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

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

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

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

(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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh Blackened night that over throws
the clutched snare of after math
Drawing into its prism of gory shade
the hidden phantom that lingers deep
I've heard it's wail upon empty nights
when silence holds the silent breath
and here within its structure and rudiments
It calls out your name.

But Christ, there is no running
no light to grasp, no breath to capture
for it seizes upon the whelm and invades
forever holding to its ultimate passion
I have always known it, feared its grasp
ran every avenue I thought it's presence was
Till here in the room ,upon my bed it finds me
Alone, as well we both knew it would be.

I cannot fight, for there is no form
I cant escape it, for its wherever I roam
So now before I cry and instantly acknowledge
The reason and purpose for its visit here.
While you all out there sleep in your peace
while dreams of the morrow, freshens your mind
keep in thought always this consistent fellow
That awaits you too, In your silent hour.
The Ghost of an unforgiving Love.

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

There is a death
that seems to hover closer too
more alive than life it seems
where the mind drifts, hovers
and therein is beguiled
to the love that once had been.

It's a picture of a thousand words
all unsaid, dead
to what the years enveloped from,
A journey that has no founded beginning
just an end that lingered all along the way
Seen within the first hello
and drew its sigh in the last goodbye.

Differences exchanged, held
those tight ropes that draw, cling
then eventually depart
like a sunset where the sun fades and hides
Coincides
to the differences that would unnerve, change
the directions of a road.

The little things that seemed
to bring together, drew fast apart
the hidden agenda of dreams, emotions
that wore, tore, the world apart
and left the long archaic hinge of death
upon the words that faded away.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

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

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

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
abounds
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
like
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
Through
those promises of  days,  nights
To rest, now forever humble
To memories long gone.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Where do i commence
What visuals are open here
for me to imbue to you a thought
or graph upon your image a mere word.
But I see beyond
beyond just the flesh,the physical shift
to where the soul awakens and flies
upon the hemisphere of matter and mind
to where i behold all root and form.
To arouse your flesh,tease your skin
awakening you to the soft pound
of throbbing heart, pulsing throat
I lay my kiss.on luster moist flesh
upon the tide of nape and throat
while pulling tight, drawing in your form
with supple fingers tracing form and desire
till resting upon your womanhood and its charm
I turn you,face to face,eye to eye
where chest and breast caress
Lips upon yours,to my searching tongue
there upon the shadows cast and your gasp
You open to me, like a flower to the sun
fragrant,luscious as any fruit i eat
upon the intoxicating pleasure, passion
I ride in dreams of thunder and of storm
till vanquished,here silent, still
I turn to pull her form tight to me
to draw in the rawness of our passion
and know this is Love.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

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

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

Ah! the pain that here engulfs
a tragedy cut from one's own blade
that holds most sacred the ravished hour
When words went unsaid.
  . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The tears bellow out and fall
like a story without recall
This haunting world wherein one roams
Like a crashing sea, raging, foams.
The empty eye
the hollowed cry
The days torture rings afar
like the image of a falling star
It crosses the lonely planes of sky
Never knowing its course, the reason why.
Love that undeniable phantom of space
holds upon the mortal race
dreams relished where delights are found
the promise of new found ground
She walks the lonely place of fate
where he stands constant at her gate
but neither one holds the courage true
To simply say, I love you.
Years and folly don't give a ****
where tales they sink and inward jam
The moments quest is to be taken
gathered within and outward shaken
to awaken the moment, the truth to bare
Words spoken, the love to share
Such little things these fears we dread
that leaves us walking like we were dead
It's the simple word that could change a life
awaken within, relieve the strife
that one may walk that scented road
where dreams gather, tales are told
and love that merry tune of life
Finds man and woman, husband and wife.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Ah! the pain that here engulfs
a tragedy cut from one's own blade
that holds most sacred the ravished hour
When words went unsaid.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The tears bellow out and fall
like a story without recall
This haunting world wherein one roams
Like a crashing sea, raging, foams.
The empty eye
the hollowed cry
The days torture rings afar
like the image of a falling star
It crosses the lonely planes of sky
Never knowing its course, the reason why.
Love that undeniable phantom of space
holds upon the mortal race
dreams relished where delights are found
the promise of new found ground
She walks the lonely place of fate
where he stands constant at her gate
but neither one holds the courage true
To simply say, I love you.
Years and folly don't give a ****
where tales they sink and inward jam
The moments quest is to be taken
gathered within and outward shaken
to awaken the moment, the truth to bare
Words spoken, the love to share
Such little things these fears we dread
that leaves us walking like we were dead
It's the simple word that could change a life
awaken within, relieve the strife
that one may walk that scented road
where dreams gather, tales are told
and love that merry tune of life
Finds man and woman, husband and wife.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

I sit here in contemplation
before me arises images and dreams
particles of sublime characteristics
regimental excursions of thought and form
In this solitude I invade
like an Army on foot into unknown grounds
conquering and invading depths of cerebral sparks
Till there within that most sacred sanctuary
I draw from myself the strength and the will
opening up a new chapter of mental illustration
upon diagrams planted so many years ago
Till slowly i begin to comprehend
The Mystery of all I am
and I look with fresh sight and gain
at all that here around me flies
sudden explanations fill and engulf
to the majestic unity I come to Know
I see the Heaven's open up their treasures
little glimmering lights of wisdom combine
to establish here before me a true holistic sight
I see the mountains flowing
like a sea of many grounds
knowing the generations collide and combine
in this sea of heart and home
There before me I see my brother
I know him well, as he I
and for once in total union
we walk a silent mile.
I learn more than what words can utter
for in truth any description becomes but vain
and I see within this my Sanctuary
That I was never here alone.
Where does one come to these grounds
ever sacred, ever calling
Striving forever those confines of the human heart
and in dreams bright,we cry for more.
Tis a place where God awakens
where resides that seed of truth and hope
an eternal solitude of its Holy expressions
Our God again walks beside us, with us
Knowing us and we learn to know him
Un Sancti Spiritus
The sacred grounds
of you and me.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Dead drops the awkward sound
that upon a bards tongue sweeps unbound
where no ears hear, no thoughts endear
to the embrace of the whimsical sound
Of life's tormented holy ground.

It dribbles out upon the cracks
where seldom words fill the slacks
Of human thought, the danced rhythmic tones
that fill the mantel of mortal bones
Only to find the poetic groans.

Awe fills and finds itself aware
where the valley gleams upon our stare
The shadowed forms of long past dreams
Are these bards that fill within their screams
All the passion of our mortal streams.

To linger or fade forever away
where words embrace, hold and stray
Their ancient voices upon the air
that dares to dream, dares to share
The tender moment beyond compare.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

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

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

What is it true
that makes a women so
gathers from all life's perfection
cleanses deep her soul
and forces the world to notice true
The image divine within her hue.

The crafting ---

Born they are
like little unpolished stones
that taken from life's domain
are structured to the fine
those rigorous hands of life and fate
that bears upon each gem its polished grain
bids upon the tears wherein the spark of life so grows
and fills this body of perfected grace
Till polished true from all life's turmoil and joy
Is crafted fine a Women's soul.

Reflection ---

I sit here in constant wonder
that such a prism of sheer bounty and fragrant delight
can exist within a world as we so behold - Yet
what a woe to be void of this, lost to the sight and touch of them
For truly these precious grains of life's sweetest bliss
Fills our veins to all that we as men could ever wish to be.
I lay, Humble to the abode of perfection's light
to hear their song fill fast and overcome
Till lost forever from life's bitter tears
I hold their image as my only goal
To know the truth of love.
What mortal man
can this deny
that upon the pain filled woes within
where his swollen tears rally and bear
the errors and all the wrongs of life in him
Finds not only the soothing comfort that bids him peace
or the tender dreams that fills his soul to rest
But also the passion that does his needs.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

They say that within love
All answers are contained.
That within loves prism
God there is named
That a love that is true
holds the brightest hue
for it speaks out all that's thine
into the heart of the great divine.
Love breeds pure and clean
travels out against what's obscene
purifies us all to know
That by which love does grow.
This temple of the purest heart
revolves where time has its start
comes full circle to hold one true
To the words that flow, In me, In you.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

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