Elizabeth, the ****** Queen, left vacant the English throne.
Her Scottish Stuart cousin came and claimed it for his own.
Two nations with one monarchy joined in the Union Jack.
The Scottish lost their nationhood and now they want it back.
Saint Andrews’ Flag of Bonnie Blue will have to be unfurled
if Scotland votes to take its place among nations in the world.
Quebecois and Basques today are eagerly looking on
to see if Scots will vote to tell the English to be gone.
Hadrian’s Wall will, once more, mark where their dominion ends.
Remove your subs from Scapa Flow; your lease is at an end.
There still remains a problem which, just now, occurs to me.
If the English take their Pound with them, what is our currency?
It’s true we’re rich with North Sea oil and better off than Spain.
Yet how do we do business if the Sterling won’t remain.
We need a new “Gold” standard based upon the single malt!
Who needs pounds when we have ounces stored in barrels and in vaults?
So pour me a “MacCallan” on the day the rent comes due.
Hand me a glenfiddich and I’ll purvey food to you..
Our creditors will be well pleased with hints of bog and peat.
We won’t dilute our currency as Scots men drink it neat.

when Death calls
at the casements of this mortal home
he’ll not scythe my soul
into the black unknown -
No!
with feathered feet
and honey-breath
will dance my lucent Lord of Death
i’ll breathe - aaah! -
in bright and velvet arms
here you are
my Prince
at last

I am behind a wall with no windows and no doors.
I feel trapped and helpless.
But inside this prison I am safe,
from the outside world,
which threatens to destroy me.

There is no one in this prison,
except for the prisoner (me) and the jailer(me)
Life in this prison is not pleasant.
The only company is the jailer,
but she is very cruel.
She taunts me with self criticisms.
Thus the isolation starts as a place of safety
but soon becomes a place of torture.
And the depression begins.

Inside this prison, there is a huge wall,
separating me from the outside world.
I reach out for help.
But the barrier intervenes.
I take a step forward. But there is no where to go.
There are no windows.
There are no doors.

There are people reaching out to me.
I can hear them, but I cannot touch.
Loneliness and fear shuts them out.
My fears of being hurt again
results in me being alone.
I must live my life with this fear of growing old,
unwanted and unloved and being on my own.

I have grown up with this barrier against other people,
stopping me getting to close.
I have this powerful feeling that if I let the barrier down,
I will be swirled away in a turbulent flood of emotions.
I cannot risk letting down my barrier and discovering
what it would be like in an intimate relationship.
It could be a relationship where I float in a flood of
joyful emotions with no barriers.
A flood where  I float in bliss, happiness and love.
Not as I do now feeling only fear, helplessness and sorrow.

I grew up loving my parents, and fearing them a little.
They disappointed me, hurt, betrayed and abandoned me.
Now I feel afraid to love completely,
to protect myself from ever feeling this hurt again.
If I don't protect myself who will protect me.
So a life of isolation is what is in store for me.

I need to start digging a tunnel to get out of this hell hole,
to escape the darkness and find the light.
I have to stop blaming myself, for my family being like barbwire 'untouchable'
It is not my fault my mother was misguided, mistaken and confused.
or my fault my father abandoned us and died.
I know once I accept this I will find the light.
Free to live and love .
The first time in my life.

Grounded on my mat of morning-moist loam, the trees gossip with one another and the birds call out suggestions. My lungs **** down the sunbleached air as my skin engulfs the remnants of last night's rain. Somewhere, caught between a down dog and a forward fold I thought of you. The clay rich dirt kisses my forehead as my breath makes love to the wind and my soul whispers 'thank you.

Out the window at the top of a ridge walk
three sun brightened deer, deer that live
also in the upside down globe of my eyes,

busy righting everything so as not to worry
me and have my feet in the clouds.

Too late for that correction.

My delight is with blue sky where the tree tops
search for food and squint white clouds
in color-burning-out light hover in brilliance.
It is not even spring but the secret is out too
and the snow that falls now
is from the branches.

Today I am so brave.
I will go out and meet
the earth, follow
the warm pattern of light across
the white forest floor, careful not to step
on shadows that criss-cross
the back of mother spring.

What is ever green is breathing
ever tenderly, lifting and falling.  
And the shadows breathe too.
I have seen a single tall plant
sway like this, independent of wind,
waved as if someone were hiding in the grasses
whose only job was to announce
the location of one splendid, milky green stem.

Soon there will be a roar.
Birch trees will top themselves
in green explosions.
The dense mass of summer wind
will arrive in the clearing with the power
of a million animated leaves behind it.
Stars will stop staring,
find their voices, and arrange
themselves into Constellation Summer.
Everyone can feel it coming.
Today you turn to the window
and wonder what has caught
your eye.

It is the breath of spring.
The people in their city beds and the
the bears in their dens moan in their sleep
because of it.