Winter's edge flurries -
snowflakes converge,
a carpet of fox scavenged litter
re-emerging like
iced puddles of hubris.

Whilst The Christmas message is relayed
Rebecca erects a humming line
to keep away the crows and parquets
from her prized cabbage and kale.
but the threadbare sound is
reminiscent of cymbals,
carrying thoughts of a lost carnival.

She journeyed to the coast
and caught an amateur performance of the
"Seven Deadly Sins", in and out of situ.
The deserted beach, ghostly 
yet littered with wicker creels
the fisherman their whispers silenced,
better console with tomorrow's wise
in hope of an  epiphany.

Brewing your bitter sap
From the sour, dank sod
In which your feet
Are so comfortably shod
Silk purse made from the bile
Of good-for-nothing land

Your are on the river
In the bog early green
A smile on Spring's young face
Russet tines raking winter's putty
Bearded bonsai of icy summits
Run-maker on summer greens

Webster-woven into creels
For peats, and baskets
For logs of firewood types
Promise me a sprig of ***** Willow
Almost a tree
A match for any tree

are you from outer space
perhaps a rocketeer named Xeno
a galactic traveler
from a long time ago
who we mistook for god
imbued not with supernatural powers
but technology

did we take your decrees to seriously
not to worry
we failed miserably to abide by them anyway
and apparently you did to
hows the celestial war raging

are we dupes
of a deceptive slaver alien race
from the planet Sirius
looking for a source
of grunt labor
miners and builders

ufo oligists theorists believe
perhaps our god is 4 ft 2 in
with gray opaque paper mache like skin
bulging black ball cat eyes
stick gumby arms
and a cratered moon for a head
or are you a projection
of a terrified humanity
with a thunder stick
and a ray gun ******* finger

they say
have faith or else
love you with all our hearts
or else
is that love under duress
what kind of love is that
are they saying your a tyrant
or are the social engineers
who made you up the tyrants
using coercive confabulations
so that we live a myth of lies
and white knuckle terrors
in dark nights of the soul
under threat of
burning in  hell for all eternity

or are we made in your
human image
all man
well muscled
good looking
well hung
and ****** all the pretty slave girl angels
perhaps self abasing Subs
who get all drools doing what ever you say
you the ultimate Dom
a masochists dream
i have to admit
submission is hot
given it hard
to those baby doll goddess angels
i bet
impregnating them with universes
one hella ******
wow what fun

the church and temples of the day
say you don't like queers
abominations you call them
are we sure a bunch of homophobic sheep herders
didn't make that up about you

well inexplicably
you created legions of homos
creels of **** lovers
especially the priesthood
your very special goody two shows lover boys
of course they did marry a male god
and they thought
we are all woman compared to you
your the one with the biggest *****
and the well hung magical **** wand
apparently they perceive  you in each other
how spiritual
those sheep herders are gona freak
if they find out your bi

could it be
that after all this
you really have a soft spot
for  little ***** *** dump
in her pretty
pleated knit dress
twinkling tiera
jutting adam's apple
party girl eye shadow
and clod hopper sized
come **** me pumps

you where less explicit
about lesbians being abominations
i don't blame you for that
i love ******* girl too
***** to *****
**** licking euphoria
honey soft machines
silky tongues
**** to ****
with pink painted toes
wiggly hips
and shimmering lips

oh god i love it when they slow kiss too
us guys could learn a thing or to
from lesbians
when it comes to *******
ay god
there you go working in mysterious ways again

PRELUDE - THE SEE THROUGH HOUSE

a child sings from an open window
a sweet song serenades an angry sky
escorting the sun home soft and mellow
so many years have now drifted by
visiting my old home here on Vatersay
Western Isles have their own genetic blends
I made the wee trip over from Castlebay
all that was left to see - two gable ends!
As my eye resists a lonely tear
I walk alone for a while on the sand
memories hark back to yesteryear
my Parents couldn't tame an untamed land
unrelenting hardships too much to take
the summer rain and then the winter snow
remnants of a failed dream in my wake
endless crashing tides screamed we had to go
but now I've lost myself in time's assuage
smoke billows forth from a happy fire
forgetting the gales and their howling rage
just the birds and lambs of nature's choir
but then the Cuckoo sang a confused song
Oyster Catchers didn't know which way to fly
no more childrens laughter all day long
Father leans on his staff and starts to cry
I visit my childhood home this one last time
bookending my days, a kind of crescendo
a strange thing I know but surely not a crime
for an Old Lady to sing from an open window.


PART - THE FIRST

New Scotland, old Scotland it was all the same
the clearances were a distant memory
and the two thousand mile journey that took weeks.
They settled on Nova Scotia's East coast
time and circumstances made them one flesh
as they embarked on love's difficult journey
they were blessed with a sweet child, Ishbael
they both loved her tho no longer each other

at night Ishbael would sing out the open window
she would sing to the moon, she would sing to the stars
she imagined that she was a ballet dancer
and dreamed of being such when she grew up

Mother eeked out a living from the tired land
Father spent most of his time on the fractious sea
She stood motionless at the front door each night
He checked the lobster creels under a salty spray

the spode China would be laid out on the table
strategically placed on the driftwood surface
cups stained brown with tea, coffee and nicotine
and on the outside with smudges of lipstick
it was the most treasured family heirloom
it was somehow smuggled across in the boat
it was passed on to them as a wedding gift
it was the only item of value they ever had

night after night Mother watches the sea
in the distant field, Sheep murmur like Bees
the bog cotton waves like a myriad hankies
as sunlight dissolves under cumulous cloud,
his bent over figure would surely soon appear
whistling a sea shanty walking up the track
but like a novel, his script came to an end
the storm weathered body was never found

outside on the lonely pebbled shore a Curlew sang
the net curtains rose and fell to it's bleak strains
wind rattled the windows like the beating of fence posts
they drank hot milk from Spode china for the final time
their family had creaked under the stresses and strains
that night a tall poplar tree crashed through the roof
storms wrecked their home like they wrecked their marriage
a perfect marriage of howling wind and frigid air

a lifetime of memories carried toward the sea
yet that old enemy was soon to be their friend
like a crush that would simply not go away.
Veiled by wrinkles Mother responds to the calling.
Larks cavort up and down in their unyielding plot
while they are bound for a far and distant land
the land was in their blood the blood was in their kin
the Isle of Vatersay, they were going home.


PART - THE SECOND

Old Scotland, new Scotland it was all the same
but she could not ignore the similarities
she looked across the ocean, it was all the same
two thousand miles of Atlantic anger
wind driven waves like a Tiger on a lead
but the tide died, the sea had peace like a child's hair
this reminded her of her kind Step Father
he would lean on his staff and cry when things went wrong

a storm took this house too, only they were not in it!
They settled across the water in Castlebay.
Time was unveiled as she relived her childhood,
withered fence posts and rusty wire that kept the joy in
brushing aside the nettles the hearth warmed her heart
window fames were as firm as ber Father's hand shake
she carefully scraped away the moss of time,
darkening seas awakened to her silvery voice.

She scurried along the beach with a youthful gait
reminiscent of her ballet dancing days
then the tide of her heart rose like a mountain within
down in the marram grass, she stared in sheer disbelief
her body all a quiver she picked up the fragments
with cupped hands tears were mingled with Spode china
she raised her eyes heavenward and screamed...
"nach eil sin italicired"
which when translated means 'how wonderful is that!'

tears rolled uncontrolably down her face
she stood still shaking the fragments in her hands
it made a lovely tinkling sound like cow bells,
two thousand miles of Atlantic anger
had softened the edges and smoothed over her memories.
She looked fervently at the long deserted croft
the wind erased her footprints in the sands of time
and then the sun went down.


EPILOGUE - THE END

when your poems fail to rhyme
when your watch runs out of time
when you feel your fate was sealed
we were on the same level playing field

when clouds slowly start to fill your sky
when the ocean gives it's final cry
life's pathways they did wind and wend
we were all equal in tbe end

we all had good times and hope'd they'd last
but time went on rolling on by far too fast
that lady in the window she's still singing
not about 'the end' but a new beginning.

My parents used to fish
On Castle Creek
With canvas vests and wicker creels.
They always caught their limit.
And we had fresh trout for breakfast.
Last year
I drove my father
Up Castle Creek,
Alone and with knees too old
For clambering on wet rocks.
We stopped and talked
To a fisherman
With nylon gear and neoprene boots.
My father told him where the fish were.
Then I drove him home,
Down castle creek,
For the last time.