Four Callander Poems & A Highland Games

1.Chanticleer’s Comb Chanticleer’s comb is fiery red Sixteen wives he takes to bed Sixteen wives, each one with egg Chanticleer is a small sperm keg 2.High Summer A lolloping dog, all flappy ears and tail Zigzags its bounding way through ferns and leaves The sleepy river slides its glassy way Under the emerald canopy of trees The clouds, like tumbleweed, roll overhead The sunbeams weave their dimpling interplay Of leaf and light a woodland Jacob’s coat High summer. Time of warmth and turning hay 3.Highland Games A tented city: dancers changing From over the globe, spectators ranging Round the park where strongmen flex Muscles and caber-flinging pecs, Kilts and quaichs and bungee jumps Dancers knotting their Highland pumps. Pipers piping. Chief’s Glengarry Calum, Alasdair, Shannon, Mhairi Gordon Highlanders, puppet play Seagulls snatching the scraps away Climbing walls and Scotty dogs Sculptor carving out totem logs Cheerleaders and tug of war Waltzers, burgers, wheeling car Showers of rain. A trampoline Balloons and sporrans, chips, ice cream Drummers marching trampled grass Birds of prey where the punters pass Tattoos, face paints, a police pipe band Wheelie bins with debris crammed Bouncy castles, pick’n’mix Stiltwalkers with legs of sticks Mediaeval stocks and mace Buggies, whisky, the children’s race Cameras clicking, ceilidh song Giggling schoolgirls from old Hong Kong Queues for venison in a bun Highland games are a load o fun! 4.Sally’s Pool Bee on a buttercup’s busy as a monkey Picking fleas from a sibling monkey’s back Little dappled pool, so sun-blink lively Flap-jack frogs go fumbling over your reeds All fingers and thumbs. A tiny jade green beetle Abseils down a leaf where a bummer hums Swallows spill from their ivied nests above Like beakers overfilled with a tide of wings Moments like these are rare as nectar-crumbs 5.Letter to Port & Starboard Port & Starboard are two Wellsummer hens, living in hen paradise with Ian King and Sally Evans. Their hen-clan features on Kellog’s cornflake boxes. Dear Port & Starboard, Please accept my thanks for your excellent gift today. I think you swallowed the sun. Your eggs melted on my mouth like a warm kiss The packaging was particularly fine, Burnt sienna flecked with caramel freckles How delicately you strut, how most precisely Hoisting each yellow foot like a well-oiled crane Gingerly placing it down as if walking on eggshells You burble together like two slow boiling kettles Your terracotta combs all red and jiggling Your eyes like pressed studs in a provost’s shirt May you lay long and prosper, feathery virgins!