When you walk your heart
in the Highlands
you hear your soul's notes
harmonising with the wind
you sing Lacrimosa
on the hills to defeat the world's
desperation and hug beauty.

wish i knew you
way back then
but again then
you wouldn’t have
glanced at me once,
let alone twice

but them ole aphorisms
have their uses,
useful when dreaming
in colorful surrealisms

better later,
than not at all,
my sad eyed lady
of the highlands,
better for having
met you,
than not
at all...

Play mae, auld moorlan wise,
Wi' thy martial Steel Lyre,
The enraged Sound of the Thunder,
While ah shall be, again,
In nae unworthy mare,
Wi' Targe Shield and Dagger,
Rising nae fellow-mortal,
Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts,
Ironclad frae the Fire!

the hills breathe verselets high and low
in jigsaw lochans of liquid sky
lure me back to where I want to go
back to the land where poems lie

clouds turn mountains into words
that sing unto the morning sky
and a faintly scattered beach of birds
call out to me where poems lie

four seasons lie forever stranded
await some verse to unlock the spry
in a song that never ended
in beautiful land where poems lie

the setting sun says that all is well
as rhythmic rivers join the cry
of pounding waves of sand and shell
in the Motherland .. where poems lie!

I live in the north with the hoodies and the loons,
Where the wild gorse grows and prickles the brooms,
Where fields and pastures roll into mounds,
Which fold into mountains which tickle the clouds.

I live in the north, more water than rock,
Grey, green and blue like glas on the loch,
Reflecting the perfect mirror of the moon,
Are the world's oldest rocks, from which it was hewn.

I live in the north where cold winds blow,
Bringing hailstones and hurricanes, sunshine and snow,
To pristine white sand beaches where white waves come foaming,
To the straths and the glens serene in the gloaming.

I live in the north, the land of the Scots,
Named after the Irish, the natives forgot,
A land of Vikings and Picts, through war and through fire,
They bested the worst of the Roman empire.

I live in the north where the music runs deep,
It can make you laugh till you cry or a grown man weep,
A reel to make you believe any fable,
A blast of the pipes'll have you dance on the table.

I live in the north, still ruled by a king,
Monarch of the glen, lord of the ling,
Whose forests lack trees and whose lands are bare,
Save for the lonely, hunted hare.

I live in the north where magic is real,
And you can never be sure if it's selkie or seal,
Where the goddess Aurora paints the night sky green,
And dances with more stars than you've ever seen.

Lay on the pagan rocks,
whisper the ancient gods.
Let the energy transform
and part ways to a past.

A different time where,
lay beliefs were customary.
A place where horses,
galloped and the roses prickly.

A kiss that meant a promise,
the forever that meant it's worth.
The portions that never worked,
but melted love in pungent rocks.

The bitter togetherness in the woods,
the sweeter regrets of the nooks.
A euphoric ****** of emotions,
rendered tones, the lily hues.

Take it all and tie it with cotton,
fasten the rope and compress it.
Neglect us in the highlands,
way over those barren valleys.

My Laura
how tomorrow
was your
time lace
with bona
fide séance
in these
highlands of
Arabica here
in America
always vernacular
with a
sound heard
round world  
to triumph
love with
our beliefs.