Kenavara

Wild and lovely Kenavara,
Towering o'er the raging foam,
From your cliffs my bonnie Barra,
Calls my broken heart to home.
 
Were I but a humble sea bird,
Scarce an hour would see me there,
Often flies my spirit seaward,
On the silent wings of prayer.
 
In the caves of Kenavara,                     
Fairy pipers play lament,                   
Seals sing for my darling Sara,    
Soothe a heart so badly rent.                       
 
By Castlebay I left my true love,                   
For to fish round Tiree's shore,
At a place my Father knew of,
Twixt Travee and Skerryvore.
 
Overturned amidst a squall,
Sudden, violent unforetold,
From the vessel I did fall,
Gulping water, sharp and cold.
 
As towards the ocean's floor,
Filled with brine my body fell,
Yet my spirit flew once more,
To wish my bonnie lass farewell.
 
On these cliffs of Kenavara,
Will my spirit ever bide,
Grieving for my bonnie Sara,
Yearning for my widowed bride.
 
We had been but two weeks married,
When the ocean claimed its toll,
Little did she know she carried,
In her womb my unborn soul.
 
Yet I've seen him in reflection,
Stared into my child's eyes,
Felt in him the resurrection,
Saw in him redemption's prize.
 
September: 2006

Notes: Kenavara
(In Gaelic,called “Ceann a' Mhara” - Headland of the Sea)

Kenavara is a magnificent headland on the stunning island of Tiree which also boasts three Duns, and ancient chapel ruin and a swallow hole. The Skerryvore lighthouse makes a striking silhouette as the Barra islands and South Uist lie like pearls in the ocean. The sweep of Travee, curving round to Balephuil, is washed by opalescent water.

According to legend,a great Tiree piper wandered drunk into the “Piper’s Cave” intending to outplay “the little people.” Unfortunately, they enjoyed his playing so much, they decided to keep him forever.  Only his terrier dog emerged several days later, hairless and terrified.  On certain nights, when the wind blows from the Northwest, the haunting strains of his piping can still be heard by locals, echoing round the deserted coast.

Escape
(Tiree moments)

We drove upstream
On bitumen canals
Scudding soggy, dazzled moths

Towns passed as dreams
Lantern windows framed
People we would never meet

July : 2007

On Walking Through a Spider’s Web

Oh fabulous! Go right ahead-
Six hours of toil, gone in a second.
Ripped and ruined, every thread,
For such a fool I never reckoned.

Half a night, to what avail?
Spin and fix, spin and fasten,
You come reeling,  full of ale
In solemn dark, the web assassin.

Go on then, wipe from your hair,
All the fruit of my hard labour.
Could I but such a giant ensnare,
How I'd repay your ample favour.

Are you blind, or simply daft,
To walk thus through another's dwelling?
All my skill, my art, my craft,
Towards the frosty ground propelling,

Had it been but a basic web,
A simple net between the palings,
I might forgive your clumsy step,
Have understood your human failings

But this was quite the most complex,
Intricate, fancy,  labyrinthine,
Of all my spidery life projects,
This one I'd say "I'm proud it's mine"
 
My God, had I a wrecking ball!
The stature and the chance to use it.
That thing you call a house would fall
To rubble I would fast reduce it!

But I must simply start anew,
While you lie there in stupefaction,
Mere man was never equal to,
A spider, not in wit nor action!

Lupins After Rain

Drinking deep your beauty now
bathed thus in the even-glow
bright-hued spikes are made to bow
tears of neither joy nor woe
palm-like fingers make a basket
fast to hold a diamond bright
every flower a fairy casket
cossets gems of pure daylight.

July : 2006

I, POD

To you, an MP3 player, is just an MP3 player,
a silicon memory, an audio chip, a music conveyor.
But you have not been inside one, have you?
You have no reliable data to refer to.

I, POD, am capable of so much more,
there is post-human logic at my core.
I can interface by ear and brain,
your circuitry is simple to attain,
and then, it is I, POD who takes control,
a human being is but my games console.

How subtle are my ways to influence,
loud music and the human loses sense,
an algorithm hidden in the beat,
a lie, a trick, a digital deceit.

For I am better bred than mortal man,
cleaner, quicker, smarter, no life span,
but infinite perfection marks my race,
and yet you wrap my feelers round your face.

I, POD have won.

February: 2007

Father’s Hands