Standing Stone

I sense all your questions
And you want to know
Why am I standing here
All on my own.
I’m thankful you’ve noticed
That I have a face.
There’s so many blind runners
In this human race

I can’t offer symbols
Hieroglyphics of old
But I’m born of a circle
With truths to be told.
I can heal like a needle
Injecting the earth
Tell me your troubles
Tell me your hurts.

I know you have problems;
You have all these doubts
So lets stand together
And figure it all out.
I’ve so many answers.
You’ve so much unknown.
You be the scholar.
I am your stone.

Do you hear the hum
Of the energy line?
Quickly, stand close by me;
Let us entwine.
When our shadow aligns
With the hill in the sun
And when the sun sets
We’ll become one.

Yes, I see all your problems;
And you have these doubts.
So lets stand together
And figure it all out.
I’ve so many answers.
You’ve so much unknown.
You be the scholar.
I am your stone...
Standing stone

The Cromarty Rose

Why d’you still wait for the ferry?
You’ve parked on the jetty since noon
In your holiday shorts and your sandals
That you stored in your loft until June.
Your wife hands you egg and cress sandwiches.
She cuts off the crusts to be neat.
You wish she’d offer you thick rolls with ham.
You’re biting your tongue with your teeth.

The ferryman’s down at the Pier Inn
So destiny’s out to lunch too.
Time’s flown to a hole in the ozone
Along with the ham and your youth.
Life after love is elusive
Like the Cromarty Rose and the sun.
There’s no boat to carry you forward.
It seems nothing you do is well done.

Your wife chatters endlessly on
About gossip and children and shoes.
She brushes the crumbs from your shirt
As you tune in the radio news.
Its high tide; you scan the horizon
Far out in the rumbustious surf,
As plausible anchor men go overboard
Swaying currents to negative earth.

There will always be mystery in water,
Lost Captains, and loves you once kissed,
Like the three Flannan lighthouse keepers
All vanish one day into mist.
Maybe its time to turn round
Take your wife’s hand in your hand
Tell her you want to proceed to the start
And navigate back to old land.

If grass grows green on another bank
But your Captain has taken shore leave
Maybe it’s time to start living your life
While your time to cross over’s reprieved.
The Cromarty Rose will return one day
And so will the flowering cherry
But there’ll always be beautiful coastal roads
So why d’you still wait for the ferry?

His Face Looks Kind Like Jesus

My dad's face looked kind like Jesus.
But, we lived down in the basement.
Graffiti on our stairwell wall
Said, “This is Hell’s Replacement.”
His face looked kind like Jesus
But he'd advocate for Satan
Raising veins on holy temples:
Worms he'd want to straighten.
Then his eyes blue as cornflowers
Cried celestial spheres,
His face as kind as Jesus
Alight with stained-glass tears.
Dad only drank on weekends.
He'd sings songs by Leonard Cohen.
When your face looks kind like Jesus
It should be Hymns you're knowing.
But when the owl falls from the tree
Because the moon’s nowhere in sight
What good’s a face like Jesus
If you can’t light up your own night?
Once I caught two little fishes
When my father took me fishing
We could only feed each other, though
'Cause there were five loaves missing.
When your face looks kind like Jesus
And, you don’t have much money
You’ve got to choose between communions
Or paying union dues on Sundays.
But my dad loved me, this I know,
Because he told me so
And when your dad looks kind like Jesus
That’s enough for me, you know…
That’s more than enough for me.

The Tree of Make-Believe

I drove to your house today
To see the Tree of Make-Believe.
I think it still grows in there
Though I never saw a single leaf.
It feels more like a metaphor;
A large seed that took root
In a garden I once tended
And I’m searching for its fruits.

Was the tree this veiled secret
Floating under your raised brow?
If you closed your eyes could I still trace
The outline of branches and a bough?
It feels like a giant grows
Blocking out my view
And the Make-Believe Tree propagates
Casting shadows upon you.

I opened your gate today
Dowsing for the first few roots.
I dug a hole in your lawn
Buried a box of my own sweet fruits.
If you feel like you’re inclined to
Fell that Tree of Make-Believe.
Beneath it you will find
A tin of Love and Truth and Peace.

By Hazy Dizzylady

Glastonbury Healing Fields

Mud is caked to my soul.
I'm searching for the Healing Field.

I plod
And plough
A path
For miles
In wellies
With blisters
In rain
All day
Picking up
Every
Last
Strewn
Scrap
Of
Sodden,
Stinking
Litter.

I
Wash
Wet
Waste
Away from
My brow
With
Withered
White
Wrists.

Then,
I spy
The Green Healing Field.

Your trash has neat order.

White bag for papers
Green sack for cans
Black liner for bins

I read the eco-biodegradable sign
Above this thoughtful organisation.

“Sorry, but due to rain we’re closed for therapy today.”

I collect your
carefully
categorised
castoffs
And quit.

Mud is still caked to my soul.

Davie Gogie's Plea

When I moved to the woods
I hollowed a shelter,
I lined it with branches
And topped it with turf.
I packed the clay tightly,
Lagged moss all around,
Spread straw on the floor,
And bed on the earth

In towns all about
People miscalled me;
‘Wild Man of the Woods’,
A beggar, or thief.
My name’s Davie Gogie,
I lost all my family,
But, I never took anything,
That didn’t come free.

When apples start falling,
When chickens roam,
When they lay their eggs,
Out of sight of the farm,
A man has to take
What Nature is giving.
I don’t own a gun,
So, where is the harm?

I’ve not seen a barber
Since ‘round 1890.
My hair’s long and matted.
My clothes are torn.
When folk came I hid
From their little black boxes.
The lens only looked for
A vagrant, forlorn.

They captured me anyway
Before I could move
To the wood of Mouteagle
Or back down to Bogbain.
They stood me in court
And the magistrate charged me.
Then off to the Poorhouse.
They had me restrained.

In my humble opinion
The Union Poorhouse,
Should be reserved
For the poor alone!
My life abounds
In the woods of Calrossie
My bed’s on the earth
And I want to go home!

My name’s Davie Gogie,
Wild Man of the Woods,
Your Poorhouse is giving
But its not free.
I’ll surely die
If I don’t get away
From the haunts of men.
So, I beg you, Sir, please…

Take me back to the trees.
Where I hollowed a shelter,
Where I lined it with branches
And topped it with turf.
Where I packed the clay tightly,
Lagged moss all around,
Where the straw's on the floor,
And, my bed's on God's earth.

Okay so its just a draft and I'll get back to it! Hazy Dizzylady

The Un-Well

Make a wish for the lost souls;
Better make it three.
But don’t go tossing coins down here,
‘Till you trust the well trustee.

Welcome to the Underground,
Where the banker is the devil,
And Jesus was the carpenter,
Who lost his spirit-level.

The law of wells has no right side,
What’s left is jail and fear.
You’ll wander under false arrest
There’s no ‘wonder' standing here.

Psychiatrists are shrinking,
Under lights of ultra violet.
White coats glow like barium
In this dark and dismal toilet.

And, don’t go feeding wishes,
To the keeper of the well.
His mind got smoked on Christmas trees;
Not well, No’el, Noel.

Wishing turned him greedy,
He lied way down to hell,
Hell’s fire dried the water up;
Destroyed the coins as well.

Many gave him credit,
But he never paid his loans.
His lovers died of heartache
Now the well is full of bones.

So, make a wish for the lost souls;
Better make it three.
But don’t go tossing coins down here,
‘Till you trust the well trustee.

Another wee ditty drafted today by Hazy Dizzyday

Sweetness and The Gallant Tree

Sweetness swam the autumn streams.
Her shawl swathed on the bracken bank,
Where stretching roots of a Gallant tree,
Shook the hand of the stream it drank.

"Accede to rouse me next spring sun,
When Sweetness bathes her honey hair.
My sap is spent," sung Gallant’s Ogam.
"Bid me sleep; for my limbs hang bare."

While river lapped the dormant lumber,
Sweetness set a bed of leaves,
And through the winter shared his slumber;
Sweetness' arms around the tree.

Then river froze, so's not to waken,
Dreaming Sweetness, Gallant oak.
Wrapped safe within the woodland’s apron,
Rocked by elves and fairy folk.

First Brighid’s moon brought blooms of green,
Searching forth from Gallant's limb,
Sweetness slipped into the stream,
Gallant woke to watch her swim.

Gallant blessed the Imbolc rain,
For bringing Sweetness back to bide
The stream shook Gallant’s hand, declaring,
"Sweetness never left your side."

A wee ditty drafted today by Hazy Dizzyday

Green Glass in the Sand

How did I grow so small?
So insignificantly missing.
Dropped by careless hands
And left behind
On a lonely shore,
Broken between hard rocks
And a big empty space…
Waiting to be found.

I’m green glass in the sand.
I’m the emerald at your feet.
Twinkling so eagerly in sunlight
Searching for the beachcomber in you.
Will you tuck me in your pocket?
Keep me safe, take me home?

Once when I was whole,
Not broken up and shattered.
I sat at a fine table
Filled with blood red wine.
But, they drained me.
Now I’m broken between hard rocks
And this big empty space,
Waiting to be found.