Vibrations burst in my muscles
Like warring armies of
Water and wave that
Surge to electrify a city--
I want to leap on the red hill
At the village arena
Like a mighty leopard
And pounce on a willing opponent,
Throw him in the dust
To proclaim a sounding victory
But there is no red hill
At the village arena anymore
Wrestling is no longer
A dear spot among my clansmen
Gold, diamond and rubies
Have lost their shine in the dust.
Return of The Piper
The skirl of the pipes is carried on the wind
Purple heather moves in time with the sound
Dark clouds move in and cover the sky
His sanctuary the piper has found
Amid the deep lochs and mountains tall
Where the crofter's sheep roam wild
Away from all forms of civilisation
The piper, his vision has dialled
He longs to find a fireside seat
With a dram to warm his heart
If only he could escape the darkness
And recapture his mortal dart
The piper was slain many years ago
Upon a historic battlefield
Leading his clansmen into the fight
For a reason that they'd never yield.
I saw Nazis march yesterday
upon the streets of Charlottesville.
And, with swastikas on display,
crazed clansmen chanted blood will spill.
I saw Satan grinning with pride
at racial slurs shouted in hate.
And, bigots standing by his side
help the violence escalate.
I saw torches light up the night,
snaking through the black neighborhoods.
And skinheads looking for a fight;
all that was missing were white hoods.
I saw white supremacists, proud
of drawing blood and spreading fear.
And a car plow into the crowd,
its intentions made all too clear.
I saw President Trump place blame
on both sides for this killing spree.
And, a shocked nation reel in shame
at how prejudiced he could be.
I saw the projected end of
tolerance and democracy.
And, mantras of hate replace love
with smugness and hypocrisy.
Quatrain
8/13/2017
I am told I’m a widow
that I lost my spouse times ago
this is wrong, wrong, wrong!
I have matrimonial husband
when he gets money
he drinks, dances, sings
and gets lost for many years
Clansmen want to inherit me
and keep the children
property they want safe
this I do not accept
there is hidden agenda
not children, not property
Gold, silver mines, fertile soils
these are at the bottom of their hearts
They tell me their brother
left for them free garden
with their sharp hoes
and bags of seeds at hand
They’ll dig red volcanic soil
to have abundant harvests
and hunger would fly away
“No, no, joke for now”, I tell them
“Let my children grow up
your ugly tongues
won’t rain on me any more’!
quail flush from thicket
lined freezing clansmen shooting
many birds die twice
Brian Johnston
March 27, 2016
in those crevices of the ancient rock
within the deepset soul of my river
along the tight passages of my kin-folk
sings the singing goddess of my river –
& her songs awoke the sleepy moon
& her old rugged clansmen set to moan
ah! sadness went aflame like some caged
priests – nay! captived warriors that raged
upon the seven decades of belly-wise
fish-bubbles - & was I a baby in a vice
& the songs raged, serene-throat’ed ease
& the seventh wonder of my clan did cease?
Today's Date July 24. 2015
Contest Entry---First written Spring 2015
game bullying, hero, silly, sports, strength, word play,,
Champing At the Bit! ©
I hear the roars in the almighty arena
I like to see many a game played out
I am a contender ready for sport
Out for a rematch when elected to strike
Bringing on 'mite and dare' with battle-ax!
.
Inside fielders, outside shots
With vinegar, brawn, spit and guts
Side lines, guidelines guard rails spin
Play your bit and take over until ‘taken’
“Roll me over in fields of clover” again
“Let's roll out the barrel” once more
“The gangs all here” for (old time’s sake)!
To ‘bare’ false teeth replaced from knockouts
Falsely breathing like the lion when times taken ‘out’
False starts, ball belongs to the court ‘out of bounds’
Man ‘sports’ a rebel cry with clansmen at the helm
Fight your battles; fight your wars, fight to finish!
my clansmen where is mother
where is our companion-she
where that amazon the gazelle
whose fast limbs are paradise-made
my clansmen: it pains it pains
like some delicate & new wounds
we have gone through the forests
a day of search’ng is like a decade
what would a full moon bring to us
we’ve been through my niger’s banks
all the cave are fully naked to eyes
of pestering search - my clansmen
lets get into the azure is mother
of the earth cover’d by the rumbling
clouds or by the ascending gods
of the nine clans - this sky’s rowdy
when the fights are o’er would she
return to her homestead & to us
or remain among those thousands
of thousands: the sacred moons
of the head of heaven & earth
let’s remember the ancestors
the ancestors of the clan –
the infamous and un-kingly kings
celebrate their inglorious libations
all over my land, my clan –
but, my clansmen
let not the clan forget the famous
foundations of the nri kingdom –
let’s remember the ancestors
the ancestors of the clan -
let the name of agaja trudo
be on the marbles of dahomey finest artists
for ’tis nothing infamous
for mansa musa to be versed
upon the new urns of the mali kingdom –
let mai ali ghaji be greeted
with the finest literary trumpeters!
let osie tutu sit seat-to-seat
with nelson mandela –
my clansmen
new are our horns today
let not the old horns of africa
be cut off in the zest of the artists
for my ancestors shall not be
mere spectators, mere winds
flying the history of my clan!
may flowers are still beautiful
taking their resolute resolve
to shoot out
to sprout with
ever-new life
they come
home in beautiful colours
like weaver-birds
on the ancient trees
all the clan claps & sings
new songs -
the elders entoning
with tongues of new speeches
new speeches of old wisdom -
oh, come, behold their signets
her may flowers
seeking within these chambers
the merry maidens
of my niger
& her long-acclaimed drummers
whose red-caps were capped
upon old eagle-feathers
that made her clansmen
celebrate her appearance
like mbari dancers, our amazons
of years gone with the ancients
or the swahili dancers
from the east
& the matebele warriors
from the south -
for:
all the clan did clap & sing
new songs
of years a-gone with the ancients.
Look at me now, sitting below darkening skies
Cast out from our Highland home
The Clans now is spiteful despise
To the Glens we shall head, us the fortunate to roam
Away from the Jacobite scum, for us they'll continue to comb
These clearances they declare to be right
What gives them this credence this crime
In the name of their false King, once again we'll stand and fight
Soon the loyal to Alba, shall await their very time
To infiltrate, retaliate, in silence we'll strike so primed
The days pass into weeks, nowhere can we be found
On our peripheral they search and seek us
The clever in us, disappear deep underground
You can hear their English voices searching in our lush
Foul mouthed tirades of sectarianism, voiced in hatred cuss
It's now twenty eleven, to this day it beggars belief
That I read about my fellow past Clansmen
And their greed to betray, for ripened grief
Our day is not so far away, when the true Clans men
Shall vote for total autonomy, it's just a matter of when
.
By a loch she stands in a hidden Highland Glen
Absorbing the view as she marvels at the Ben
This granite of old with many stories to tell
Of her Clansman's past in the place that they dwell
Mountain sides of scree with carpets of heather
Look good at all times no matter the weather
Proud Stags roam in royalty pose
Whilst Golden Eagles soar on breathless air flows
Waterfalls thunder as they crash to the rocks
Sheep roam the hillsides in grazing flocks
Trout break the surface of translucent waters so pure
Legend has said, that it can indeed cure
The colours of the sunsets leave you totally in awe
Even the sunrises make the bravest Clansmen thaw
Remarkable pastels of orange, reds and blues
Bring a tear and a smile, does this most beautiful hue
By a loch she stands in a hidden Highland Glen
In this most wonderful place, Scotland's her gem
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-2.php
(for: Deborah Guzzi)
The forest sings for her hunter
The twin of the fierce panther –
& I sing a sonorous song
That echoes beyond the sky
Of a thousand miles;
I sing like Dinta the hunter
Craving the hearts of clansmen
& the soul of my native drum
To greet a maiden of a lofty dance
This huntress beyond the Niger’s banks!
& fondly I bend to cast
I poise pleasantly like laying a wreath
To sing like Dinta the hunter
To cast my songs on these marbles
The marbles on her memory
’Tis a memory of a thousand miles
To greet a maiden of a lofty dance
This huntress beyond the Niger’s banks!
A perfect cast I crave
The melodious weaver’s band
Of songsters, of dancers, of praise-singers
I crave the ancient hearts of drummers
To dance the dance, my native dance
& drum the drum, my native drum
To greet a maiden of a lofty dance
This huntress beyond the Niger’s banks!
For she who drank of the dregs
Of yonder Niger’s banks
'Tis the rite, my write, our write
The fruit of my forest
The forest of my songs
The songs of my drum
The drum of my clan –
O, the forest sings for her hunter
A hunter still in poise for a huntress?
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