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3.0k · Mar 2011
In the early morning air
between the Londonderry hush of dreams
and the cry of Belfast on a weary morn
Where saddened eyes embody the twilight haze
of long past marches, the bewildering blaze
Of Beltane fires that scorch the hills
The world shudders to the battle cries
where brother to brother the war pitch fills
the saddened visions that over spills
That a Gaelic tongue can curse its own
To the bitter harvest of the Gael
That wipes away the blood dew
from these fields from which it grew
and damns itself in the pain and sorrow
That relives this war on every tomorrow.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
2.5k · Mar 2011
Poppy bloom
There is no other flower bloom
that by its self represents such gloom
As that memorial flower Poppy red
stained by Knights long now dead
that delivered their last drop of life filled Zest
and sprinkled red the white Poppy blessed.

Time has shown the pale grim faces
of fallen comrades in ****** places
and marching in memorial to the gone
express in tears War's great wrong.

Each generation fears their fate
in fields where poppies congregate
for there amongst the fragrant scented flow
Lays the sleep Eternal Knights all know.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
2.4k · Apr 2011
Yorkshire Downs
Sweet, sweet the fields
where the grass grows rich and full
to fill the valley to a spectacular view
That comes and engulfs this mind of mine.
I run freely the course of the wind
twirling in this dance the eternals play
The days, the nights, ever glowing in bounty
to these wild free images that here surround
infiltrate and vitalize each breath taken
thought spoken and dream envisioned.
Here in the belly structures of life
I commit to the song of the bird over head
the fox upon the green and that screeching call
of the majestic wind, that falls and gathers
every scented blossom from the fragrant womb
Of Mother earths grandeur.
Who understands better  or partakes of this form
ever born to the senses, drawn to the Soul
These remote desolate places that summon and call
reminding one of the glory, the powers that yield
Here in the Yorkshire Downs,One learns to know.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.8k · Apr 2011
Frosty Moon
Where tips the moon
the cradle rocked
the silver gleam
the twilight pools
that soft to embrace
holds, then fades
to the glimmer
that shimmer
of a frosty moon.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.7k · Mar 2011
Nashville lights, twilight sights
The dancer's dream, the faded stream
perfumed ally, vagrant sally
The words that call, the deadly fall
Embraced indifference, padded surveillance
The silent dreams, The nightly screams.
Whispered messages, diluted references
Fresh bound hopes, depravity copes
indecent alliance, vengeful compliance
dressed for show, momentum's flow
A southern will, the bitter pill
These little flickers that embrace
The dreams of fame's tormented face.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Apon tha roll O' tha pagan's dream
As it leaps an' boun's apon tha mental stream
Flowing doon intae tha cordons o' solitaire
Near tha brigs O' tha banks O' Bonnie Ayr.

Tha whispering Hazel catches huld tha tune
Echoing tha mysteries a' tha wae tae Troon
As a glimmer O' lichtning crosses tha Sky
He, tha ancient an' grand Wizard stoans apon Carrick high.

Configurations an' transformations by god
Far ayond tha concepts o' tha blunnering sod
Catch hold Lad tha spirit as it flees past ye
Heading oot taewards Arran across tha sea.

Does no tha Seagull scream tae enchant tha ******
an' the win' blaws like some evil melody played by a Demon
An' dinnie wait tae lang tae grasp tha chain
O' life's faithful given, tha Barley, Wheat an' Grain.

But come see tha Mither apon her Earth filled seat
As tae tha wonnerous farmer She bows tae Greet
That apon tha Seasons O' echoed fate they may come tae restore
Tha True religion O' this land, O' this flaming shore.

Nue listen an' be quite till pass a' hoors break
an' bin' ye thagither tha dreams an' thouchts that ye take
an' cast it a' apon tha Fires O' Beltanes torch
Tae watch as tha flames reach higher an' higher, tha heevens tae scorch.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
I see the golden whisks that stretch up into a turquoise sky
reverently the abode of the flying kite that twirls
upon the rafters of the heavens cathedral
drifting upon the open planes where the wind takes hold, rushes
drifting the soft plumes to the breeze and scented air
In a triumphant flight of dreams and hope.

The is a peaceful tranquility that invades the minds
silences it to the spectacle of sheer grace and bliss
that for hours upon hours my eyes partake of this exquisite dance
of life upon the flapping wing, air upon a pounding heart
The soul glides up there, dives and drifts upon every wish
Upon every far flung vision that draws a heart to want.

Sweet these images that so often go unseen,
we tread a delicate balance to the sweet song of life
Hold it upon our breath to whisper its majesty, its perfection
blind to the real depth of what there is, how we walk so coldly
upon a dark world where our horizons torch the scene
and wears the shudder of unconcern.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
"O' Circle O' ancient standing stones
        that excites the senses, chills the bones
        O' but to know the secrets contained in thee
        If but one secret, you'd give to me."

        When times were ancient, old and worn
        and priests,those Druids in secrets sworn
        To cast like Merlin amongst the breeze
        the secrets of Oak and Rowan trees.

        The wise ones in circles of primal flame
        would cast and call upon the sacred name
        The elements would shake at this request
        knowing to well the Grails Holy guest.

        The Heavens would darken, the thunder's roar
        As lightning would strike into Earths central core
        The Sea's would rumble ,roar and over flow
        and all the Earth would shake wishing to know.

        The Sigil, the Talisman,what form it took
        What mighty symbol could life's foundations have shook
        "No mortal man this, with powers so grand
        Is Merlin but a Mortal,or a God upon the land?"

        For in Sacred groves under Beltane's flame
        come the cries of the Lords born without name
        and above the horizon, twined with the Moon
        arises the Heavenly Mother to her full bloom.

        Dance young Maidens,lease forth your cry
        come in songs O' joy, let your emotions fly
        Young Celtic warrior brave ,portray you your glory
        and give Honor to Honor, Holy to Holy.

        Look at Merlin, how he walks with the fire
        Filled with the passions of Life's true desire
        Watch him grow ,take wing and fly
        upon the breath of the Dragon ,in the sky.

        So set sail ye the soul, that ancient form
        and cast forth thy will into the depths of the storm
        Follow ye, the wind from the Sacred East
        and there meet the mighty man and priest.

        Release your bonds, set free your heart
        gaze within the depths of one's inner part
        Then take hold the maiden, Mother and old Hag
        Love them equally and do not sag.

        Give freely of thy spirit,receive nothing in return
        then come Earth's Child to the Stones to learn
        The secrets of secrets,within each of us one
        that by which all is cast and eventually is done.

        Then be you like Merlin and others before
        that have entered our gardens,Returned form behind it's door
        So fear ye none save yourself, that is the truth
        something one can never learn, while their mind plays in youth.

        But gather you together the strength of the will
        Once that be done, Son, then you shall we fill
        And the days shall sing of praises, the rain shall fall like wine
        Invigorating the Earth,making all once again mine.

        Such shall it be, the day a Merlin shall arise
        to relieve the pain and suffering of Man's stifled cries
        For we are the Ancient of Ancients,Born but with one name
        We are the keepers of the Soul's of Arianrod and Heaven's great flame.

        To whom ever dares, wishes or enters here
        Let him meet first his deepest darkest fear
        And should he surpass all tests and walk on through
        Then behold the cauldron of rebirth awaits you.

        For the Rod of Merlin shall await the one
        and the Crown of Dana,bold as the sun
        Then shall we come with hearts full and rich
        To teach our secrets, their tone, Their pitch.

        Alas, fulfilling the destiny we made e'er so long ago
        the returning age of Arthur, for all to Know.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.6k · Apr 2011
Creole Cry
There's a cold Creole cry
that steeps from the underside of the moss
those thick recesses where, the water bridges tight to the banks
and even when the haunting moon fades upon its shades
there is always a cast of eerie chills that invade the frame.
The long lonely, half depressed, half unawakened  strolls
that never quite lead anywhere, yet always ends by the bank
where the water calls, these deep muddy swamps
that awaits in the hopes of a lost soul to enter
to step beyond the boundaries.
There is stew in these waters
a thick haze that fills and the scent it leaves
clings always upon the clothes, hugs so tight the breath, that
no matter how far one strays, it always calls one back.
Trees that have no roots, skeletons cloaked
hinged in the thick ivy moss that scatters from limb to limb
The cries, urgent, fearful, that echoes through the thick undergrowth
gathering in Voodoo curses the humid air to dance, dance
where the imagination clings and hides, Yet! Dares to know more.
It is a long walk, one, that time cannot gather nor hold
where the fields seem surreal to the charged air
and the night falls like lotus blossoms upon the water
to float away where tides to the Delta stray.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.4k · Mar 2011
Tales -Scots Doric
Aye think o this
When winter breezes blaws aroun'
whare silent thochts are filled wae gloom
and drifting words,they echo past
frae fearful man an fearful lass
In haunted hooses and misty lans
whare Ghosties an gobblins an unco bans
Pass atween this an theirs, that form
amidst tha thunders crashing storm.

Aye tucked up aroun yeer mithers apron
wae teeth a nashing an voices wailing
Fine ye ken this unhaly nicht
tis filled wae all unGodly licht
Craw tha Banshee frae tha Ben
like howlet song throughoot tha Glen.
Satan, Auld horney casts his lots
for innocent bairnies fresh frae their cots
An' ancient stories there arise an fly
Like shooting stars that fill tha sky
for here in tales tha croonies dae rattle
in haunting airs and fiendish battle
leagons arise tae tha masters calling
This nicht hell awakens, aahhh tha heevens are falling.

Here in blackened darkened skies
whare lichtning flashes weaves an cries
An mortal man fears fa his soul
against that heelish burning coal
Ministers intae their beds are fleeing
wae ranting verses fa all their Dealing.

Whare auld worn hags an witches cast
upon tha waters that blaw an blast
drooning mony tha ship an sailor
all fa tha glory O their Demonic tailor
when cauldrens stir in bubbling brews
An damnation demands its richtful dues
tha lan' it heaves and haws
devouring all within its jaws
A Blood red Moon casts her lot
whare evil men have Died an fought
tha Earth auld an worn frae tribulation
demands the blood of every nation.
Here within the fields o life
brither against brither in war an strife
hae released all this fiendish nightmare
fa all their guilt,fa all they share

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.4k · Mar 2011
Enchanted I
Enchanted I
by a Lianasidhe
Caught like a fish
upon a lure of bonnie smiles;
Bewitched by all her craft
that ever before me stands.
Enchanted I
by two deep pools of blue
and hair, gold and Ivory entwined,
by cameo silk, moon glossed skin
fragrant, warm, inviting
evoking the tempest of my passion.
Enchanted I
By some form of witchcraft
Spun by forces beyond my depth
and I like a fly to the web,
helplessly await to be devoured
consumed spirit, flesh and body.
Enchanted I
by what work of Gods' involved
to send swiftly that ancient arrow
that flies from cupids bow so straight
to engulf the beats of this heart,
draining the soul drop by drop
till all that is me within her dwells.

Enchanted forever,

Enchanted to you.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
A Liannasidhe is a fae of the celtic realms that haunts the thoughts and dreams of men, the male version would be a Gean Cannach. Fairylovers-succubus and incubus in greek mythology.
1.3k · Mar 2011
Butterfly dreams
She holds these butterfly dreams
these dragonfly visions
always before her eyes
to materialize
The longed for want that within abides
the tear that cannot hide,
this deliverance of love
that flutters within her heart as a dove
longing the expression, the want
To fly high the fields of hope
Where she can cope
with the uncertainties, the fears
that within her at times sheers
her world apart to the doubt
Of all that she does want.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.3k · Mar 2011
All artists, All magicians
A blank empty canvas
Pure as the winter's snow
Open as but a vast window
Seeing deep into it's soul.

The mind ticks in emotional frustration
Relics of imagination fly and form
Particles of atomic consciousness
Gathers and flows like an Astro storm.

White wash covers the surface
The first invocation soothing and mild
Then images gather before the eyes
Like a raging storm, fierce and wild.

The pallet is filled with rainbow mixtures
Here one joins to the alchemist's dream
Establishing upon board, paper or canvas
The unfoldment of the creative stream.

Brush in hand, Like an ancient wand
One casts the horizon like a spell
Summoning, coaxing, those tides within
Where the possession conquered, flowed and fell.

Dashes here, strokes there
Balancing the tones within each hew,
The thoughts so fast, mind captured
Projections all of that inner you.

Murky and shapeless at the start
But shadows enhance, inward glance
Light engulfs and shines but through
The eyes captured to the romance.

The artist gallant before his glory
Yet! Never fulfilled by its view
Playing upon its essence and structure
He draws upon images new.

One here becomes the timeless Shaman
Working the magic of natures way
Gathering the similarities and imbuing with fire
Elevating ever the thought to the creative day.

Or like a modern mystic
Grasped tight in spiritual bliss
subduing into but representations
The reflections of the heaven's kiss.

But all in all the artist is
whether by paint, sculpture, acrylic or oil
A voyager of the main stream existence
His vision of his own scared soil.

The goal is not unlike any science
To acquire that bridge of untold reason
For artist down throughout the ages
Have awakened the soul to its season.

The emotions arise, fly, excite
Those creatures of the inspirational mind
Poets, musicians, painter, writers
By what ever character there we find
All artists, All Magicians.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.3k · Mar 2011
Tha Curse O' Ale - Scots
Wee Angus on his wae frae work
would hit tha pub fa a perk
O' Tennents lager frae tha keg
whiles chatting up tha barmaid Meg
A pint or twa there wae friens
a' bleathering awa like scholars an Deans
Debators O Parlimentary views
Ministers preaching o'er tha pews
Wae drink in hand they'd laugh their fill
tha glory Mead upon their bill
Yelping like some bairney pups
catching breeths atween their sups.

(nae wiser a man than yin filled wae ale
Nae greater a time than while drinking frae tha Grail.)

In football games they A' would linger
or singing songs for all's a singer
Nae matter how bad tha voice
a' would request their favorite choice
Happy all wae drink in hand
while holding up the bar they stand
In rattled curses tae tha bumping airms
while viewing o'er some lassies chairms
Whispering oot all dreams an desires
that drink within them all inspires
An' Angus kens that soon or late
he tae hame must tak tha gate.

Kenning tae deep doun inside
his drunken breath he'd better hide
Saying fareweel tae friens and foes
leaing ahind tha pub's warm burning coals
Doun he stummels tae tha chippy
tha air ootside tis crisp an nippy
Making him drunker than afore
he side steps frae door tae door
Eating his fish supper, enjoying each bite
thinking aboot all that's happened tha night.
Till there he rouns tha corner street
His hame sae warmly it does greet,
Falling o'er tha step ootside his hame
Tha door it opens, Behold his sullen Dame
Trying tae act sober wae all his might
afore his wifie here tha night
But she's nae fool nor blind tae see
his daft antics, his blabbering plea.

In comes Angus wae words O' love
tae face tha thumping slap an shove
Her roaring voice would put fear intae tha Deil
Hear wee Angus weep an squeal.

(What type O' life drink it brings
that great at first yet later stings
What worth has man tae waste his life
wae drinks illusions an its strife.
Sooner or later as true as Hell
Yin cannie live save by its spell
getting worse an worse day by day
while friens an family turn away
An Angus wheither he kens or no
has drifted where tha drunkards go
An time shall tell what fate bestows
for tha Curse O Ale, nae man knows.)

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.1k · Apr 2011
Smoking barrel
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
1.1k · Mar 2011
Heather Sark
I wander here again
as many the day before
for a span of years this mind
roams upon the shore.

Little remembrances
re-educates the heart once more
to the simple easy days
When life held open its core.

The sun glistens upon the sea
the wind soft to form
caresses here the jagged weeds
the thistle and the thorn.

I wander deep my old paths
were in youth I roamed and played
the magic of the fairytale
was the land and what it gave.

Sweet the dreams that flood and fill
these tranquil moments in time
holds bright the promise of another day
As upon the hills I climb
Where mighty hawk hovers above
where the cliffs race to the sea
To those lochs that are ever so fresh
to the sweet mornings plea.

I journey back across the years
as fate has had me roam
To see the land of which I'm part
to feel my distant home.

There's no shore like that of hers
no field that hugs the soul
just empty planes without any names
that runs a foreign flow.

I dream of her my seductive queen
when the nights are cold and dark
I see her there inviting me
Dressed in her heather sark.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.1k · Mar 2011
Sacred mead
Come the morning rain
That cool refreshing flow
That fills all the land
With the blessings you bestow.

The hungry flowers open up
To grasp your eternal brew
The Daffodil, The Buttercup
Lay awaiting just for you.

Come those sparkling drops
That are filled with Natures care
Giving life to the thirsty crops
To all their equal share.

The Hare hops the soaking grass
On meadows of emerald green
The streets a mirror of reflecting Glass
All fresh and washed pure clean.

Beauty knows no boundaries
As true as eyes can see
Like the glory of Heaven's foundries
That empties to the sea.

Your the sacred Mead of the Dagda
Replenishing and invigorating through
For the Gods have come to share with us
Their own sacred brew.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.0k · Mar 2011
Where the blue of sky
tosses the dream within ones eye
and opens the pastoral fields of life
amidst the strife, the rife
that here upon the land bears
the tormented moments, the smiles
that crossed the miles and miles
where frontier pried open the dream
upon these wildest green
fields of their prosperity.

They journey a faith
a belief
and took life as would a thief
into their own rights of being
freedoms expanse there abound
gathered round
the old stories of their homes
Miles away, miles away
from where the root and birth
did inspire
here within them that desire
to reach out and there grasp
the very breath of which they gasp.

Time draws fast the privileges few,
herein drew
the straws of fate
the opened gate
to shower as best destiny it can
the prospects within each human hand.
History retells the story
praises the great with the holy
and draws the prospering fields a plenty
of the days of man threescore and twenty.
To cry into this wilderness , here their name
forgotten sons of forgotten fame.

Birthed now the dream
where grass of blue
filled the hue
of the Kentuckian.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.0k · Mar 2011
Thor upon the planes of Ayr
How well I know this force
that draws fast upon my brain
wages all the energies there retained
Till surging fills each life filled cell
to the roaring torment
and blessed state.

Beyond the horizon
It gathers upon the breath of those Gods
Thor riding the triumphant clouds
bellows into the night's air his charge
Of thickened, dense filled pockets of space
Edgeing upon the fringe of life.

I stand *****, arms out stretched
Like an ancient shaman invoking his god
gathering within my lungs this breath of charged air
and vibrating it out,  I call the gales drifting winds
To sweep and engulf this soul of mine
Into the depths of that tormented breeze.

Hear O ancient one's my haunting cry
That steps out from the Soul and dreams of mine
Awaken again that sacred form and bliss
of natures wrath and constant kiss
To journey but the essence of life.

Thor roars in distant rumbles that gathers
pleads and romps the air and valleys
hammer flung, the metal strikes
and splinters it's flashing rods to earth
Castrating the nights air to its engulfed state.

The winds rush and cross the Firths great stance
Arran haunted to the raging sky
Lightning strikes amongst her giant peaks
Goat fell rages but to the demented storm
Like blasts from battles deep.

The seas roar the triumphant entry
Of the Viking God yet but once again
Upon theses ancient fields of time and place
charging upon the gales ravenous winds and tossed tides
The lordship of Thor upon the planes of Ayr.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
1.0k · Mar 2011
Heilan' Whiskey
Jiggle a notion of the Hieland brew
that swells from Scotland's crispy dew
To fill hearts a plenty with joy and song
Scot's Whiskey born wild and strong.

Swallow that liquid of golden honey
down your gullet to warm your tummy
Then know you drank the breath of Gods
a fiery brew you drunken sods.

Crisp as a cold wind against your lungs
Hot as the temper upon your tongues
Whiskey,Whiskey the Scotsman's drink
that lifts your spirits to the brink.

You'll find it where ever Scotsman congregate
Heiland Whiskey best drank straight.

-----Alisdaire O'Caoimph------
902 · Mar 2011
Torn Veil
It comes as a whisper
A breath of sheer torment
that fills the dreamy fluids of thought
captivates them to its weary song
and drifts far along the banks of comprehension
Till ravished fully It dies a thousand deaths
and echoes its shuddering form outward
Into the final vision, the last fringe.
To bare its self to the nights slow creep
that delusional hope
Fast, drawn upon the whimpered prayer
That final gasp
Life ebbs slowly and finely away
Into the pits of dark shadowlands
where only the nights howl gathers
And death smirks upon the torn veil.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
897 · Apr 2011
Walk their fantasy
I have watched where the winds tarry
across those floods of mind and sea
Little imperfections that carry
where scent to breeze affects the senses
and stresses deep, that want to know and grow.
I have traveled the far and lonely
reached across the divide of mind
and here within the gloaming of the moment
I raise my hand
Seeking that deliverance
that warmth
that resides deep within the pounding heart
wishing to know, To be known
within the embrace of the Gods.

Tempting this colliding hole of indifference
that seems to gather the hordes around
Blinded to the views and style of life
they fail to live the sound
That echo that wings upon their minds and begs
If only for a second , allowing them the chance
To gather the fruits of life.
Softly they walk in sheltered courses
that trail the long divide between them
and there themselves
Strangers that carry
the light of their souls away.

But here in this far sighted gorge
where time holds the moment precious, dear
I see the hemisphere of faith
Of hope and youthful toil
linger upon the fading breath of man,
Calling, calling
where the silence pervades their thoughts
but how well they turn asunder
and walk their fantasy.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
874 · Mar 2011
By Christ,
that scented Flower
that once favored bloom
I gathered from the garden
Ever brought so much doom,
For love it is curse
when not shared by another
but cast upon an empty heart
leaving mine alone to smother,
Where tears fall silently
and hearts break completely
I curse that Bloom if disarray
That Rose...UNIQUELY

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
845 · Mar 2011
That the wiggle of a tongue
can so excite
liberate the texture of the flesh
Raise another to the height
where delight
fills and locates deep within
the silent scream.

That, that bud that brims its full
can so intoxicate, fill the pool
where passion lays in its ultimate wait
for the passage through the sensual gate
that arises within her moaning form
That deep eternal wanting groan.

Where deep the long soft flickering curl
liberates the mind, to toss and whirl
in the sensual heat and passions fire
that flows deep from this buds throbbing desire
and pours out upon the sweet, sweet flesh
the small goose bumps that within arise
Where passion holds no compromise.

That I take you upon such a delighted stream
fill that want, awaken within the dream
These lips, this tongue that awaits its charge
teases, torments your world at large
to every whimper, every plead
Drinks deep your *** of honey mead
and falls upon your cries and pleasure
With all the jewels of This Oral treasure.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
835 · Mar 2011
In the Attic
Sitting up in the attic room
with things forgotten, out of bloom
A china doll of antique grace
with porcelain cracked and ***** face
Ringlets of golden honey hair
in a velvet burgundy dress long past care
Little hands open in out stretched arms
Portraying all the grandeur of Victorian charms.
Sitting atop a wooden box
beside a clock that never tocks
Around her lays all that is forgotten
Pictures,Toys, wool and cotton.
Belongings to another time and place
things that once came please and grace
A painting that upon a wall did stand
A trumpet that once Jazzed a band.
Saddened all to the timeless lack
They fill the Attic, every nook and crack.

On nights when the full Moon's light is there
when its magical rays through the attic's windows fare
The Little Doll's eyes do twinkle
where Moonbeams fall and sprinkle.
Granted if but for a moment
the doll that has long lain dormant
Awakens with a child like giggle
where memories within her tingle.
The Clock is given a moment in time
to tick a second, sound a chime
While down stairs the family talk
unknowing what above their heads does walk
However, every now and then upon the full Moon
A sound they'll hear in the Attic room
No sooner than they open the door
the magic ends what powers did soar
As they peer into what lays dead and still
a tingle up their spines does fill
For there Sitting upon her wooden seat
with arms out stretched and bare feet
Bella awaits the next full Moon's shine
When the clock shall tick and again shall chime.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
805 · Mar 2011
Shamon's Drum
O' the beat of the Shaman's drum
gathering the statures of Skills embrace
Whose liquid fire flows from dream's burning Kiln
upon the roaring ancient thunders of leather skin
revolutionary moments of spiritual embrace
the Shaman cooing in his antic pantomime
of symbolic gestures and ideals
Crafting always anew the Heaven's sky
pounding the Earth upon charging hoofs
the sacred land arises like a giant
all characters of the Shaman's drum
Swooping God's on feathers of Eagles
trout swarm into the tribal dance
Mountains of golden rock shake the dust
For all engulfs the visions being
Thrusting the news and glory of the Fathers
the land becomes their Eternal coats of skin
Their Souls fluffy, white, float softly above
filled with the midnight rain
In the Dance of Shaman to Shaman
The Eternals pay their honour and respects
before the mighty Shaman's call
His vocal dialect and sacred Soul
Invoking as all before had done
With a Shaman's will and a Shaman's Drum.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
803 · Mar 2011
Winters Ain
Whare ripples
dreeps awa,
Tha fluid run
tha water braw.

A' triple race frae which it stems
aneath tha starry heevenly hem,
whare a' come an thereby pass
tha rivers edge wha gleams like glass.

Upon tha wintery echo , far weel I ken
tha cracklin tree like a bantom hen,
chuckles oot apun tha glen
aneith tha dark too'ering Ben.

This cul' dark an weary nicht
hulds tha worl' e'er sae ticht
tae tha lays tha lan' does spill
grasps yin an a' therein tae fill

Tae a' tha glory O winter's parade
tha tinsel show, its masqurade.
Fills us a' doun tae tha bane
tae tha spirit O winter's ain.

© Alisdaire O'Caoimph
in Scots
802 · Mar 2011
Tis but a dream- in scots
Tis but a dream!
Flowing wildly,
Intae tha memories
Tha goals, tha desires,
Delving intae tha deepths
Touching tha he'rt,
Romancing tha soul
Exciting tha senses,
Pulling at tha emotions.

Tis but a dream!
Aye sae true,
Yet e'er sae real
an' yin begins tae act,
within its wonnerous play
such nichts
Her purfume, her form,
An all else fades
Save for her touch,
Her smile, her love.

For she tis but a phantom,
A ghost O lang ago
That haunts nue my e'er dream.
Tis but a dream?
Aye ,tis but a dream!
Tis but a dream!

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
788 · Mar 2011
Ravished the thought
My hand rests here upon this blank form
the pen nuzzled, cozy and warm between index and thumb
and I but await, the form that it should bear
The little para-sail of thought that swiftly entails
By draft of conscious reason the play, the lines
That shall stem and grow upon this paper.

Sometimes, I am not here at all
It's like a vagrant character takes hold this form
and drifts the banks of faded memories to etch but theirs to mine
Till ink flows like a non stopping spicket, pouring out
Soon digested to the whole phenomena I lay blank
Like pagess upon which the words desire to embrace.

Little child like figures wave between the interplay
This game of margins and thought, marbles clutter
where the revenue of the flow but draws
Upon these hopscotch and I caught the weasels
momentum springs but it's eternal sight
to peer over and across the facade of time
And jots a line or two of verse.

Here, Aye here is the bereavement of the writer
who's image fades to the mighty word
and pounds ever so deeply the elemental cries
That reason holds no power here.
I chuckle at the notion that ever befalls
some faded harmony of a promised bliss
that vanishes amidst the shadows of night
To leave but it's haunting cry.

There I peer down the lane of the centuries
Those famous writers and scribes of literature's ghosts
That forever within our minds haunt us to the passion of a word
And leave us but whole and naked to the deliverance of truth.
I wonder how their pens but scribbled
How they filled their own inconsistencies and ravished the thought.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
758 · Mar 2011
Here in the South
The spring's winds here in the south
hold the magnolia hint upon the air
The warm day's rays conquers the mornings chill
And the vapors of the day seem to dance upon the mind.
Seems all in Tennessee draws upon its hush
The little market stores holds the laid back expression
The old men still linger around the corners
with the chewing tobacco stains the pavement
And all the while the sun beats upon beat
the blazon rays of a springs radiance
and drops upon the frown of an offer
Of sweetened tea and apple pie.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
758 · Apr 2011
The table, The mantel
When words no longer hold
invite or excite
that inward response
That once so gathered deep
within ones keep
of the visions of the mind.

There's a loss
a disappearance of sorts
that winged upon a fancy flies
then dies
deep inside the mellow chamber
of dreams.

The tears
that once as years
fades upon the old framed image
that like a crust surrounds
the only affordable expanse
the on vestige of what once
were little filters of oneself.

And here in photos are but the images
that once skirted as the dreams within
between and through
and true
the soft textured rolls
of film and paper, that now
rests upon the tables, the mantels
as reflections of what was.

And the words
still unapproachable
fails to grasp
or gasp
the meaning of the visions
that here once clouded a mind bright and full
those promises of  days,  nights
To rest, now forever humble
To memories long gone.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
753 · Mar 2011
Tennessean Blues
He comes here often
where yesterday slides into another
those chameleon days that play
facet upon facet,
the heavy southern air draws
out between the willows fringe
hangs softly upon the breeze
where these valleys and hills dress
The Tennessean blues.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
742 · Mar 2011
The Scots tongue - in scots
O' Rabbie that e'er helped oor tongue
flow like a well that's newly sprung
that wae true passion an' Usquabae
recites tha spirits O' Scotland's way
Words that put merit in oor speech
Words, tha English scauld against an' preach.

Och! If it wasney fa oor ways
thats wannered doun tae oor days
we couldney say worth a rot
what makes a Man, true a Scot
Let England wae her tonsils strained
keep what fa them tis better Named.

Nae Scot wants tae pass his days
with words that doun in Cambridge lays
far better tis oor tongue in grace
Than a' O' England's frills an lace
Nae better spoken word there is
than what a Scot calls truly His.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
741 · Apr 2011
virgin form
That here in the passage
that twirls
swirls upon the thoughts
expresses, impresses
there its depth
where words flow and ignite.

Here in this realm of the writer
the world replays
relays within
and grasps deep the fundamentals
that crafts within those elementals
to create a world anew.

Fresh the liberated thought flows
invades, conquers, grows
Till soon a set of lines engraved
sets free the words within
that together with emotion spin
until a world of fantasy is birthed
upon the pages ****** form.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
709 · Apr 2011
Sidhe calling
(In Celtic myth and legend, The twilight hours are those that belong to the Fairy realms, Where mortals can be taken into the twilight realms of the Sidhes, A place that time stands still, the moment hushes and the soul lingers to the nightly feasts of the eternal. I suppose I take this to apply to our dream world as much as to a factual realm.)

She hovers upon the wings of night
casts her drift of the fairy tunes
that creep like the fine mists of time
Engulfs the land, inhabits the realms
where thoughts so gather, flood and flow
Covering the world into her fine blanket
To drift us all to the world of dreams.

It is here that all possibilities arise
takes flight upon the fancy cries
Hovers lightly upon perpetual forms
and lingers in the thick flowered groves
In this world where the fairies dance
to the old jigs and airs
Swirl the embrace of their twilight realms
Between the mantel of the universe.

It is here upon their midnight embrace
that the ancient Gods arise and cry
their archaic forms stretch forth
Grasping hold of man's internal cries
They summon the strings of the ancient web
whereby all creation stems and flows
Illuminating us to their ways ever afresh
And placing deep within the will, the form.

Oh! How we arise to the Dawns sweet call
relishing to the finial vestige of the night
We wish to return to that realm of no pain
where sorrow and fears all subside
to the pleasure of the sidhe's ways
where life holds its true embrace
and love wings its fluttered call
and draws fast the human soul
into the desired length of passion's night.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
693 · Mar 2011
William Butler Yeats
Farewell the hoped for wish
the dandelion fantasy of the woods
The falling waters cascading swirl
Good-bye, Adieu, O' fairie's shawl,
Where the butter cup rises and thereby sings
The Sun's warm promise, it's divine kiss
Where these fields grasp the breath of day
The winds sweep to the constant array
of vibrancy that is life's blessed state
here in these images remember well
The fallen bard, his spoken spell.
I hear the honey filled taverns calling
the blessed isle over the horizon
Seeks again this wandering soul to home
To the fields of the Sidhe to roam.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
687 · Mar 2011
It's a fall down the stairs
the deliberate action of miss guided steps
rotates the axis of body and form
That crashes fast the nightmare.
I agonize to the pits decay
the frolicking thoughts
there displayed
against the window frame
the sheared glass
Where drips the red dye of life.
Crimson seeds populate the fragile
delicate balance of pain
To the nightly screams that draw
Fills one sore to the unenlightened refrain.
Ticking its seconds
awaiting some external cure
Bordering upon a fancy
Lusting deaths mask to sweep and bind
The lonely hour
The desperate sigh.
Raging inside
begging between the ******
and some hope for light
encouraged in the sinking
that choking plea
strangling the inconsistencies
I court the dark riders course
hoofs pounding nearer
the hearts remorse
Fades the gasp
Of suicide.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
680 · Mar 2011
I O' Man
The blood flows deep within it's wondrous paths
and recalls the depths of this my soul
For within this article of flesh and of bone
Is contained the threads of the eternal Past.
As I master of the forefathers come forth
Crowned in their animalistic glory
heightened by their evolutionary growth
Hence, I become their grandeur, their perfection
Of all, yes all their physical Characteristics.

For here within flows the blood of the ancients
Of Celtic Kings and brooding peasants
Of high priests, Bards and drunken old loafs
For I am the blood of my father's and more
For I am beyond their recall;
Established for the uniting principle of body, of soul
Under direct observance of cosmic law.

And when i dream whether fantasy or fact
some prevails from those ancestral vibrations
while others, far separated through
time and space
Calls upon and funds the primal essence.
No matter how deep the passions flow
or to whom is given the perceptive
neither is accepted within the throngs of the master
Whether giving or taking, adsorbing or projecting.

It is none other than the illuminating essence of man
caught between reason and all that lays forgotten;
For these do the ancestral cults of the old ones proclaim,
and true, they hold our roots deep within
How could they not, if I am of their blood, thought and form!
Of tribal beats upon skins of sacrificial cries
Of elders, priests and God-kings vanquished
and in the depths of my perceptions of them
I evolve along similar lines to what they foretold.

I perceive here today, within and without
the pools by which swarm the matter of human clay
formed upon the potters wheel of karma's evolutionary song
and passed on from generation to generation that tune,
whereby one sees within the child the Father, the Mother
and therein the words of Father times ancient song
That echoes upon the consciousness of reality and sublime
The very first thoughts of Ape-man to his horizon.

It is that cycle that never ends,
Its circumference extends throughout all time
And unites them all within the first ones breath.
It is called the circle of the ancients
Cast upon the molten rocks of tradition
and ironed out amongst the blacksmiths of civilization;
and when its Orbs cease to move and the blood ends its flow
When our horizon fades into mere thoughts.

At that time, in that space, upon that concept
then here too shall the ancients be, with you, with me
Facing that future, that silent moment
when existence ends and all prevails
To a single deep profound thought.
Gentile, Jew, Aryan, Asian, black or white
all void, save for that single breath
that proclaims throughout time into eternity
"I O'Man, I O'Man, I O'Man."

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
679 · Mar 2011
The last dream
When was the last dream you had
that filled your heart to the deepest sad,
hurled you out of bed to the longing want
And left my image implanted strong.
The years dance their merry way
beyond the stars and that great milky way,
Where words matter little to the silence there.

But here, here I am,
Walking the desolate miles of time
between my own tormented days
memories that cling and wrap around
Like a new skin, and from it
All perceive the woes in me.
Yet I be, Be, as only a loner can
Living a life, that lies my existence
Portraying my smiles like a mask of ages.

I faded fast, Faded to the final rapture
that promised kiss and weighed dream
that final gasp, the torn sore
Till no more I cried, God! No more.
Is it strange that a man can be so subdued
A heart ruptures to bleed it's own demise.
Aye! Men too have their dreadful moments
We too die, fade to the lingering love
Fearing so the torments of promised bliss.

I roam where the angels hang in woe
the constant being of distracted mind,
Ever I try to fill this empty space
With all and anything that fades you to me.
Where is my heart? I oft do wonder
upon what moment did it pass and die,
And where upon the lonely streets and bridges
Of forgotten avenues have I parted it's way.
I know the spot, Know it well for the cry
That silently arose deep within
and heralded out upon the icy night
The deep painful resignation of my hell.

Yet I abide,
I live as an empty shadow of chaotic thought
that pressed all reality around and dilutes
All words spoken, emotion graced,
That never upon the pages of my being
Shall I allow the structure again to fill
And make Love a reality.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
When the night coughs lightly too
The misty, humid air
Between the dark harvest of shadows
And that long eerie croon
That rides upon the winds hollow flow
Filling the night to the desperate
The lonely, painful cry and tear
That still resides to the dream world
Half lost, half forgotten.

She sleeps her deep
Where once the lavender tones confided
And laid the will to blissful tones
In serenades of fancy and delight
That ravished her form
Teased each aching throb
And rested the deep metaphoric Ideal
Of crashing waves and the fireworks explosions.

Now she wanders these dark narrow paths
That daunts her horizons, entwine her thoughts
With that haunting image of her faded heart
That weeps upon the pools, midnight's facade
And pours down to empty upon those long lost seas of hope.
How far the soul travels in its long despair
Its desperate want to feel once again
The tranquil night of passions embrace.

How bitter the flow of the tyrants love
That wears the mask of truth
She hovered upon his every tale
Lingered her breath there to his
And danced the purple rays of dreams
Where love so opened her free
To dance, to dream and blindly see.

She sits alone in her tiny room
Fearing the images that fill her so
Tired for the want of blessed rest
Yet fearing where dreams shall carry her soul
To those old grounds of loves demise
The painful moments, silent cries
The day the world was torn and rendered barren
The day her tears filled heaven.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
674 · Mar 2011
Ae Fond Kiss
Ae Fond Kiss
Ae fond kiss,and then we sever!
Ae farewell,and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee,
Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the Star of hope she leaves him?
Me nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.
Robert Burns (1759-1796)
That gathers amidst the torrid rain
The heavy skies laden e'er with grief
Here empties to the tears that flow.
I remember yesterday's dream
the swinging clarity that surrounded this love
and drawn whole together- We
Aye! We dreamed and dared a future
Gathering our love like a guilt around us
keeping the warmth of every thought embraced -alive
Fleeing every adversary, we pledged
Eternal the Love strings our Soul's played.
Time tithers visions and goals
Hearts drift to dialogs of thought
and somewhere in between the you and the I
We faded to past glories, Aye! The dreams.
I saw the towered structures fall
felt the Earth shudder to the sigh
that here warred within this heart
and battled forth errands of seek and destroy
Till left empty, alone, We cry
For every silent memory of what was
and with those cold Northern winds
We kissed and said goodbye.
I still sit on such howling nights
Where heavy clouds drift and fall
Hearing in my silence, again your voice
and all the promises that now chaotic lay
Of all that once, truly once was
Aye! How well I grieve, I cry.
Reflections carry upon the rain
that which still scares this my Soul
and the strangest Images crafted there
Tis not the joyful and happy times
But that final touch, that last kiss goodbye.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
672 · Mar 2011
A farewell tear
The engines roar
Movement is ****** forward
Shaking in the vibrations of its force.

Looking out of the small window
I see the Earth passing away beneath us
Those green, green fields, that once held my dreams
Are fading into the distance
Those trees and hedges, that once echoed my soul
Will become in time tender past memories.

Lines are crossing the land below
Gray lines
Upon them matchbox replica's move to and fro.

Roof tops with chimneys bursting forth,
This world looks so different from up here
Little villages and towns scatter the patch worked quilt
A domain of little people, Leprechauns
I see myself down there, staring up, The Soul,
Waving farewell to its body.

Deep inside
Wells those tears of parting
Of saying farewell to the hearts final beat.

I lay back my head
Close to my eyes
Feeling the parting of friends and family, the place
I shall always call my home,
That land these hands have held, its texture
Like a women's Lily soft skin,
No soil on Earth clings stronger to the bone, no dream as bright
As dreams of journeys home.

In my silent thoughts
I hear the cries of friends,
Echoing the haunting voice of home and place.

Yet! I did leave her like an ungrateful lover,
And how she has grieved for her wondering companions;
Clinging to her children with every essence of her form
But I shall always dream of her,
Of her tenderness and her warmth,
Farewell my dearest Mistress, My aching heart.

Your Lover
Your child
Now has left your womb.

But I shall return dear breath, back to you
As the western Winds return again upon the Firth
To lay but once more within your arms,
to feel your form beneath my flesh
And like the fragrance that flows gently from your image
My Soul and Body,
Together with yours,
Shall forever roam.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
662 · Apr 2011
My prayer
Baruch ata adonai elohainu melech ha-olam she-hakol nee-yah bidvaro
Blessed art Thou, Lord our God, King of the universe through whose word all things are called into being.

God called, God Formed, God made--the three levels of man Soul, Spirit and body.

The prayer

From heart to heart
the words intoned
The spirit bridges
bears fast the soul
Awakens the moment
Grasps God's hand and cries
That deliverance fills
The healing consumes
That whole to whole
all bodies bound
Three in one
the spirits sound
The Soul true
The spirit awakened
The body whole
It is this O' God
That I seek and pray
Thy will be done
and done thy will.
Let hands guided
thoughts embraced
Hearts true
ways pure
Fill and gather
awaken and fulfill
My Star to shine
her brightest hew

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
661 · Mar 2011
Bardic Rhapsody
Welcome Stranger come and hear
the words that draw the heavens near
and listen to it's breeze that blows from the East
of whose Ancient cast melody tames Man and Beast.

For Tis a song so old that time has forgot
the writer of its winds wherein it's Lyrics are caught
But it's secrets may be heard and it's power felt
within the heart and mind of a truthful Celt.

For its words though obscure hold the greatest key
for all the descendants to come and see
The place where verse and rhyme equate with time
to show man's greatness and his crime.

Tis a place where all may come to Ken
the song Of the Bard over Hill and Glen
Tis a song of Being, Of Life's joy and its pain
O'Blissful tender passions and tortures mournful slain.

Tis a Journey back into the past,a relic of times gone
and yet a journey into the future, O'Life's greatest song
So Welcome stranger into a World of verbal fantasy
and to the inspirations of this Bardic Rhapsody.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
657 · Mar 2011
The Christ man hangs with head cast down
Cloaked is his Hebraic looks with western charm
A Blond, blue eyed, fair skinned Messiah
On aged beams that torture his archaic form
Hanging always before the eyes, before the mind.
Crafting his Image within their sanctuaries
Giving face and character to a new God
His form drawing the respect of it's new converts
Awakening the archetypal symbology of their minds
Their ancient pagan deities, now reborn again
into the Pauline Christianity of elaborate faiths.
It's Massive Empires and political powers
That would staunch the individual rights
Corrupting with the torments of eternal damnation
Hording the flocks of the ignorant and the rich
The Church becoming Lord and master of the Christ.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
643 · Mar 2011
Dazed, Baffled
She roams through my mind
in combustive states
that dissolve the elusive run,
melts the *** to her honey
invades the forefront
charging the grounds of my thoughts
Invigorating the new.

Dazed, baffled,
I wake to her sunshine
drenched to her love,
How direction finds us
draws us close, subdues us
with little worlds, big thoughts
these concepts of women
That change ever our horizons.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
642 · Apr 2011
How often
when the jingle of thoughts
here cross the great divide
that is of you and me
Little spaces
incomplete turns
that both rebel and yet
When the song is right
harmonizes so well
That we forget the differences.

Many the dreams that rattle
within our battle
of being
that we cannot negotiate a path
that runs finely
to the set patterns that are our lives.

But I remember
Know well
the inside out of you
The little glimpses that once were
are yet
and swerve to the marvel
of each image you portray
Somewhere despite the vast
that ride along side our dreams
I still know my sister.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
639 · Mar 2011
Dazed, Baffled
She roams through my mind
in combustive states
that dissolve the elusive run,
melts the *** to her honey
invades the forefront
charging the grounds of my thoughts
Invigorating the new.

Dazed, baffled,
I wake to her sunshine
drenched to her love,
How direction finds us
draws us close, subdues us
with little worlds, big thoughts
these concepts of women
That change ever our horizons.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
634 · Mar 2011
Scarlet the winged fancy
glides upon the summers tail
holds the glimmer of the Suns warmth
and touches straight through to the heart.
Passion, this fire that alights
burns to the constant need and want
holds open the frontier of sheer delight
and wears hard the flesh to the tease
the temptation that within
strolls the open vats of sensual longing
till free it bares the souls deepest secrets
wields the tempests strain
and frees itself out and upon
The floods of the body and mind.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
630 · Apr 2011
She thinks
Aye! She thinks I don't see
nor understand that wrong
that stretches out from within her
tears her soul and draws the night to bitter tears.
Sudden as the hope aspires to growth
the dream bursts its fermented vision
the crumbling walls over take
spills the well of thoughts
and evaporates so fast the goal.
That a heart can splutter
fade to a dying quest that overtakes the form
and wears the heavy gloom of despair.
Here where the iniquity of life gathers
the tear that buds upon a swollen eyelid
Lost, helpless she bids her rest
in the twilight world of fairy tales.
But I know, I know the prison that holds
gathers the structure of life so tight
that one chokes upon the pale glimmer
of all that once was life.
Deep the cuts that over ride us
holds us upon that which hope failed to draw
and in the silence of the waters
drowns us all.........

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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