Fer de Lance

The greenlee hunter fae th’

Canopy above

Drops doon in silent malice.

Fair game we ur all.

Our necks, th’ tender spot.

Snakes like rain

Drop doon upon us

Death rattle an’ th’ mortal scream

Waves at oor feet, nae a grain

O’ sand reminds me o’ home.

Th’ air is howfin’ o’ rotting things

that hae washed upon th’ shore

Th’ air ishowfin’ o’ rotting things

Of t’e deid an’ dying beyond th’ tree line.

Silent eyes o’ th’ hunter

aglow even in th’ dark

Silent, movin’, curious

About th’ streenge hairy beings

We mus’ be

Night sounds, sometimes silence

Will th’ next sound I hear

be th’ gurglin’ of me slitted throat?

Whaur was tha’ warm breeze 

I felt all th’ weary night,

or th’ rhythm awe th’ night wings

flyin through th’ faurest trees?

Or th’ name tha’ I cried faur

When I was lost in th’ dark?

Canopy above

Drops doon in silent malice.

Amused by our innocence Fearful o’ what we have brought.      

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Th’ Bend o’ th’ Bow

Tis a battle

o‘  th’ jade an’ blue cerulean sea.

Tis a battle o’ bone an’ tissue

An’ th’ constant struggle tae stay afloat.

Tis th’ coming o’ Wormwood

An’ th’ sorrows he shall bring.

We await

Th’ bitter taste tha’ we shall spit

Frea oor mouth

As th’ sky drops doon her rain.

Come th’ season o’ th’ serpent an’

Nae a drop shall be spared

Frae th’ seekers o’ th’ shore.

Marooned

Is a lonely word.

Nae a body shall be spared

Frae th’ wrath o’ th’ air,

Frae th’ demons below th’ waves.

We will be tested

On th’ gritty lowlands,

Th’ best an th’ least o’ us.

Th’ living will be th’ victors,

Those who raise thair fists

At th’ Wormwood star,

An those who seek th’ morrow.

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Th’ Scion o’ th’ Deep

Deliver us o’ master o’ th’ deep

smite tha’ wicked watery beastly demon

take ‘er doon tae tha’ bottomless calderon

where th’ evil ones dae dwell

Keep thaim safely bound wi’ chains

and ankored tae th’ stones o’ perdition

far below th’ shifts o’ tides

in th’ curdled pitch black sea.

Let nae a dog escape,

Nae a hund o’ th’ hell dwellers be set a free.

Let thaim dance in th’ fiery crucible

Tae th’ music o’ th’ flames.

Down tae th’ angry fiery pit,

May tha’ be their destined lot,

Far frae th’ mortal men

Who sleep beneath th’ light of stars.

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A Fragile Sleep Outside the Shores of Eden

Wha’ a tundrous soun’

is  th’ soun’ o’ breathin’

Wha’ a shower o’ light th’

stars can bring tae th’

deep sleepin luna.

Tha’ silen’ wave o’ weariness,

Tae heavy tae be called sleep

Leaves th’ ashen dreams tae turn asunder.

Th’ Constant Star, I always know

Whaur she be.

Ah follow Orion’s Belt

Adrift across th’ sky,

Th’ morning star leads th way

Tae th city in th’ clouds

Tae th’ city on th’ sea

In th’ lands tha’ bear nae name.

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The One World

Aroun’ th’ point an’

beyon’ th’ breaks,

mindful o’ th’ corals an’ th’ rips,

stay above th’ sandy shoals,

th’  weary lads mus’ tack.

Intae th’ win’ an’ intae th’ bay,

Then drop th’ ankor stone.

Find sweet water flowing

An’ fill them empty tuns.

Scrape th’ hulls.

Seal with oakum.

Seek fur food, be it fish o’ fowl.

Mak’ trade.

Mak’ peace wit’ th’ locals.

Make ready to sail.

Seek fur th’ city o’ gold.

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The Dark Blue Seas

Whe’ th’ clouds in thyne eyes

an’  th’  scales oan thy lense

fall tae th’  deck lik’ tears,

further be th’ horizon

in th’ sinking o th’ hert.

Na congers tae net,

only hawp ‘n’ despair tae fill yer plate.

Nae sweet water tae fill thy vessel,

naht even th’ Living Waters

kin slake thy thirst.

Hours, days an weeks

Riding th’ westward win’s.

Nae floatsan

Nae jetsam

Nae fowl in th’ air

Nae scent o’ solid land

Tae far fur th’ Great One

To even hear the beating of mah heart

or th’ sound within mah thoughts.

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Th’ Banks o’ Pison

Th’ day o’ th’ Laird is nigh

when nae man wull be spared.

Today is th’ day o’ th’ last sunrise,

the last breath we tak’.

At th’ mercy o’ Undine,

Under th’ hateful glare

O’ Kulkuklan, th’ feathered serpent

in the Garden of Guid ‘n’ Evil.

All ither thoughts

and thinkings become dust

and comes tae naught

in th’ Garden o’ th’ Damned.

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Th’ Myth o’ th’ Homeland

Tha’  first glimpse intae th’ valley o’ giants,

O’  th’  universe found on a blade o’ grass,

Tis th’ Muses o’ th’ Lower World, an’ their singings,

inviting yee tae meet th’  basalt  teeth

on th’ shores o’ th’ land called Sorrows.

Th’ homeland in th’ glen

where once a wee child played,

where thy fathers’ generations

toiled an’ now sleep,

an’ doun in th’ valley th’ cattle are lowin

an th’ ewe lambs huddle fur their heat.

Thare below th’ cataracts an th’ highland peaks

Th’ bonny brook flows sweet an clean.

 a better place nah man has known,

nah better place indeed,

than th’ hearth an walls

o’ mother’s home.

Thare be th’ homeland, but nah fo’ thee,

nah fur th’ mariner’s son.

denied tae thee th’ blue skies

an th’ fields o’ green,

th’ young’uns, gurglin an giggling,

a warm hearth an a bed tae dream on.

That is nae th’ fate fur th’ hund o’ th’ sea.

Nah fame nah fortune is in thy stars.

Nah true love tae comfort thy night.

Thy fate, by Destiny’s lead

Is tae wash upon th’ shore

Where th’ sirens sing their wicked call.

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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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