Anodyne

Near th’ gairdens o’ guid an’ evil,

Near th’ open plains of myth an’ legend,

By th’ shadowed glen o’ breath an’ sleep,

Lay th’ footfalls o’ the mystic seek.

Thare be wickedness in th’ wind,

in th’ clouds below th’ glowing lamp,

The Blood King reigns wi’ noisome breath

And jealous wings of feathered starbursts.

beneath the canopy o’ ancient trees

where mortal man may be.

In fragile dwellings thay lay asleep,

by th’ banks o’ th’ deadly rivers,

where th’ muddy flows her dangers

through each an’ every breath,

th’ wee ones noisily at their play

Ne’er see beyon’ their reach.

Thay ne’er see th’ winged luster

take flight inside th’ rainbow arch.

Thay never felt his awsome grip,

These young bairns, known as Anodyne.  

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Th’ Keeper of the Scrolls

Th’ silent jaws o’ death

Closed o’er his sleepin’ bones

To ‘wait th’ test o’ thyme,

Tae hear his name be called again

By th’ keeper o’ th’ scrolls.

He slipped intae th’ cauld black deep.

No soun’ kin reach his soggy corpse.

No ears can hear his silent scream.

No light tae guide his pilgrimage

Unto his highland home.

Committed deep in th’ arms o’ Perdition

He awaits in sleep upon tha’ gathering,

Th’ calling o’ souls tae join th’ feast,

Tea hear his name be called again

By th’ keeper o’ th’ scrolls.

This be th’ call we all must hear

When we lay our heads tae sleep.

This day may be our very last,

May this day be ours tae keep.

May it be tha’ way for this, th’ soul,

Th’ son o’ man, born o’ womb.

For each and every mother’s son

Who breathes th’ morning air

An’ gives rise tae meet th’ sun.

Tae hear our name be called again

By th’ keeper o’ th’ scrolls.

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Th’ Day o’ th’ Deluge

Th’ sun unsheathed, sifts thro’ th’ clouds.

Th’ prism mist unveils

an alphabet o’ light as th’

cool sweet air prevails.

Th’ trees begin tae spread thair wings.

Th’ ships unfurl thair sails.

Th’ drying eyes peeked anxiously

An’ hawpt th’ rainfall fails.

The drizz takes rise frae aff th’ groon,

while preying mantis swears

tha’ he’ll consume th’ dragonfly

wi’ whom th’ bog he shares.

Th’ storekeeper opens up his shop,

Th’ barber checks his blade,

Th’ bobcat finds a hiding place

once mair inside th’ glade.

The seagull overlooks the fray,

the mastiff guards the bay,

and when the footsteps of the moon

are heard, he starts to bay.

Th’ seagull overlooks th’ town,

the mastiff guards th’ gate,

and whin th’ footsteps o’ th’ moon

are heard, he starts tae wail.

Evening brings a caul wet breeze,

Not a winged oan takes flight.

in th’ deep mirk dome o’ winter’s night

the stars drap doon thair silen’ light.

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The Tempest

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Lo an’ weep, for despair has set upon our sails.

Th’ deepest shades below th’ wine-red sea

Are cast upon our brow.

Th’ men of sorrows with their

Weathered faces before th’ wind,

Beneath th’ clouds blackened by th’ Furies rage,

Are on th’ watch for Leviathon’s breath

in th’ valley of th’ breaks.

Lo an’ weep, th’ ghastly Azrael

Penetrates oor night sweat dreams.

He leaves us drenched in oor deepest fears an’ regrets,

Calling us tae account.

He breathes down upon us with

His cold an’ silent death.

A foe tae us all, he comes at his whimsy

Tae deprive us of th’ dawn.

Lo their noisome breath,

Th’ beasts of th’ tempest storm,

Filling our consumptive lungs,

Sparing us th’ will tae speak of oor repentance.

Tred lightly, ‘ere yee challenge th’ she witch o’ th’ winds.

Take heed, take heed, she be upon thee

At th’…

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The Tempest

Lo an’ weep, for despair has set upon our sails.

Th’ deepest shades below th’ wine-red sea

Are cast upon our brow.

Th’ men of sorrows with their

Weathered faces before th’ wind,

Beneath th’ clouds blackened by th’ Furies rage,

Are on th’ watch for Leviathon’s breath

in th’ valley of th’ breaks.

Lo an’ weep, th’ ghastly Azrael

Penetrates oor night sweat dreams.

He leaves us drenched in oor deepest fears an’ regrets,

Calling us tae account.

He breathes down upon us with

His cold an’ silent death.

A foe tae us all, he comes at his whimsy

Tae deprive us of th’ dawn.

Lo their noisome breath,

Th’ beasts of th’ tempest storm,

Filling our consumptive lungs,

Sparing us th’ will tae speak of oor repentance.

Tred lightly, ‘ere yee challenge th’ she witch o’ th’ winds.

Take heed, take heed, she be upon thee

At th’ ready in her hidden places,

Tae raise her steely blade.

Tae raise her steely blade.

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The Water’s Edge

Th’ tide hast cometh at last

and spreads into th’ harbour.

Now breech th’ tidal floor an’

Weigheth th’ anch’r stone,

Yon caravel hast been ballast’d

Maketh free below th’ wat’r line

An’  free thee from its sand‘s

Kiss th’ shores o’ thine salvation

An’ unleash th’ promise

O’ th’ sea o’ nae return.

wh’re th’ beasts o’ th’ flote

Await tae swallow thee whole.

Sooth then west until th’ winds catch th’ sails

Above th’ deadly doldrums,

Above th’ Calms of Capricorn,

Tae th’ great unknown,

To th’ Deep beyon’ th’ Great One’s reach,

Beyon’ th’ soun’ o’ God’s ain voice’

Beyon’ th’ reach o’ God’s ain loving wings

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Th’ Great Brim Waters

Tis a lo’esome soun’

Th’ weary lugs fall asleep tae

Tha’ howling whispering o’ win`

Tha’ turns th’ minutes intae hours,

Tha’ frothing of th’ silen’ wake,

Underneath th’ field o’ stars,

Frae sky tae sky, through sun an’ moonly glow,

nae sight, nae hint of lan’

Splitting th’ waves thro’ fair waither or foul,

days an’ weeks steady on the course.

Starboard lies the Constant Star,

Orion’s Belt off the port.

Trade winds pushing us beyon’ th’ horizon,

Beyon’ th’ endless flote.

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This Day Will Have Its Feast

Whe’ all is meditations above th’ foamy,

horizon tae horizon

A month o’ days since th’ sight o’ lan’ befo’ th’ mast,

an’ taken by th’ whispering wake,

beneath th’ stellar glimmerings,

o’ beneath th’ lunar orb,

an’ below th’ blist’ring rays o’ Sol’s eternal day,

th’ conundrums ne’er please,

An’ this, th’ day, will have its feast.

Home is th’ splintery planks

a’neath their weathered feet,

an their chosen place tae nest.

Th’ night win’s howl and chills their bones

an spares not one o’ rest.

They speak san sound.

They work th’ sheets.

They scrub th’ spotted deck.

They dare nah raise raise

their eyes unto th’ sky.

They speak, but are their voices heard?

Mark this well,

and remember to thy bones.

tis flesh, tis dust an’ never yourn.

Th’ soun’ yee dunnah wish tae hear:

“Thine soul will be required o’ yee.

This day, will have its feast.”

This day, will have its feast.

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The Master of Men

She’s afloat, her sails grasping      

a’ handfuls o’ th’ win’

Her bow splits th’ distant waters like

a cauld steely blade.

Deep in th’ hold she is a groanin’,

groanin’ fer th’ quiet urges of th’ inland waves.

The captain stan’s tah aboon his cabin

eyes on th’ clouds,

face tae th’ win’,

hauns touching th’ air,

feeling th’ stones upon his skin

He breathes in deeply for th’ scent o’ land

ears atoned tae th’ soun’ o’ breaks

No sign o’ fowl

No beasties tae be seen

No sight o’ th’ Constant Star,

Th’ captain waits for th’

new day tae bring favor

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May 9, 1502

Tis th’ moment, th’ sound o’ th’ anchor risin,’

Th’ smel o’ soil soon tae be but a mem’ry,

Th’ winds a fillin’ th’ sheets,

an’ th’ great meestery o’ darkness,

Nae a star tae follow,

Th’ sky indeed covers a mighty sea.

Tis th’ primal day

th’ first hour of th’ sun

th’ first seek fo’

wind to blow us south.

It is th’ quest fo’ El Dorado

th’ seven cities o’ gold an’ gem

Tis th’ quest tae find where east meets west

th’ Silk Road

th’ Great Wall

An’ th’ halls of th’ Emperor King

Tis th’ primal day o’ great portent

This will be oor tide

This will be oor fortune

This will bring us favour

Every mother’s son of us

Will rise tae meet th’ morn

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