SCOTCH VILLAINY

I love the crack of whisky breaking ice

And the whisper of this water of life,

Staining glass with burnished gold once, twice, thrice.

It moves me to a place so cool and nice

Where calm replaces misfortune and strife;

I love the crack of whisky breaking ice.

I know some wowsers see it as a vice

But they know nought of this substitute wife,

Staining glass with burnished gold once, twice, thrice.

I am addicted to the malt and spice

And peat that chants of pipes and drums and fife;

I love the crack of whisky breaking ice.

There are times when I would pay any price

For this elixir of the afterlife,

Staining glass with burnished gold once, twice, thrice.

But I’m not fussy, nor am I precise;

I’ll drink cheap and common and rough and rife.

I love the crack of whisky breaking ice,

Staining glass with burnished gold once, twice, thrice.

MONSOON

It's hottest just before the rain comes down

From the mountains of clouds stacked grey and black,

A gift from heaven’s skies to this parched town.

Forecasts are framed by faux experts who frown,

Describing nothing but the past come back,

It’s hottest just before the rain comes down.

Thunder sounds alarums like a loud clown,

And drops explode on the roof of our shack,

A gift from heaven’s skies to this parched town.

The sun vanishes fearing it might drown

And the shade sheds respite from heat’s hard rack,

It’s hottest just before the rain comes down.

Rivers swell and swerve and swirl khaki brown

Like camouflaged armies on the attack,

A gift from heaven’s skies to this parched town.

Like verses by a poet of renown

Nature’s cycle wheels on a rhythmic track;

It’s hottest just before the rain comes down,

A gift from heaven’s skies to this parched town.

CHILDHOOD BLUES

The blue of the sky reflected blue sea

And pure white foam floated in both the blues.

That was the way it seemed to younger me.

We had pleasure in being us and we

And there was much to see in two-blued views.

The blue of the sky reflected blue sea.

The mornings were clean and lit up with glee

And never knew a warring world’s worst news.

That was the way it seemed to younger me.

The sunsets were as red as red could be

And grey days were as rare as wearing shoes.

The blue of the sky reflected blue sea.

At night the heavens were spangled starry

And waters flickered flaming yellow hues.

That was the way it seemed to younger me.

As children we knew only how to be

And we believed we had freedom to choose.

The blue of the sky reflected blue sea,

That was the way it seemed to younger me.

THE WRITER

I am a teller of stories.

I live between a keyboard

And a screen lit blue,

Thinking about sagas

That do not matter

And none of them are true.

I am a composer of poems.

I live in a word-filled world

Where imaginings rhyme

And sometimes play tunes

Backed by ancient rhythms

And loves of another time.

PARADISE

 

GOOD FRIDAY

 

GREY ALL WAYS