G. W. Colkitto
Life is a cruel yolk
(on the last of the eggs from Kings Bookshop in Callander)
Why do I swallow and weep?
I know life’s pleasures are but brief
and yet each loss still seeps
into the heart. Each grief
another burden to be borne,
another passing to be mourned.
Breakfast done and nothing remains
but an empty plate with yolk-yellow stains.
The last of Bookshop eggs has been consumed,
tomorrow’s breakfast is doomed! Is doomed!
COMMITTEE MAN
Groupie I am and groupie I’ll stay
working in groups for the whole of the day
Who is the leader who is the clown
if I am either then I must frown
for hard I have tried it’s easy to see
to stay in the background and thus remain free
If leader I was then decisions must make
Chose my own style and beware of mistake
Not too laissez-faire not too much autocrat
And I fear my conception struggles at that
It’s easier by far to sit here on my chair
With my feet on the ground and my head in the air
To be clown might be good fun that I agree
But humorous teller is not really me
The sub-leader leader the group leaders mate
Oh Tannenbaum and Schmit what a terrible fate
To be always the best man and never the groom
my motivation weak I communicate soon
I am the make-weight the one on the fence
for five votes or seven is the frame of reference
But sad to relate they only had six
And that’s how I got into this terrible fix
Sitting all day while the arguments rage
As to what we agree on and is it so sage
I suppose I should help find what we should do
However I feel it’s for them to break through
If they feel strongly the must convince me
and as I’m not listening that’s hard you’ll agree
and I am not bothered how long I am here
For when this one is over there’s another I fear
THE HORSE
Dragged by the JCB
across the muddy field
legs stiff in the air black tongue lolling
sad end to your grace
I guessed you were old
You seemed old
I tried to talk to you
but somewhere you were lost
in that world you knew
I was not part of it as I watched
You twitched and chewed and stared
Did you think of death as the cold
swept up from the river
as the rain slipped from your back
Did you remember Springs of green
Summers of sun
Was your swollen side the trouble of age
or a foal from recent coupling
Did you sway with life within or death without
In the night
under the trees where the leaves fell
you also fell
This morning the JCB took you away
Winter is here
Published 2006 - Dead Amidst the Daffodil
SOME WITHER ON THE VINE
(on seeing an old man drunk in the street)
For some are plucked
Some wither on the vine
Which has the best
That taken in its prime
Or that left dried and wizened
In winter's blast
Which is the waste
That picked before its time
Or that abandoned
Clinging to bare branch
Never to be plucked
But to wither on the vine
Published 2007 - Time Piece
Stray
Take me to the dog pound
Toss away the key
Leave me there, coat unbrushed
Panting, lost hope, crushed in dust
Throw me a look and walk away
Ignore the pull of wide pleading eyes
Shut your ears to the plaintive whine
Asking for love, a friendly sign
Send for the vet to put me down
Shave my leg inject and kill
Lay my body soft on the floor
Forget me then, this dog no more
Published 2006 - Dead Amidst the Daffodil
BOUNCING
Sometimes you do not feel
Like bouncing
Land with a splat and lie
Compressed
Airless, flat, no rebound.
On half days you plop back
Enough to roll
Slowly depart the point
Of impact
To comfort of shadows
In high times you drop
Expecting
The bounce to bring you back
To the top
All laughter and smiles
The dream is of the day
You fly up
Higher than the descent
Suspended
Never to plummet down
Ink Sweat and Tears - Feb 2009
THERE AINT NO LONE RANGER
See Tonto, you liar, there ain’t no Lone Ranger
There ain’t no Lone Ranger, you see.
No man on a white horse with bullets of silver.
No William Tell music in times of danger.
There ain’t no-one riding for me.
See Tonto, you liar, there ain’t no Lone Ranger.
No hearty Hi-Ho, no black-masked stranger,
No with one leap he was free.
No man on a white horse with bullets of silver.
No edge of the seat with heart all aquiver
Despite childhood memory
See Tonto, you liar, there ain’t no Lone Ranger.
In real life, the evil is often the winner
The bad guys claim victory
No man on a white horse with bullets of silver.
The mask has slipped and the face is a glimmer
The ghost of Kimo Sabi
See Tonto, you liar, there ain’t no Lone Ranger
No man on a white horse with bullets of silver.
Time Piece - Anthology
GREEN MAN
He does not laugh
He does not cry
He does not sing
He does not sigh
He does not live
He does not die
Carved from the tree
Which once had grown
Tall from the seed
By nature sown
Green by name
And green the oak
In which he twines
With leaves the cloak
Sign of everlasting hope
Sign of mystery and birth
Sign of love and sign of fear
Sign of life and sign of death
Sign of spirits still revered
Sign of power renewing earth
Earth Love Magazine Issue 39 March 2011
SITTING
Sitting, did I say sitting
Well let’s stay polite
A polite bird sitting
On a tree by me
Twittering while sitting
Twittering like me
About a polite bird sitting
Sitting in a tree, now over me
Happy and singing
Free to sit or flee
And below as I’m sitting
This joyous friend
Has just been polite
On me sitting
Dead amidst the Daffodil - Anthology
THE SLIDDERY IDDERY
The Sliddery Iddery are dithery swithery
By the gliddery gree
They widdery biddery
And pliddery ploddery and pingery with glee
They wittery jittery, bittery swittery
Join in windery woo
And bundery sundery
Among the footery
fling the foolery foo
The Sliddery Iddery frines of the lostery
Cuddle and wuddle with me
They woopery swoopery
Press and prodery never gimble or twee
Connaly wannaly grinnily thinnily
Sink in cloudery goo
Near handery footery
Between the unmiddery
Dance the foolery foo
This poem was written for a visit to Craigton Primary School
Daffodil
The wind blows cold across the lake
The evening sky is clear and blue
There is no sound not man not beast
The bird sits silent in the tree
And far away a church bell rings
an echo of a time gone by
These are the pictures that I see
in vacant times and pensive mood
They come to haunt that inward eye
that is the curse of solitude
And thus I see that dreams lie still
dead amidst the daffodil
Published 2007 - title poem of the collection
'Dead amidst the Daffodil'
TIME PIECE
The clock has stopped
Tic toc
Time passes
Tic toc
The beat goes on
Tic toc
But the face is frozen
Tic toc
Fixed
Tic toc
All things grow older
Tic toc
All things change
Tic toc
But time
Tic toc
Remains
Tic toc
Stretched in years
Tic toc
Shrunk in seconds
Tic toc
On the stopped clock
Tic toc
Published 2007 - title poem of the collection
'Time Piece'
Your tree - May Blossom
Your tree is in bloom, more blossom again this year
as it spreads to embrace the lawn where you walked.
I think of it as yours though we do not own trees
merely hold them for a lifetime in eye and heart.
When you died I went out at dusk and pressed my hand
against the bark, hoping to hear it tell of you
and of all the people it remembers passing by.
Within each ring it carries the history of life in silent
wisdom.
It tried to talk to me that night and does each time
I stand beneath, if only I could understand
the soft whisper of the leaves filtering the day
Published in Earth Love Poetry Magazine, Issue 39, March 2011
Biggar Poetry Garden, June 2011