Oswald the Mystic

None so narcissistic
As Oswald the Mystic
Who believed he was good
(If misunderstood)
In matters of fate futuristic

Ever altruistic
But unrealistic
Oswald would dabble
Incoherently babble
In a manner short of linguistic

His characteristic
Mode hedonistic
Chasing wives who were spey
Along lines that were ley
With fervour quite chauvinistic

Displays atavistic
Sent speywives ballistic
No better his blandish
Surreal and outlandish
Zero his connection statistic

He’s gone pessimistic
Has Oswald the Mystic
Ensconced in a goonie
He works at the Uni
Specialist field nihilistic

[Selected by Ajay Close for National Poetry Day in Scotland postcards in 2007]



It’s time to go slithering
In the primordial soup.

Abandon your swithering,
Your habitual dithering,
Lay down your word-smithering
Let’s bathe in unguent gloop.

Feel it bubbling, viscous
As it spreads its meniscus
Round the sides of our baptismal stoup.

Sloshy, slurpy and slimy,
Greasy, gooey and grimy,
Ridiculously, sublimely,
It dribbles its way down the stroup.

We’ll wallow in suspension holy,
As some life-giving smooth guacamole
Embalms us in genesis’ coop.

Then we’ll swim like pearled abalone,
Dive deep in the rich minestrone,
Float on islands of cut macaroni,
Sail through the broth like a sloop.

It’s time to go slithering
In the primordial soup.


Love at Second Sight

Twilight in the Caspian Yard;
Silhouetted, there he waits
Girded by his advocates
Wearing his mastery like a cloak.
Fair gies me the dry boak;
Tequila soak

Sunset through the trellised vine;
Luminescent in the night
Surrounded, cloyed by acolytes
Ego wrapped in Joseph coat.
Picture him with ripped throat;
Manky scrote

Starlit icon, tired of sycophancy?
Need to get as well as give?
Need to step outside to live?
Then shed the mantle that ignores me,
Buy a ticket to explore me,
Adore me!
D’you fancy?


The Colonists

First, there is only a granite monolith,
Kilned from magma and cooled in a tundra wind.
Stoic he stands, impermeable to darting rain,
Seeking no solace from close companions.

But they will not let him be.

The empire of the species is restless
For new lands to conquer; they are sending
The lichen; adventurer fungus exemplar,
Quiet, insidious and resourceful.

And lichen will not be denied.

And where it was not, it is now;
And where it is not, it will be.

No flicker disturbs tuner or radar
But its message returns: join me now.
Mosses foregather and make plans.

Spore hordes are spearing the ether,
Locked on to the fungal signal.
Grade A pioneer stock,
Seeking out the small striations,
The crannies and the clefts.

In time, base camps multiply.
The speckled rock is dappled green.
Then the colours intensify:
The pink campion, the woolly fringe,
The yellow and crimson capsules,
Seducing their neighbours
To encroach and grow.

But always there is survival:
They must seek out lying water;
They must sleep beneath the winter snow;
They must turn their heads to the drying winds of summer;
They must persist.

In further time they will sustain
Settlements of grasses, ling and erica; who will sustain
Ecologies of insects, birds and hardy mammals; who will
Be trampled by merciless man; who will
Glorify greed.

The rudimentary phyla have much to teach
Those who cannot punctuate their sentiences.

[Selected by Doug Scott as poetry winner of the Borders Book Festival and included in the anthology Wilderness, published by Eildon Tree in 2005, ISBN 0-954052-9-8]

 Posted by at 2:28 pm

 Leave a Reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>