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Category Archives: Scandinavia

First written on 23rd August 2005, exactly 700 years to the day that one of the greatest freedom fighters in history was agonizingly murdered in London for his leadership over his fellow countrymen at Stirling, Scotland. This led an excellent defeat over the English army on 11th September 1297.

Although I do not believe for a minute that we the Scots are any better than anybody else on this planet, I make a reference to the ´chosen peoples´ of God by the history that has come well before me. This includes the stone of destiny. The stone is the pillow of Jacob’s ladder fame which Jewish people’s also claim as being in their history.

The innovators mentioned throughout history have been Scots by birth or descent. For such a small nation we’ve produced more than a few great human beings per head of capita, but this was more the result of Edinburgh’s tight geography and the great men of genius that lived in Edinburgh between 1775 and 1850, from which the Scottish enlightenment emerged.

With less than a month to go until we decide how we want Scotland to be governed I feel that this piece needs to be published in Scots.

The role of the past as the seed of the present

The role of the past as the seed of the present

Will There E´er Be Another?

Messiah fir yer cause

Celebrates today’s applause

For the pain ye defied

First hung til ye nearly died

Drawn slowly til ye tore

Then yer anatomy was

cooked in front of yer ain eyes

Posted and impaled aroond the land

Ti halt usurpers against England

Because ye f****d thum good

ye f****d thum braw

And was it not the son

o’ child murderin

Richard the third

That once quoted

”A man does himself good business

when he rids himself of a turd”

That turd being the land we strive

again ti hae independently recognized

They ca´ us British and share oor prize

That deep doon in the heart

O´ oor wee nation

(and our North Sea)

Is a pride so great

So f*****g terrific

We spit on the slaughter

o´ oor forefathers,

oor unborn bairns

Who died slowly an horrific

Well before Longshanks tried ti huv us

Before Athalstane ford’s saltire

or Viking warning thistles

Gie us signs o´ truth

That as God´s chosen

We’re the livin proof

Just pick up a phone ti Mr Bell

Get KO’d by Simpson

Dinnae forget ti penicillin Flemming

An’ a’ the others as well

Frae Smith ti Hume

Watt ti Higgs

Even the black heided cheviot’s doom

An´ Dolly’s mair recent eugenics boom

Nation’s are forged in the heart

An you, Braveheart

Gie us inspiration ti start

healing emancipation´s daggers

Gie us mair than just a bonnie swagger

When ye believed ye’d win Stirling´s pagger

Gave Longshanks anything but heaven

When ye battered his posse on 11/9/1297

There is nae difference ti what ye stood for

Freedom fray oppressors

The right tae our ain identity

Ye lived in the heart ye left behind

for us, one and a’ Scots and Scottish

Long live William Wallace

 

 

 

 

I raced towards the forest with my daughter

Attracted by a sound like running water

And lone behold what a strange sight we found

A flock of grey thrush, in their hundreds around

My mind turned to Hitchcock and what he could’ve thought

To see a gathering of birds so abundant

My initial “Why?” was redundant

But soon found that their prey were rowans

Red, fruitful, late autumn remnants

And like the great man, I too was weirdly affected

By this obstreperous flurry and pecking

Hello  and many thanks to my new readers and followers. I’ve also been very impressed by those of you who do take time to read my work.

Depending on what rocks your boat, you can never really get bored with the sky at night and with today’s new technologies in telescopes (in space) we really are on the verge of seeing the marvels of things that were just too far away to learn about in the past. What’s actually visible inspires and spaceweather, such as borealis, noctilucent clouds and the frequent meteor showers we can see – given the weather is with us – are worth piling on the layers and getting out there to witness. I do or I’ve just been out there camping, fishing, even hungry and homeless on a couple of occasions, but I can’t say I’ve ever found them anything short of inspiring. I also like to pass time by counting meteorites against satellites or I join the dots and think about the size of those Goliaths like Sirius, Betelgeuse, Acturus.

Also, for those of you who enjoy things celestial, there is a fantastic resource here (https://www.zooniverse.org) that are always looking for help identifying blobs in space and other stuff.

My last poem about the aurora borealis (Lambent Scent) was well received and I forgot that I had written a few more about their brilliance. Here is another…Borealis

Borealis Bliss

As if looking at the sunshine

From ten metres under an unpolluted ocean

(If one exists that is)

A wave, here and there

Carries the shaft of that sunlight

For a split second

Rolls it in a long dancing ripple

Where it meets a rip tide

And frantically disperses

Its colours, they are better than fine

They are in comparison to St Elmo’s fire

Occasionally dusted with violets, crimsons

But nearly always nuances of electric green

They differ too,

Take tonight; a corona

Not a school of celestial sardines

Fleeing imaginary porpoise

Or a well seasoned wood

Being devoured by flame

I learned through the Internet

There are seven different orchestras

Each a random, inviolable masterpiece

Of stardust and magnetic collisions of

Ionosphere’s molecules and Van Allen Zone

They amaze my brain each time

No matter how faint

With wonder and brilliance

And enough inspiration

To drag my tired self indoors

Pick up a pencil

And shutter my thoughts of them

I have a small collection of my astronomy poetry ‘What IS The Stars’ that I’ll make available for a free download in the next months. Reading about e-publishing is one thing, but the actual formatting and doing it is taking a bit longer than I anticipated. Advice of you who have been there already is welcome.

Powertiyerpens

Craig

I’m no Sugar Ray, Lynch or Ali

But I return to the ring in Trondheim’s valley

The same faces (and haircuts) adourn the hall

The punch bags, skipping ropes, medicine ball

The aged, hieroglyph cheeks and faces, watch and nod

The fighters taking aim on where to place their thuds

Whilst I pretend I am a decade behind my shell

Unfortunately, the trainer’s circuit is a telling hell

I hope to be fitter, stronger, faster, soon

But muscles elastic is agreeing ‘next blue moon’

I kill this big bag with a flurry of punches

It doesn’t fight back from my pounding crunches

Thank Jedi I say, that this is just play

And no championships to train for again, nay

Those days are over and the gloves are well hung

The battle is over the last bell has rung

From here on in, boxing’s for fun

To keep old warrior keen with less tum

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