Category: poem

Oh green was the wood
And soft was the wind
On the day that we left you
Our fortune to find.

Then grey were the streets 
And hard was the wind
Where we drifted and faded
Like leaves in the greenwood

Our fever, our hunger, our anger
Our strong arm, our longing, our lonely
We left amidst dirty snow and the rock
Of the coulee, moaning the blues.

For lost were the willows
Vanished the birches
My darlings, so graceful
By the swift stained stream
Lost were the faces
Gone were the voices
Vanished the bodies
That could sing the old songs,
Dance the meanings.
Our work, our struggle, our worries
Our possessions, our illusions, our pride 
Are all that is left us here in the suburb
In the supermarket wheatfield, radio blaring pop.

The hope was a swindle
With nothing to show
The promise has faded, 
Ruined in the dirty snow.

So we look for our longing 
In the books full of names,
Parade in fake tartan, 
Try to cheat at the game.

But sweet was the greenwood
And sweet were the songs
On that day when we found you
Freed from old wrongs.

Long hunger and loneliness of abandonment,
Silent bells, prayers dwindle in the old stone church
Hope almost extinguished. The people
Scattered on the wind, spindrift blowing along the empty beach. 

Shell of sheiling husk of houses ghost of old songs
What response from the cloud carrying sky?
Silent multitudes gathered teaming around the glowing screen.
Who will restore the holy places?
Who will build up broken walls?
Who will sing forgotten songs?

The arms that lifted the stones 
The voices that sang the waves and chanted 
The power of wind and storm
Are sent across seas and time, lying silent 
under alien stones, strange trees, different waters.
Will they come again?
Gather stones, rally wind, brave seas, restore empty places
Fill them with children and the sound of work.

Long and hard the dead hand drove us
Long and far, and hard
To these dusty lands where there is no sea
No old songs but the cheap commercial jingle, 
No work except the job
Half filling pockets with debased coin
From the Land of the Big Idea
But we could take back a thousand islands with our love
Which we have forgotten
In our strength
Which we have neglected
With our voices 
New and old breaking into vanished song.

Hill follower, sun rose, much milk
Twisted thread, dew robber, ragged robin
Sad poor stitchwort, mouse’s ear
Fairy woman’s flax, yellow swan
Fly King, red wound healer, summer bloom
(So far away)
Sourock, sun broom, sookie,
Mouse peas, crane’s pod, earth sap
Useful giant, wave plant, grass rag,
Little frog, shell bright, earth smoke
Shore dainty, blue lad, the fearful 
Black thorny one,
Thorn trees on every side,
All sleeping under this weighted white 
Blanket

Is binn uiseasg ‘sa chamhanaich,ach ‘s binne coileach ‘sa mheadhon-oidche

Sweetly the lark greets the dawn
Singing in the sunrise
Securely taking her rightful place in the world
But sweeter is the cock crowing at midnight
Fierce, contentious, arrogant,
Infringing on the swirling eddy of darkness,
Driving away the ghosts.