There's a fog over Inverness,
Wrapping the banks
Of the river Ness;
Enveloping me
As you once did.
A fog that will not dissapate,
A mist that mirrors
The break and ache.
A fog that chides
Lonely distress.
This fog can't hide
What I can't forget.

In nights when
a crisp humidity
wraps its
cocoon-
Jolts within me
suddenly
thoughts of a cove
where as a
child,
scattered clandestine
words-
burrowed on their
own
into the pallid sand
who soaked herself
with salty sea,
then pledged confidentiality...
until I grew,
and could take
it.

So
Burn
Inverness.
Let the whispered
die
and with you
firefly
ethereally toward night.
One can merely
hope
not a single soul
will catch
one
here nor
there...
though what's
there
to fear?
Only that which is
deeply known:
I was,
I am,
a child still-
never grown.

Red sky,
hide
stowaway embers;
remains
fallen from youthful lips.
Let ride away on
bobbing crests.
At low tide,
an even lower
soul
walks the shallows.

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

The lovely lass o’ Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e’en and morn she cries, “Alas!”
And ay the saut tear blins her ee:
Drumossie moor—Drumossie day—
A waefu’ day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear, and brethren three.

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see:
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a woman’s ee!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair
That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee.

Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******,
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, *****, homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.

.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******,
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, *****, homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

1945
The endless war was over.
We were all returning to the new normal.
That is if anything could ever be normal again..
The train trundled along the british countryside
The towns the counties passing slowly by.
Rows of houses country farms
The edge of Scotland  ahhh Scotland.
We Passed the cities into the Highland where pristine lochs sparkled in the rare sunshine.
She got onto the train at Inverness
A change of vehicle descending south.
To a London I did not want ever to see again.
I was reading my book on the armies of Rome in England.she took a sandwich out of her oversized purse. would you like one she asked softly.?
I was famished normal protocol apolite no.
But my hunger screamed even louder than my reticence
yes that would be lovely.
Thank you so much.
The food  trolley arrived I ordered two cups of watery after war coffee
And two custard tarts.
I showed her Hadrians wall
As we passed it.
The city of York which had been the centre of the British civil war
Cavaliers and roundness and all that.
I guess by now she knew I was a terminal bore.
But she did not seem to mind
She smiled and laughed dutifully at my jokes.
What she did not know
By the time we reached Crewe
I was in love with her.
It was obvious  a woman as beautiful as her.
Would have no interest in such a stogie old Bachelor  schoolmaster like me.
I had no skills in alluring the fairer ***.
Only Shakespeare Plato descartes.
But as the train pulled into Euston
dust from the coal fired engines entered
  a piece of soot into my eye
From the open window of the carriage

She came to my aid taking the dust from my eye with the rolled corner of her handkerchief. The pain immediately subsided. And she kissed my lips softly yet firmly.
I have never kissed a man unintroduced she whispered.
But I do not want to wait for you
you are very shy.

2000
The snow fell on Greyfairs school early that winter
We had retired into the headmaster's quarters which would be ours for the rest of of our days.
I remember the train my love.
She whispered her beautiful grey eyes as young as the springtime.
You gave me half your ham sandwich my love I answered weakly.
Then at Easton you kissed me first.
Like this she said her familiar sweet.lips reached mine.
That's because I found the man that I wanted for my life partner she purred.
The light faded in my eyes
She melted into oblivion.

I was on a train alone again like so long ago.
The British rail trolley came
I bought two weak watery coffees and two custard tarts.
Keep riding sir
the lady's voice said kindly.
she will be with soon at Inverness.

.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******,
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, *****, homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

THE Lady on the  Train.... A Romantic Love Story

1945 in postwar England.

The endless war was over.
We were all returning to the new normal.
That is if anything could ever be normal again.
The train trundled along the British countryside
The towns, the counties, passing slowly by.
Rows of houses, country farms, peace and tranquility once more.
The edge of Scotland ahhh! Scotland.

We Passed the cities into the Highlands
where pristine lochs sparkled in the rare northern sunshine.
She got onto the train at Inverness.
A change of vehicle descending south.
To a London, I did not want ever to see again.

I was reading my book on the armies of Rome in England.
She took a sandwich out of her oversized purse.
would you like one she asked softly.?
I was famished normal protocol a polite no.
But my hunger screamed even louder than my reticence
yes, that would be lovely.
Thank you so much.

The food trolley arrived I ordered two cups of watery after war coffee
and two custard tarts.
I showed her Hadrians wall
as we passed it.
The city of York which had been the center of the British civil war
Cavaliers and roundheads and all that.
I guess by now she knew I was a terminal bore.
But she did not seem to mind.

She smiled and laughed dutifully at my jokes.
What she did not know
By the time we reached Crewe
I was in love with her.
Obviously a woman as beautiful as her.
Would have no interest in such a stogie
old Bachelor schoolmaster like me.

I had no skills in alluring the fairer ***.
Only Shakespeare Plato Descartes.
But as the train pulled into Euston
dust from the coal-fired engines entered
a piece of soot into my eye
From the open window of the carriage

She came to my aid taking the dust from my eye with the rolled corner of her handkerchief. The pain immediately subsided. And then she kissed my lips softly yet firmly.
I have never kissed a man unintroduced she whispered.
But I do not want to wait for you
you are very shy.

2006
The snow fell on Greyfriars school early that winter
We had retired to the headmaster's quarters which would be ours for the rest of our days.
I remember the train, my love.
She whispered
her beautiful gray eyes still as young as the springtime.
You gave me half your ham sandwich
my love I answered weakly.
Then at Euston, you kissed me first.
Like this, she said her familiar sweet.lips reached mine.
That's because I found the man that I wanted for my life partner she purred.
My last vision in this world was her beautiful face.
The light faded in my eyes for the last time.
She melted into oblivion.

I was on a train alone again like so long ago.
The British rail trolley came
I bought two weak watery coffees and two custard tarts.
Keep riding, sir be patient
the tea lady's voice said kindly.
She will be with us soon, at Inverness

The body of a woman's neutral fineness embraces the chords of my steel guitar; laughing about all the points that I've been chasing after. Or just running away- no more for today. Christ, you slipped but lied too many times before, and while you plunge your wrists into your knives, I thought we had a second chance. But that was before, you throw sticks and stones and store your anger in the three fingers of the drink that clinks against our first date when I bought you a 25¢ ring. It was a children's vending machine, that brought me three years of happy things.

I don't want to be fake with you anymore. So go and find your Milky Way. I'm staying dumb, Britni I'm in trouble. All the stakes are different when you are chasing yesterday's killing.

And even the sound of the gunshots don't overcome the voice of the human tongue, in violence and war and all that's abhorred, even the smallest vesper or prayer a whisper of three little words can always be heard, even the faintest whisper can always be heard, as long as the voice that says it is honest and pure.

I was too tight to drive with your hands over my eyes, even in Inverness valley and South Santa Cruz, the wheelbarrow of berries I brought home for supper, ingested in each little bite we cut in half, was the best of the worst time that we ever had. And always we were. In love. In parking lots, playgrounds, at concerts, on airplanes, in bedrooms, custodian closets, laundry mats, and carrying our nap sacks, while we attempted to sleep and hide all night in the Shedd Aquarium. I just should have known better, it'd wouldn't be easy, with you I'm always wrestling sharks with a mirror, your pink sugar perfume from the chains on my wrists ******* across the room. While you didn't trust me I was always at home. Trust isn't love  unless it's enough, unless it's enough to quit drugs. It's symptoms are the same as that of great madnesses.

Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******,
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, *****, homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

A Badger
A Fox
A Frog
All on the A9 from Inverness to journeys end

Black Cat crossing your path is supposed to herald some doom approaching

I don't know what I have coming,
perhaps nothing

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

.
I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******,
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, *****, homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
.

1943 ww2
The. Invasion force took
the never ending war
to the other side of the English channel.
It had been long in coming
but they were ready.

The invasion landing craft
were rusty made of iron and steel
like the men aboard them
They were all afraid.
They knew  their losses would be many.
They knew it might be them

But the duty was absolute
for each and every one of them.
He was a teacher not a soldier
but wars had made him into to one.
He could not recollect
when he even shot
a firearm at an enemy.
Or even if he could.

He was not a avid soldier
but he must do his duty.
He knew this
as he looked at the men
in the crowded landing craft.
The beach was silent no chaos
but in moments that would change,

the protective front dropped to the ground.
As he rushed forward
as though an electric light switch
had been galvanised.
the mayhem started
machine gun fire and rockets
bombarded them.

He saw his friend Johnny hit badly
in the chest it was fatal.
He dropped His weapon
and cradled the young man in his arms.
He died there calling for his mother.

The rocket shell exploded next to him
and he fell next to his friend
and lay as dead.

Three years later

The military hospital was always
full so much pain so much grief.
The Irish nurse was cleaning the soldier
that had been in a coma
since his arrival  several years ago.

She had bright green eyes
and red hair the trademark traits
of an Irish lady
who drank a can of hope and stubborn
every morning for breakfast.

She noticed his fingers moving
Well now she whispered
Its himself.
He's with is thanks be to Jesus.

His eyes opened they were
blue and beautiful.
Your back are you?
so she said.
I thought you were going
to sleep forever
so I did

When am I?
he said almost in a whispered
Am I dead?
No your back with the living she smiled.

It was the start of his recuperation
she helped him move his
anthropic muscles.
and learn how to walk again
she told him of the war
being over and won.

After six months he was well enough
to leave the hospital.
He had even interviewed for a teaching post
at greycastle school for boys.
The doctors told him to take a vacation
Perhaps  on the railway
to help in resolving himself
with the post war world.

He took the sleep train from euston station
in London and set forth on his adventure.
The old coal fired engine set forward
to Scotland it was peaceful
as he passed the green towns
of England county by county.

Until re reached Scotland .
Ahh! Scotland
so far away from a London
he no longer wished to see
after its desolation from the bombs.

He trembled as he thought of the war.
As the train trundled past lochs and mountains
of Scotland gleaming in the rare sunlight
he felt a peace that had eluded him for so long.

She alighted the train at Inverness
so beautiful and yes enticing.
Even to a stodgy old
out of work schoolmaster like him.

She  sat opposite to him in the old carriage.
After  while she opened
her huge purse an took out a
package of sandwiches.

Would you care for one she asked softly.?
Normal reticence was overtaken by hunger
Yes  please that would be lovely he said.
He bought two weak after war coffees
from the char lady.
And two custard creams.

They talked he did not realise.
How much he had missed
the conversations with an attractive lady.
He told her of his war issues
how he had lost several years in a coma
She listened intently to him.

He realised  that such a beautiful woman
would have no interest
in an old stodgy
Old school  teacher like him.
But she was sweet
and kept asking him more details
about himself.

He knew he had no skills
in charming the fairer ***.
Only his love of literature
Shakespeare decarte Chaucer
but she did not seem to mind.
By the time the train reached CHESTER
he realised that he was in love with her.

The train inched its way back
into euston station
On a trip he did not want to end

The window was open an piece of coaL dust
from the engine found its way into his eye.
she rolled the edge of her handkerchief  
and got the speck of soot  out of his eye.

The pain subsided immediately
Then she pulled his face to hers
and kissed him. Full on The mouth.
I have never kissed a man
Unintroduced before she said.
But you are so very shy.

Forty  five years later

They were old now he was dying
They lived in the house
allocated to headmaster emeritus
of greycastle school
a post he held for some twenty five years.

She leaned over his bed
and said do you remember
the train my love.?

Even in leaving her he smiled
yes my Darling
You shared your ham sandwich with me.
And then you kissed me first.
thats because I found my life partner.
Like this she said
he saw her crystal grey eyes
Still as beautiful as the day
they captured his heart so long ago.
The fragrance the softness of her lips.
He passed from her
The last breath of his in  this world
Was left on her lips.

The train was  traveling through the daylight
scotland came into view the lochs
and mountains the purple heather.

The old char lady came into the carriage
He bought two coffees and two custard tarts.
Be patient sir she whispered kindly,
She will be joining us very soon.
At Inverness.

Do i dare speak of him?
The fie which corrupted the soil of our Inverness?
T'was a dream conjured deep in my heart, darkened.
One might say, it was thy hand that grasped the dagger
Yet thy refuse to perceive it so.

Refrain me from the sweetness of Hope's spiteful tongue
Let not it take my naked frailities, my valour.
T'was not my vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself and falls on th'other.
Though his eyes spoke of his intent, he could not bear the ****** dagger himself.
I pity his fragility, his virtues clear yet no more a man than i.
Too full is he of the milk of human kindness. I hath unsex myself, to therefore bear the fruit of Cawdor.
Unsex me i say? Strip me of this pity. Hie thee, sightless substances enter my home and make me fell, the golden round is merely a breath away.

The Sun shall not see me as it wakes, soon I will no longer be heat-oppressed.
Macbeth does ****** sleep, and so shall i.

Hurry, sweet equivocator.
The guilt spilt stains my skin, as does thine.
I had liv'd a blessed time, yet now there's nothing serious in mortality.
The hell-fire spits at my feet, yet never reaches my heart.
Oh, torture it is, hell-gates open not.
Must i stand by, licked by the flames of Beelzebub yet never truly entering?
Oh woe is me.

My mouth is bitter, the taste of my near'st of life cold.
I see no need to wail, alas the time has come for the devil to cast me.
Please't be readily and alight.
God plead for this to be my final night.

On the other side of silence,
A lonely, primeval drone.
Wind hisses through the violets.
The dejected spirit moans.
i reach for eternal solace,
But grasp only rough-edged stone.
Here, climbing toward the Highlands,
My sureness of hiking honed.
I cross and rush to Inverness
In search of the ancients' bones.
They bless me with their hieroglyphs
I cannot decode alone.
I wander through the mistiness,
Keep clambering for my home.

On the other side of silence,
A lonely, primeval drone.
Wind hisses through the violets.
The dejected spirit moans.
I reach for eternal solace,
But grasp only chiseled stone.
Here, climbing toward the Highlands,
My sureness of hiking honed.
I cross and rush to Inverness
In search of the ancients’ bones.
They bless me with their hieroglyphs
I cannot decode alone.
I wander through the mistiness,
Keep clambering for my home.

The noise, the harshness, as course as steel off-cuts
To berate, just one word, will have one man scared
From Dundee to Inverness and Clyde,
Just a sentence from a Glaswegian will make you hide
A friendly hello can sometimes sound like a fight
A nod of the cap, I won't upset you,
Let me just keep out of your sight
A pint in the pub with no eye contact at all
Hello, how are ye, what was all the worry
To be scared of such friendly people I have been a fool
The craic is mighty with the pub next to an aging brothel
Best mates now with the few I was so wary
As like most men drunk it all come out as Scottish waffle

JJB

to go

despite not going solo

despite all the reasons that you

spoke of

to plan an escape by bus for aviemore perhaps

by rail for inverness

the memory of you