Deep where the Sun lies
flies, and then in its parade dies
into the dark under mass
the cloaked ritual of time
that hovers upon the boundaries
the songs of the ages.

Where glint to eye
that inward sigh, the cry
that tormented deep holds its bar
far, upon the trilogy of  the lost
Gods that made and paid the cost
of frequent flier miles.

Shadows creep, leap
where the distinction arises
surprises the mornings jolt
that rides the long encounter
where cold the steel bears the fascination
of the chambered game
twirling, revolving, frame by frame
where the poker hand falls to the colt.

Triggered, offset,
the bang of the aeons arises, surprises
and dropping like the shadow he was
the smoking barrel
the drawn out look
pages from a tormented novel
that lay in a hovel
there on the floor.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

These lands
These fields
that deep to bone holds
retains
the supple dream.
Ah! Far, far
the morning glow
that tickles soft
each blade of green
the spattering burn
that flows to the lays
of hill and glen.
Drops that fall
like tiny tears
transforming the lines
of face, tree and leaf.
Here in these isles
between the worlds of yesterday, today
Lies stretched
from corner to yearning corner
The old ways, the ancient days
that are born within us yet.
Vibrant that flow
which stretches out beyond
each pounding beat
mindful thought.
It is here we return
each bone to bone
and flesh to earth
To sleep deep the pools
that are our fathers
and this we call destiny

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

The soft touch
that comes it seems like a long tale
heard when youth first dared
ventured the folly and enterprise
and found for a moment in awakened eyes
the Star of the heavens.

I doubt if its rare
these exchanges of thought
that seem so majestic to me here,
A calling , like a Sofar
that reverberates so profoundly
that the leap of heart combines with faith
and there where once the city stood
was the formulation of a prayer.

Time weeps the complexities
that sing from the hem of the cloth
The little paradox of life
that seems to wing back and forth
between faces, places
and now here us.
The word, that tale of tales
that stream across aeons and back
like the curling locks of the Rabban.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Down the predestined path my friend
we all walk as friends or enemies
such is the journey of life,
Voices echo through the empty corridors
like the winds breeze flowing across wild seas
Words of love mingle with those of hate
thoughts of good become but reflections of Evil
and we still continue to journey blinded.

The years,the days, but a glimmer of fate
Nations of people,tribes of traditions
calling to each other with voices of threads
and we pull at the strings to gain favours
Collecting our wealth as a weapon
and all falls silent before the mighty pen
Structures confine there realities
blanking out all other dreams and views.

Dust mingles in the rain,as do our hopes
colliding indifference's of home and breed
We shatter the foolish vision with our own uncertainties
crafting our thoughts upon those elemental minds
Taken all that which is natural
replacing them with the modern dream and hope
Some how, believing our dreams to be theirs
a continues mixed emotion upon our planetary plane.

The Gods now fall silent before us
they fail to utter their heavenly decrees
And we portray our mighty Lord and sovereign
upon all and any that can benefit our cause
Once Blue skies now appear musky and gray
Yet,We still fool ourselves as to its beauty
This Globe of Home,our Hearth
lays as wastelands to our goals and dreams.

And here before you lays the words of a humble Poet
reflecting upon the waste and ruin of our times
dried up and gone are all the worlds heroes
No longer is a Saviours face to enlighten our eyes
We have become that which even our fathers feared
that darkened figure of pestilence and decay
Yet with each brush of our economic pen
We whitewash the truth and reality we face.

Are we to sit silently,just watching
that and those that mean so much to life
Do we cut off the hands of the starving brother
when it reaches out for our surplus?
Where do we become so important
what fades within us if not our souls,
Tears encircle the hemisphere look and behold them
The Ghosts of mans conscious haunts his every dwelling.

Where does it end, where did it begin?
Does it simply pass like the ticking of a clock
and of course we all proclaim our innocence
be not fooled, lost nor caught in your mere delusions
Reality shall continue,even when man is long gone
The Stars shall shine as brightly,
the Sun as Warmly
but it shall have lost one of its greatest treasures
that great homosapien that cried before all existence

---------------I AM-----------