Yeti in snow, the greatest camouflage
His winter substitute for ghillie suit
Some think him an abominable brute
He means no ill will to their entourage
These beings here that came to sabotage
So fades into the white, all but his snoot
Yeti in snow
He prepares inside ice cold embassage
In case they infiltrate his cave en route
For his plunder of crystal iceberg loot
Hid by a stormed up blizzard clad mirage
Yeti in snow
October 12, 2022
Rousing Rondine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser
Ma boatie sailed ower the mist covered sea,
I searched an sought for your hidden shore,
Shrouded in mist frae ma searching eye.
You left in a red mist o yer makin,
Stormin aff afore ah could stoap yer flight,
Heid strang defiant an unco deaf tae protestations,
Awa back tae yer hame doon by the wild sea,
Broodin an frettin yer wrath ready tae explode,
Watchin the mist conseal yer shore.
Selkies an sirens kept silent at nicht,
Feart o yer mad writhings an screams,
Even the Coileach hid hersell away ,
In daurk caves inside o hills and bogs.
They were loast in the wids,
Whaur only fae Ghillie could see them oot.
Doon rushing burns kelpies would scream,
Rending the nicht to quiver an moan,
Whaur travellers wid shiver in tavern rooms.
Ah heard the moans an gripes in the mist
As at last ah fund yer shore wi smooth saun,
Whaur ah beeched ma little boatie,
Unner the licht o a bricht shining moon.
Upon yer shore ah staun an cast a look
Ower the saun toward yer hame,
An wunner if ah was tae blame.
Yer loast tae me forever in time,
Ne,er again will ah call ye mine.
Andrew mcintyre. 28/12/2020.
The Call of the Highlands
Oh I'd love a day out in the heather,
With a ghillie a gun and a stick,
I'd stalk 'cross the moors, crawl about on all fours
All the way from Fort William to Wick.
Oh I'd love to catch fish in the river,
Cast my line, it's no problem you see,
For the fish that I catch will find they're no match
For a quick-witted lassie like me.
Oh I'd love to go riding on horseback,
'cross the valley the glen and the moor.
I'd gallop all day o're the banks and the brae,
And come back a bit saddle sore.
Oh I think that maybe on reflection,
If it's snowy, or if the wind roars,
That I'll find me a nook, cuddle up with a book,
By a nice cosy fire - indoors!
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