Poems
Always
In a flimsy wooden boat,
Fleeing from the Flood.
On the banks of the Somme
Knee-deep in mud.
Standing with Horatius
The Tiber red with blood.
Watching over the sheep
And eating figs from a tree;
Admiring the glistening stars
Sparkling on the waters of Galilee.
Wherever you are
Is where you shall find me.
Ten thousand lives
How many Earthly days?
How long this journey
Through the blackness of space?
But if we are lovers now
We were lovers always.
An Old Door Closes
Old doors close, new doors open.
A spell, once cast, has now been broken.
Amid the deepest seas of doubt,
Wondering what it’s all about,
Or all the pain that we go through
To see ourselves born anew,
I wonder… did I win or lose?
Whose lonely guitar plays the blues?
And does it matter, anyway?
The past has passed; this is today.
And after all the pain and tears
To close the book on eight long years,
And carry on, no time to heal,
Sometimes not knowing how I feel.
And yet, no matter how I try
It’s still so hard to say “Goodbye”
And then to start again once more
Like so many times before
But does it matter, anyway?
The past has passed; this is today.
Then there’s the son I left behind.
How long will I stay on his mind?
Will I be a distant ghost,
No longer the one he loves the most?
Sometimes there’s nothing we can do
Except start to build our lives anew
Spinning round on Fortune’s Wheel
With all the emotion that we feel.
But does it matter, anyway?
The past has passed; this is today.
The Hardest Thing
To work all night and know no rest
Never feeling she’s done her best;
To fly so high then plunge so low,
The Scorpio is hard to know.
To be so cheerful yet so grave
To be so fearful yet so brave
Vulnerable but with such a sting
To know her is the hardest thing.
Black and white but never grey
She just won’t give herself away.
She’ll watch as through the fire you go.
The Scorpio is hard to know.
To be so hot and yet so cool,
To be so kind and yet so cruel,
To be so strong and yet so weak,
To know not quite what she seeks…
To love and yet be in control
Of those burning passions within her soul,
She makes you weep then makes you sing.
To know her is the hardest thing.
1993; written at 6 Polepark Road (Ground floor), Dundee
Down Where The Banshee Wails
Impression of the cloven hoof,
Forest sheds its rotting roof:
Leaves scattered, brown and gold,
A used carpet; wrinkled, old.
Rising slowly from the ground
Shadows approach and surround
Leaving all their earthly jails
Down where the banshee wails.
Don’t they know they’re too late
Clamouring before the gate
All fearing for their fates
Down where the kelpie waits?
Gone is hope, gone is youth;
No hiding from the truth.
Sunset lights this creaking ship,
Boudicca braced for the whip.
Now Cernunnos cuts the chord,
Arthur hands in his sword,
Merlin casts his last spell
Down by the Druids’ Well.
Who did right, who did wrong?
Sirens sing their last song
Waiting for the howling gales
Down where the banshee wails.