"alisdaire" poems
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:21 AM UTC
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
Apr 2, 2011
Apr 2, 2011 at 6:36 AM UTC
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
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:32 PM UTC
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
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 10:09 AM UTC
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
Apr 2, 2011
Apr 2, 2011 at 6:46 AM UTC
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
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 10:06 AM UTC
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 1:45 PM UTC
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
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:23 PM UTC
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
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
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 6:13 AM UTC
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
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
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:45 PM UTC
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
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
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
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 10:03 AM UTC
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
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
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
shares
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
seeing
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 1:50 PM UTC
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:32 AM UTC
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
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------
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
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.
But!
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:40 AM UTC
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
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
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
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 1:39 PM UTC
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
Rememmering,
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
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
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
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 6:31 PM UTC
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
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 10:20 AM UTC