Gaelic Tide

Words dressed
Farewell the Land
Artists and Magicans
The Tennessean
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Tha Mither tongue
Crying Fields
The Glimmering
Gaelic Tide
Within Solitude
Silent Shades
Breath O' tha Gael
The Quickening
The Hush
Beating Heart
Tha Crack
Soul Search
The fluttering
Words undressed


In the early morning air
between the Londonderry hush of dreams
and the cry of Belfast on a weary morn
Where saddened eyes embody the twilight haze
of long past marches, the bewildering blaze
Of Beltane fires that scorch the hills
The world shudders to the battle cries
where brother to brother the war pitch fills
the saddened visions that over spills
That a Gaelic tongue can curse its own
To the bitter harvest of the Gael
That wipes away the blood dew
from these field from which it grew
and damns itself in the pain and sorrow
That relives this war on every tomorrow.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph

In The Night
In the night
you lay next to me
feeling my arms around you
Holding the nights glimmer
upon you shady dreams
I whisper into your ear
The adornment of my heart
Pull you tight against me
Your body warm, embraced
I close my eyes but fear the compromise
That you might not be there.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph


Thor upon the planes of Ayr
How well I know this force
that draws fast upon my brain
wages all the energies there retained
Till surging fills each life filled cell
to the roaring unfoldment
and blessed state.
Beyond the horizon
It gathers upon the breath of those Gods
Thor riding the triumphant clouds
bellows into the night's air his charge
Of thickened, dense filled pockets of space
Edgeing upon the fringe of life.
I stand erect, arms out stretched
Like an ancient shaman invoking his god
gathering within my lungs this breath of charged air
and vibrating it out,  I call the gales drifting winds
To sweep and engulf this soul of mine
Into the depths of that tormented breeze.
Hear O ancient one's my haunting cry
That steps out from the Soul and dreams of mine
Awaken again that sacred form and bliss
of natures wrath and constant kiss
To journey but the essence of life.
Thor roars in distant rumbles that gathers
pleads and romps the air and valleys
hammer flung, the metal strikes
and splinters it's flashing rods to earth
Castrating the nights air to its engulfed state.
The winds rush and cross the Firths great stance
Arran haunted to the raging sky
Lightning strikes amongst her giant peaks
Goat fell rages but to the demented storm
Like blasts from battles deep.
The seas roar the triumphant entry
Of the Viking God yet but once again
Upon theses ancient fields of time and place
charging upon the gales ravenous winds and tossed tides
The lordship of Thor upon the planes of Ayr.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Heiland Whisky

Heiland Whiskey
Jiggle a notion of the Hieland brew
that swells from Scotland's crispy dew
To fill hearts a plenty with joy and song
Scot's Whiskey born wild and strong.
Swallow that liquid of golden honey
down your gullet to warm your tummy
Then know you drank the breath of Gods
a fiery brew you drunken sods.
Crisp as a cold wind against your lungs
Hot as the temper upon your tongues
Whiskey,Whiskey the Scotsman's drink
that'll lift your spirits to the brink.
You'll find it where ever Scotsman congregate
Heiland Whiskey best drank straight.

-----Alisdaire O'Caoimph------


The fair grounds of us
Once upon a whisper
the words played their carousel
round and round between us
In glee and joyful tone
We entered the fairytales
and danced their jig of life
laughter and sweet frolic
the Ferris wheel of minds
We talked in old stories
built dreams upon which to fly
circled our boundaries
Sailing into the sigh.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Walter Scott
Scots Bard

Myths of the Gael
Who understands better than they
Those Poets that have shared her promised gift
Walked her lonesome shores, felt her morning call
And blessed the hallowed grounds upon which they stood.
Who can comprehend this vibrant romance
that springs from poet's pen and trembling hand
Drawing her sweet image with detailed craft
To show her magnificence and untold beauty.
Who has not walked her dales or crossed her mire
To not be taken whole and complete
into her whirlwind embrace and constant grace
Of all that poetry cannot say.
Have her shine between the lines
Those well penned writes that fills the pages
From Burns, Stevenson, Dunbar, Scott
That peered her majesty and dream't ever her dream.
I hear the old tales of Celtic myth and legends
That dance upon the faery minds of youth's face
Haunting our world to her other side and peace
Till bardic impressions but crown her hood.
I hear the Fenian Yeats with liberated soul
Match word for word her stories old
That gathered the land like a sacred veil
And dressed the world to the myths of the Gael.
We come, poor bewildered spirits
Into the pages of times great write
born but to dream that mother's dream
And fill her countryside to the write.
And so to the night the poets write
these bards to the glen, in songs sing
and mortals to the heavens but cry and pray
In the words that bless her eternal way.
"Hail the silent springs that flow,
the land sacred, filled to show
We poets bless that from which we grow
That sacred Goddess of our hearth to know."

Alisdaire O'Caoimph