In the pause afore the gnarl and bite
Of a winter reluctant to feast upon us
The kestrel lands gossamer air light
Pensive between fence and morsel of wood.
Spitfire cousin of the buzzard
A filament of wing and feather
Braided into the undergrowth.
Any reward is unseen
Measured in slower time in larger beats.
(A quick game of football in Malawi-bare feet, sugar cane and big smiles: thanks ST :))
‘Calamity Springs From Carelessness’
Just as the slightest undulation
On rough ground destroys balance
So any slight give or fade can lose
Conflicts in or out your gi.
As seasons create growth
They hide that decay in tending actions
Weed out the poverty of thought or deed
Usher in like illuminati clear gaze
Both with een* shut and eyes open.
(Herol Graham, champion boxer)
This from a joint reading with another writer, Ross Wilson. We tried to contrast the two martial arts of boxing and karate.
Equilibrium and Balance
Herol Graham, Sugar Ray had it
Balance and strike, retreat unbroken.
Dance to a rhythm until the final blow.
All Senseis, Masters us do fail
Beyond the ropes, the dojo are people
Lost loves, vices, enemies that make Yahara
A Foreman, A Hopkins, A Duran greet fer mercy.
All arts, would make us better, more complete
Match inner worth to an outer equilibrium..
Still keep that guard up, stance ready
Body and soul tempered.
‘Are You ready’..(ichi,ni,san…)
The call for the police was frantic. Post-stroke and with diminished eye-sight our father had ‘disappeared’. It was s time amid the trauma of a bomb of hurt and a recovery when he could feel all at sea.
Haunts, friends and allies were phoned, asked and probed.
The first sight of him. He was in range of the safe haven of the sheltered housing. The claw came into view.
The three-pronged end of his walking stick. A thrawn beast, this walking stick with a queer end; to be put up with by someone who had been a Pipe Major on two continents.
Of course. A return. He had been calling in at the ‘YES’ shop on Kirkcaldy High Street.
This was them dropping him off. Home and safe.
Today I thought of that. I was still (somehow) shocked at a Sir, a Scottish Sir sell his soul: the suspension of two very senior MPs today from their parties.
A new system is built from the bottom up.
Like dafties we paid siller for pain
Breaking joints and spine on Edinburgh’s outlying lungs
The Arctic blast in April filleted the SAS team out;
Never mind the bands playing to the blue skinned
Natives and guests from all parts.
Yet it is as nothing to what hunger does,
What hatred carves out in many a heart and place
When you have a finish that is there not hidden
There is not much to get over
Just some pure Scottish rain pelting Saint and Sinner alike.
Having had a good response to a running piece-here’s one for all and KS-time for another?
Nae a body in sicht
In this summer whaur even tyres melt
Gone from the burns an yird
Bairns blasted tae smithereens fae baith faiths
Equal magisteria doun in the glaur
Unsullied in saul an speerit lik yon skinklin stane.
Sodgers fer wronged Prophets naethin
But murderers fae heid tae toe
Savagery is aye mair aboot pain
Thair pain, thair feelings o sma beings lost
Kennin we are
Jist sea spray on a wee planet
Dinna mourn thair defeat
A lang or short demise.
*I visited the bridge a few years ago
Nae-no, sicht-sight, whaur-where, yird-earth, bairns-children, baith-both, glaur-mud, saul-soul, sodgers-soldiers, kenning-knowing, dinna-don’t, their-their.
It tested you that gut wrenching run
Up from the village keeping tight by the pine tree line
Burst a lung and cerebellum over rock, mound and mud
West Lomond’s skirts demanded blood, sweat, dying legs.
Knee strip support and mair* rests than Rodin’s ‘The Thinker’
Means I can still make it-
See Perthshire and the guts of Scotland beyond
Savour that kestrel level view forever.
Mair-Scots for more.