Breath O' tha Gale

A Scot

I see the blue tints
of tranquil sky
lay like a warm ethereal blanket
deep upon the green towering hills
Those majestic mountains of Highland vale
capped into the glorious white crested summits,
These fields haunted upon the mist filled dales
cries like a banshee upon the night,
the wind caressed by pine and noble oak
Whistles its love song upon the land.
I see these stern flowers of my birth
Draw strong and firm to this backdrop of life
The thistle vibrant, cloaked royal
rigid as the character of stubborn Scots
Fills every pasture, every glen.
Here is the home of centuries
where the ancient mysteries of time
Yields and bears down upon countless generations
The song of the eternal Gael
The dance of the fairy Dew.
We stand vibrant to the echo
that long evading pitch of our souls and hearts
That beats as constant as any pendulum
To sways of this our land.
O Caledonia, how fine Alba peeks across the years
Draws the story of an endless people
that strives for the victory of time.
Our fathers fought valiant and here died
Gifted us to their goals and ancient wishes
That freedom bears not the iniquity of time
rather establishes upon all our horizons
A people that loves the lilt of life
sings the harboring songs of soul
Dances out across the fields of land
And bears the name ...A Scot.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Uniquely

By Christ,
that scented Flower
that once favoured bloom
I gathered from the garden
Ever brought so much doom,
For love it is curse
when not shared by another
but cast upon an empty heart
leaving mine alone to smother,
Where tears fall silently
and hearts break completely
I curse that Bloom if disarray
That Rose...UNIQUELY

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Life

Between the quite thoughts

there flickers a billion words

each in their own dictates

This image of being I see.

There's a rule of life

that bears hard upon our fragile balance

leading us each closer to the void

As if testing our spirit, our reality.

Like the winds it tosses upon us

the deluge of existence, tramples us

upon the fine rudiments of life

at times despair peers back

beyond the rich harvest

where most of us reside

those in-between visions

And the hoped for dreams.

Like a haunting song

it lingers here with us

either to totally absorb our reality

or release within us that ultimate will

To fight, overcome, be.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Robert Burns meets

The young Sir Walter Scot

-------------Robert Burns--------------

What gentle wind bore you here

Upon the tides of time with lyrical ear

Your quill danced upon the pages fine

Word's that bleed Scotland's wine.

Old Alloway's haunted fields you bore

Rich to the taste where Doon it roared

tales matted together sprung anew

Upon the fresh fermented fields wherein you grew.

Your Comic style, roaring laughter filled

overtook the heart and outward spilled

the lace of your tongue drenched fire upon the ear

In poetry that held all a Scot holds dear.

Oh maker, you graced a full pudding of rhyme

to dance upon that mantle of thought sublime

enriched by the majesty of your people, your race

You gloried us all to the tones of this place.

Ayr town blessed a thousand fold to the story

of all Scots antiquity and martial glory

You filled the veins of the common man

here upon the hills of Carrick, blessed this land.

-----In yeer tongue-Scot Doric--

Oh Rabbie whit mare words can anither Scot but craw

Fa a' that yeer words dae grace and draw

Dinnie think yeer e'er awa frae hert or mind

Fa Rabbie, within yeer words oorsel's we find.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Robert Burns

Scot's bard

The Scot's Tongue

O' Rabbie that e'er helped oor tongue
flow like a well that's newly sprung
that wae true passion an' Usquabae
recites tha spirits O' Scotland's way
Words that put merit in oor speech
Words, tha English scauld against an' preach.

Och! If it wasney fa oor ways
thats wannered doun tae oor days
we couldney say worth a rot
what makes a Man, true a Scot
Let England wae her tonsils strained
keep what fa them tis better Named.

Nae Scot wants tae pass his days
with words that doun in Cambridge lays
far better tis oor tongue in grace
Than a' O' England's frills an lace
Nae better spoken word there is
than what a Scot calls truly His.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Alisdaire's father

KIA South Vietnam 1970

To have known

I was small
when his form large and bold
fascinated my world, held me
To a vision I thought I owed myself.
Everything peered through his eyes
the state that one day I longed as mine
the being I saw that so journeyed my mind
held me there to the perfect form
The man that I wanted so to be.

Years dress the harmony
and wears its frown like yesterdays wrinkled clothes
dressed upon the pages of a little mind
All the images became impressive.
The uniform of blue, the green fatigues
the sound of the engines the smell of fuel
The full aroma of a moment held prisoner within the mind.
I still see them, feel and smell
each wondrous day, like a magical journey
that takes me to far off lands and holds me there
Where the glitter of the planes dance and fill.

Although long gone
His face a flickering moment upon the mind
dresses still in the vacuum of space
A profound reality, that within me flows his form.
I am not all that then I seeked to be
nor would I change the glimmer of fates bowl,
Though even now the tinge of the want lays buried deep
Where once the longing flowed.
I still see the wide broad shoulders
that held me to the display of surging jets
The strong arm that held my place
Tight against his chest.

I wished I knew him now
was able to express the years
that has spanned between what was and now
hear the wisdom that within his hazel eyes flowed
Known the fears of his abode.
I dress the time between
with what I wished had been
look out across the boundaries of life and death,
and hold him near, dear
Express my internal desire
To have known my father.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

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