A giraffe who was new
At the Aberdeen Zoo
Heard a bagpipe askirling one day.
He tracked down the player
And offered to pay her
If she kindly would teach him to play.
He gazed at the piper,
A Hebrides viper,
As she uncoiled and let out a sigh.
Then she hissed, "Listen, dearrie,
I'll answerr yerr querry,
But you're nae gonna like my rreply.
Yerr legr'rr like stilts,
You'd look funny in kilts,
And that just would'na sit well wi' Scots.
We'rre quite snobbish and swell,
And know perrfectly well
That plaid dinna fit well wi' spots!"
A great forest grows dark and green,
Where little birds twitter amid the leaves,
Reynard the red coated one keen eye searching,
For squirrels leaping among branches tall,
Making sure the youngsters don’t fall,
A capercaillie scream rents the air,
Sounding like ban-sidhe in the air.
Trees creak and rattle in ancient tree talk,
Close together they whisper and plot,
Sending astray the unwary and proud,
Those who stravaig far from the path.
Deep in the depths a slow rising hill,
Crowned with a wall of log and thorn,
With a ditch to deter those who do ill,
A gate stands with warriors each side,
Armed with sword,shield and dirks sharp and slim,
Protecting those who dwell within.
Built long before by the ancestors long gone,
Their spirit lingering in every log,
Singing their song of “Torr na Craoibhe”, as it was once named,
In the tongue of ancients forever told.
Their song drifts over the trees,
Heard by creatures large and small,
For those who stop to listen and hear,
The wisdom within to teach and preserve,
The old ways of nature and ancient forest,
Helping all to live in joyous unity,
Listen and hear what they say.
© Andrew Provan McIntyre 28.4.2016.
^
A Gealic Song
Gneiss.
Ancient.
Vying with Earth herself for the Crown of Age.
In the Hebrides
Lie the Stones of Calanais
Stubborn chthonic deities of a common past
Rising up and standing against all.
You
More than a beautiful metaphor
Of what I have seen forged in that deep, deep heart;
A heart deep as the songs of Burns on thistle
Or lilting starlings in murmuration ---
Fluid patterns emerging and re-forming.
Such speed at odds with those silent Stones
The Stones of Calanais
The monuments to time
Birthed in an altogether different aeon
Which presaged your very strength
In adumbrated timelessness...
Burnished equipoise in the craftsman's hand.
I cannot move thee
But I can embrace thee
My Gaelic love---
The strength of woman is you
The gift of love you gave
Sits in me like those magic Stones
Rising from our mutual earth
Stretching towards infinite stars.
the mirror
makes a
cast of
the soul
and
it
becomes
the
Gaelic Winds
Roses, a gift from me heart
to show in art I love ye.
Each bloom presents part of me
for nae te see, only thee.
A rose that shines purest white
brin' delight before thine eye.
Spake tae ye of love divine;
I nae define or deny.
A rose of red, crimson hue,
me passion's dew, I love ye,
in words that within this tryst,
ye ken me kiss, ye tease me.
The last rose the hue nae ken,
bud waits for when softest skin
shall touch me heart beneath thee,
ken I love ye, we are yin.
Form is Awdl Gywydd
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