From a Ben in the Cairngorms
The Hebridean sheep
are gone from the braes,
even St. Kilda is silent.
Last years Bluebells are gray -
nod silently -
they have set no seed.
Much too late
for a nip of single malt
to bring them back.
The copse of Rowan is leafless.
Calunas have lost their purple haze.
Wind from the loch
brings nothing
but decay.
You dare tell me
this is not the end of the world?
Perhaps not,
but it is a good beginning.
It Might Take
I’ve found
it might take a ‘Rocket Scientist’
to get us
out of this.
Reading Too Much Bukowski
I’ve been reading too much Bukowski
lately
and drinking too much wine.
Perhaps it’s time
to read Billy Collins
instead.
At least I’ve never had a weakness
for the horses.
