The Seely Howe (English Poems)

Late Holiday, Ballater August, a dog sleeps two doors near my room One flopped ear like an envelope's cream flap The barley-field lets loose its braided hair I breathe in pine, through sun motes dancing gold Now the wood's sighing sweeps down like a mist I am back in my childhood village, my healing place staring up at the hill with his face of oak People pass, anonymous, unknown Only the hills, the river and the earth Acknowledge me, as one who has shared their days In the Druid hollows, a bird pipes out a coronach Where did the years go, those light-foot leavers? The rowans, scarlet red, droop heavy now Like blobs of blood, their branches thin and trembling Dying, they give birth to the catkin season Let's Pretend I am re-inventing your childhood Let's pretend your bedroom Was specially painted blue With mobiles, night-light, music Fit for a prince. Let's pretend You only cried if you fell And never from fear or grief. That everyday adventures were always nice Let's pretend You never held a gun Were blooded before you were ten with your first kill That you never cowered from the belt Or ran away, stayed up till the wee tired hours Child-gambler, playing daddy for pennies Eight turned twenty one Let's pretend that mummy Wasn't a sponge of tears That leaked out messy and useless, A wreck with no brakes or gears I am reinventing your childhood. Let's pretend that mummy Didn't give you away Believing the lie that the Nanny State knows best Intelligent, musical, quick, A natural leader and athlete, the teachers wrote But all those early apples withered on the bough Counted for nought I am reinventing your childhood Indulge me kind ghost And all those other ghosts Who walk that bitter track On torn, bleeding feet The Past is gone away, beyond pretending Ah, could I take it back! Amuse Bouche: Finlay the Callander Cat Finlay the cat is a poetry buff He purrs through a spiced villanelle He arches his back, if you're not to his taste He meows at a slab of Rondel If doggerel's on offer he picks at his paws A haiku's his best Amuse Bouche But sonnets, and ballads, found poems and odes He swallows them down with a whoosh Finlay the cat is accustomed to thrills He watches his mistress spin honey Like a dervish…the nectar that's culled from the hills Sits in jars that are twinkly and sunny Not a lover of hens, how he laughs when one flies Off to plop like a plumb in the grass As he watches a poet's attempts to retrieve It while drenched to the giblets, alas He will sprawl on a chair, lift a curious eye On poets, with striped socks or none Wearing retro, or Celtic, or post-hippy garb As they read in the midgies and sun Finlay the cat is a legend to all He'll dispense the occasional nip If his neighbour nods off in the mids of a verse And a glass of wine's threatening to slip His fur is the furriest, purrs are the best He's the mascot of poetry dos A Scottish Renaissance cat, down to his tail With his whiskers and velvety trews Kings of the Cobbles Skateboard pirouettes and tips Cracks like nuts the shoppers' shins Baseball cap on back to front The mad assailant strikes and grins Cyclist pumping hairy legs Mows down strangers, scares grandmothers Bombs through green man's flashing sign, The healthy option? Not for others! Buggy - mummy pushing babe Like ninepins, folk are toppled over Shoves past queue. Her bum on bus Takes up two seats, a cow in clover Silver surfer wields her Zimmer Boadicea on the warpath! All should respect the elderly Zimmer shover causes bloodbath The Idols Who do you idolise? Chaplin or Dali? Madonna or Elvis? Or Mohammed Ali? Leonardo da Vinci? The Beatles? The Who? Stravinsky? Beethoven? Gandhi? Or Lulu? What makes you worship them? Jealousy? Pride? Or a feeling that you could be them if you tried! The Old man from Dunoon A lusty old man from Dunoon In the sun, wooed a clippie from Troon He lost his bus pass When they romped in the grass He walked home by the light of the moon Pet Shop Would you like an alligator For your swimming pool? Or a sloth to keep your toes warm Or a vampire bat that's cool? Would you let a monkey Enjoy your trampoline? Would you let it make your breakfast Spread your toast with margarine? Have you got nosey neighbours? Why not buy a tall giraffe? It'll spit into their barbecues And give your kids a laugh Maybe you'd prefer a porcupine To keep as a foot scraper Or a floppy jawed retriever To fetch home the morning paper I think an elephant would be The grandest type of pet When it rains, I'd sit beneath her She would stop me getting wet The French Poodle There was a French poodle called Jean Who crawled into the washing machine When the drum was on spin She flew round like a Ginn And came out like a skinned runner bean What Every Woman Wants Chunky Mrs Chatterley, bursting from her coat Chases after chocolate like a jet in flight Chunky Mrs Chatterley, what floats her boat Is Mars Bars, Toblerone and Turkish Delight Pammy Barrecuda in her kinky boots Peroxide blonde, she is desperate for a man Red skirt flying like a matador's flag Hungry for a lover who can fill her can Purple Widow Pimberely, knickers in a twist Purple Widow Pimberley down on her luck Purple Widow Pimberley, permed and crimped Looking for the dream of an easy buck Tsunami (a Pantoum) Floundering boats of asylum seekers Displaced nationals, frightened, lost Drowning children all at sea Terrified flood of male war-fleers Displaced nationals, frightened, lost Waves of Moslems, swept off board Terrified jungle of male war flee-ers Crocodile welcome with cactus teeth Waves of Moslems, swept off board Crocodile welcome with cactus teeth Seismic shift of cultural change Tsunami of refugees. What's the cost? Seismic shift of cultural change Floundering boats of asylum seekers Tsunami of refugees. What's the cost? Drowning children all at sea Apocalypse Can be sung to the hymn tune ‘Jerusalem- And did those rigs in oceans deep, Poison the life force in each stream? And did man's greed prove Nature's death, And pleasant fields be no more seen? And will the skies drop acid rain, Over our ancient suffering hills? And will all creatures pay the price, As Man's corrupts and coffers fill? Bring us the Wisdom to cry Halt; Bring us the sense to stem the flood: Bring us the power to save the world Bringing an end to wars of blood Midst darkening skies and climate change We have destroyed our planets gifts Give us the power to tilt the scales As oceans rise and desert shifts Urban Gorilla Fox is an urban guerilla. She is taking up arms against her persecutors Her type of warfare is irregular Fast moving sorties into gardens Her strategy is to outsmart humans To feed her family, save her way of life She is villified in the press as a savage, A bandit, an outlaw, a child of Satan She suffers harassment, ambush, seige The bloody campaigns of hunters, Stalkers, predators, architects, builders Forced to take refuge in suburbs To furnish the basics for her boisterous cubs, Fox must be resourceful Be on guard against snares and traps Fortunately, she hasn't mastered The finer points of shouldering arms Of setting mines and dropping acid rain Whee! What's life for if you can't go Whee Like a jet or a supersonic bee If you can't throw caution into the air Like confetti over a Yeti's hair Get on your bike and soar downhill For the Hell of it- Isn't it such a thrill To see the world with a zip and a zee Like a blizzard of candyfloss gone whee! The Corporal's Son The corporal's son was handsome, drank Blue Wicked, Was loyal, loving, blighted and betrayed A legend to his friends, a lady's man Sang like a nightingale.There was no happy ending Too early, Mr Death knocked on his door He has crossed on Charon's ferry, become a shade