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The clouds are blushing
Tonight, a great weary eye
Bloodshot, it weeps above
The unfinished conquering
Of the used, tired, blue earth
And all the sky is pointed tonight,
A bullseye omen bleeds earthwards,
Matadors have red caped the world.
.
Oh Girleen, leave that dark, ****-covered rock

And watch no more the waves white-capped with foam                                

Nor listen to their sighs; they only mock

Your lonely sorrowed heart; now come back home.



I don’t watch each wave that sweeps and falls,

I don’t heed the sobbing of the sea –

I’m listening for my own true lover’s call

There, can you hear now? He’s calling me….



Ah Girleen, sure it’s only the wild, wild wind,

A-wailing o’er the waters its sad song;

Put all these thoughts of him far from your mind-

To our own good god alone, the dead belong.



Ye lie, he’s mine, for from the grey sea-mist.

Yesterday evening when the sun sunk low

He came and took me in his arms and kissed my mouth

Just like he used to, long ago.



And so, I’ll not go home, but here I’ll stay

For maybe, in the smoky gloamin’ dim,

He’ll come again out o’er the showers o’ spray

And take me o’er the ragin’ seas with him.
Note: this is an old Ulster-Scots song which was collected in the book ‘The Ulster Folk’ by Padric Gregory (London 1912).
i saw in your eyes
my windowed soul
my naked self freed
alive yet dousing now
joyous tear and burst
of cloud ringing stars
yay i am sure drowned
overboard in lifesaving
blooms wilds flowering
of irises touch so dear
and lay awake bathing
only to dream for sight
with looks blissful keep
the near deepest unrest
and i am fairly held nigh
holy in pagan fairy pools
of skye by sunken lochs
into bluest shyest violets
glowing moons ashudder
what unlived eyes of mine
could nae see ever before
what life held by saving us
ayes set in promising glaze.
Where is my laddie? As reason,
Time, unreasonable, runs amok,
Precious, stone frost on the rose,
And sun travels yoked with moon,
Somes, climbing into skies broke
With light and smoke and hopes,
Dashed on earthly tides quaking,
My heat waits to be aired, beaten,
My soul, thirsts for carnate touch,
In of outter reaches of openesses
My breath suffocates in rainy sun,
All this life to know is but waiting,
The flowering of my flower wanes.
golden streams of sun
sink, unwrap, dance,
melt into the trees
like honeycomb,
silver the ground
with their tender warmth.
the day is dying but so gently
that the shadows can only lengthen
dreaming their dreams of the night.
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