozzled midget fame . . .
. . . I saw my future clearly
as in a crystal ball
married to to the dog faced girl . . .
my life was in free fall.
So on the morrow early
I saddled up my horse
and waving to the tattooed lady
set out upon my course.
Before too long I met my old friends
sitting by their fire
singing songs of gladness
for it was their heart's desire.
And they welcomed me most warmly
gave me mugs of hot strong tea
and as we set off for St. Aidan's
the truth was plain to see.
I'll always wear my pilgrim's robes
through life's great lows and heights
but underneath in gold and red...
I'll wear the harlequin's tights.
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Reflection in a Church Window
24" x 18"
acrylic / canvas
Small places taken from many lands
and carried around inside
and gently placed by a refugee's hand
in a secret stand of trees
where the others cannot find.
These lands are special to us
who find comfort in secluded hiding spots.
Nurtured by isolation,
we find strength in our waywardness.
Yet almost everyone has been there....to our lands,
to our thoughts, to our small collected places.
We've all been pilgrim fathers,
to lands we never should have visited,
we've all looked for solace in cold flinty kingdoms.
So we look for our reflection in a church window,
a welcoming whisper in a foreign sunset,
love in a face on a passing bus.
The trees are alive with secrets.
We are all refugees.
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Sacred Ibis Out of the Mist
30" x 36"
acrylic / canvas
A secret rendezvous between Morning and Night
when others sleep or don't sleep but neither see.
Whispered greetings from Dawn to his darker friend
as they both bring a dusky blanket to this trysting place
and find mirth in juggling their gifts to one another.
Yellow sky of day-worn light glints
and bounces on a vapour out of place,
like a child's laugh on a planet long since dead
and smile over trees they never could have dreamed of,
and watch while birds,
as white as sun drenched hills of chalk,
fly by,
they never could have schemed of.
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Small and Feeling Smaller
22" x 30"
acrylic / canvas
If I might ever cease to be
and chaos rule the universe
they'll know I wasn't small like them
but held it all together
humbly in my power.
If ever I should die
and the Earth stop its spin
they'll know how big I really was
. . . but until then I'll pretend
I'm very small
and God is rather large.
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Softly Upon the Heartland
25" x 20"
acrylic / canvas
Indiscriminate you shine upon the robber's tool
and pale skin of the woodland lovers.
How can you beam so recklessly
and judge not where your gleam might fall?
How might you tutor us
you who glints upon the killer's eye
but lights the drover's path by night
and guides the ship past boulders black ?
How can you illumine the ragged child
below the cold gray bridge
yet shine so softly upon the heartland.
What justice is in you twin of time.
Why so unfair old friend?
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The Breech in the Curtain
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
The leaves brown and dry sail down
to the ground . . .
Returning Returning.
Their dance with life is almost spent . . .
Returning Returning.
And the visible and unseen are soon reunited . . .
Returning Returning.
There's a breech in the curtain
as if through a glass darkly . . .
Returning Returning.
Now I must visit a scarred over wound . . .
Returning Returning.
And reconcile before I sail down . . .
Returning Returning.
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The Change Will Do You Good
Art Deco Man dances in Surreal Landscape
20" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
"Get out of bed!" the strange voice said,
"The stars are buzzing brightly.
Put on your clothes, climb down the wall
fly the sparkled grass most frightly.
Don't stop and think don't even blink
leave while your heart is steely
there's a dolphin smiling in the moonlit bay
he will give his time most freely.
He will take you far 'neath a distant star
where the sky and sea is yellow
where the insects croon and the birds all talk
he's a dolphinately stalwart fellow.
And when you reach the pale pink beach
they will wrap you in warm towels
you'll become the queen of that island land
whose name has many vowels.
They'll call you 'Mam' and feed you Spam
wrapped up in square blue leaves
and your maid will sing you poetry
while your silken cloak she weaves.
"Get out of bed!" the strange voice said.
"The change will do you good"
But I was afraid and slept till morn,
had toast and jam... it was good.
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This Loneliness
36" x 48"
acrylic / canvas
White and bleached white this desert bone
this hollow horse's head....this loneliness.
Unchanging and unheeded it waits,
time scorned with pale rigid hope.
The blood charged herd so very far away
jostling in their many.
Yet within that tangled froth
of heart and hoofbeat,
a deeper and more pitifull longing.
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Time and Tide
(Sold)
My kids don't have a grandma
but if they had ,I know
she'd fall asleep on beaches
to scorn the undertow.
She'd dress as the Easter Bunny
and scare them at the door.
She'd knit them clothes that never fit
to show she loved them more.
She'd give them cash for presents
and books in foreign tongues.
She'd baby sit when we're still home
and sing with all her lungs.
She'd bake them cakes with sherry
and smoke a small cigar,
the uselessness of algebra
she'd teach them in the car.
She'd find a cure for cancer
stop Aunt Mary passing gas,
she'd join the two Koreas
and keep candies in a vase.
She'd put the kids through college,
think I'm as handsome as can be
love them with the fiercest love
and dream she's on TV.
My kids don't have a grandma
and maybe that's ok.
She just might never measure up
so instead I'll dream awa
When Children Dare to Dance
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
Few in years but long in mettle
they look beyond reason
beyond self preservation
to a wee small place
where the humdrum faithful
need not visit.
That place is courage
where bravery is dispensed.
Not to bronze men of valour
on still horses in parks
or uniform clad from old yellowed books
. . . but meted out to children
with futures yet written in sand.
When the small are brave
God knows He's built stern stuff.
When the fragile dare to dance
with sickness as a partner
and live bullets as their music . . .
heroes are truly forged.y.
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Wisdom
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
The white birds reflect in the water she drinks
bending twisting, their white shapes shift
and she drinks their magic and smiles.
Up to the source their whistling wings push
and they become small and so does she
. . . depending.
The water is cold and sweet
cold so her lips tingle and she wipes her mouth
are the birds inside her or close to
where the stream begins ?
Will they be above a gurgling in the rocks
or wings folded asleep in her bosom?
If she is a fable the ibis have no home
if she breathes real air
are the birds flesh and bone
and do they skim the khaki trees ?
. . . depends.
only she knows for Wisdom is her name.
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Food For Thought
24" x 18"
acrylic / canvas
Oh let me be unique
so when I start to speak
everyone would listen
my views on life they'd seek.
Just different please not better
with conformity never fettered
special, distinctive, apart, one off
stand out in a crowd? you betcha!
All I ever wanna
is to be a blue banana
a two tailed dog, a purple sun
a cheap flat in Toron'a.
Oh let me be unique
if it means that I'm a geek
I don't care. Don't make me plain
. . . I swear that I'll be meek.
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Golden Oriole and Woman
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
and faithful was she to me, my golden bird
who sped her way in black winged darkness
to those who slept
and removed from them their golden rings.
and in the morn,
when honesty once more upon the land did dwell
and those who had true loves awoke,
my clever bird returned to me who had none
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Scattered Thoughts
acrylic / canvas
They are small silvery ,slippery fish
and they dance around my outstretched hand
and when I think I hold them tight
they explode from my fingers with reckless intent.
They are my thoughts but they're barely mine
as they exit the mind in treacherous flight
like scurrying rats from the drowning boat
or panicked fleas from the dead rat's hide.
They belong to the world and they spurn control
as their kin they seek out in the swirl around my life.
But I own them like water, or sunshine, or death
so they come uninvited, and visit, then leave.
I tend them and nurture and despise and despair,
smile at their antics as they catch me unaware.
Wrestle, defend them and share them with friends
and discard them like petals
on the ground beneath the rose.
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The Cracked Vase
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
There's a crack in the vase
that used to be smooth
and yet I stroll the boulevards
flawless and bright.
I smile at my neighbour
as if I might live
for ever , but the crack
in the vase has now widened.
And yesterday while I stood
in my own reflected glory
whilst admiring my shadow . . .
a piece of the vase fell out.
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The Renaissance Canal
18" x 24"
acrylic / canvas
Earth and flowers scent the air
on the banks of my canal,
while I the regal rebel audition for eternity.
My thoughts are awash with the smooth stones
of pilgrimage
while a fish bumps my unexpected fingers.
Farmland gently whispers the quiet tune
of yellow corn and red splashed bird
as I glide through its stomach.
Accepting as the Christ child
it hears me briefly but is undisturbed.
Not far is the city which cries out my name
but I have stopped my ears with sun
and on my eyes a balm of wing beat
and in my mouth the taste of answers.....
so I am not swayed by its infant-less cry.
Today I also hum the quiet tune
on the banks of my canal.
The regal rebel !
The first breaths !
The birthing !
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The Steadfast Quiet
acrylic / canvas
Heavy silken flaps of water
gently winding over lake-shore grasses.
Steadfastly quiet as hermitage air
where the gently moving man in homespun
rings the shoreline of his faith
with almost silent interaction.
As the thrush's nest when night has mantled
and bright sparkled eye has lidded shut,
such peaceful and secure belonging
it easily shares with the sunset lake....
as it gently rubs its watery wing
upon the downy breast of Earth.
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Valley of Echoes
24" x 18"
acrylic / canvas
The echoes of the sun sing
down the valley where the red flower bows.
In ancient tandem light and warmth
praise the onopened day.
. . . and touched without comment
the long suffering mountain wrinkles
his broad back
to catch the sound of morning's herald
and quietly rolls.
Echoes so silent the popping broom pods
seem recklessly loud beside
in their rush to spread life.
. . . and this rent in Earth's parchment
this healed wound of ages
languishes in the morning glow
like a conservatory cat.
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White Strand of the Monks
16" x 19"
acrylic / canvas
Cutting through the shining sea
in monster head ship
they sailed from northern sky,
thoughts of gain behind wheat hued hair
not yet bloody hands upon axe and sword
and plunder eyes on the white beach isle.
They sat and painted holy page
in words ordained and shapes fantastic
in sanctum simplicity the men of peace,
their rough hands turned to art
their rough hearts turned to love.
The Nordic nightmares flew up upon
Columba's sacred soil
how l throated and with mean intent
they fell upon the men of God
with warrior's gusto.
And still upon the blood white sand
in riven homespun robes they lie,
inked fingers stiff and red
their life's work interrupted
. . . And God if He is wont to grieve
now sobbing unconsoled.
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If not...
“If not in this town, then perhaps never!”
These roads are eating me up
as clouds witless as newborns
find their own place in heaven.
But I am a constant companion
of hedgerows and cornfields
brother to the silent trees
friend to the mindless splashing stream.
Nameless days
skitter into twilight horizons
and my eyes weary
of the flowers ' beauty
and my words weary of no answers .
A mocking raven calls,
“If not in this town, then perhaps never.!”
