i didn’t think i’d find him here in Aberfeldy//but// it sure makes sense

robert burns & i

robert burns & i

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he holds a small book
letter-less
my shirt’s drenched with sweat and rain
& poem-wise
i have no use for landscapes

i sit next to him,
cool bronze against my chest
asking how much time he spent
to listen

to the birk’s brush
soft//against fall’s
wet face

the way up
————-is steep

i blow moist puffs in the forest’s lightgreen dress
“you were in love?” i ask

no answer
things// look different then,
my feet hurt// slaM against a rock
“we make the whole round?”
“yeah, let’s go for it”

“ya know,
it’s not the burnie or the birks, in fact” i say
“it could be a dirty sidestreet in a god-forgotten place
the difference is—“

the linn sprays cool webs on my face
a group of hikers cross our path,
one wears only flip flops

“Mr. Burns?”
but he’s in a dream still
and i only touch him lightly
“would you paint here?”
“i don’t think so” i say//panting

listening to the shaw’s rough voice
humming a lightsome melody

.

birks: birches
lightsome: merry
shaws: woods
linns: waterfalls
burnie: stream

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we celebrate our monthly OpenLInkNight at dVerse today… write a poem – no specific theme – and join the fun – doors open at 3pm EST…

by yon bonnie banks&– maybe i find out one day

old decaying house in dumbarton/scotland

old decaying house in dumbarton/scotland

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her english sounds like highlands
in the haze
with rays of cool sun brushing heather fields
and a wooly sheep’s black nose

she makes us tea
i’m frozen to the bones under my raincoat, fleece, two shirts&–
just before we left
i brushed my toenails red
despite the weather forecast

“sheperd’s pie” she says
“i make it for my sons still
when they visit on the weekends&–
my youngest lives in glasgow–“

i scratch marks
in a rock next to my knee to trace her words back
thin, snarled lines connect&
it’s our first night here in scotland

it’s been busy she says these last weeks,
that she’s been working nightshift
&i tell her we had fish&chips
in a small place by the loch
“you know that song by Runrig?”

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,
Where me and tea tree my true love spent many days
Where the sun shines on Loch Lomond.
Ho mo leannan bhoidheach

“you can never swim in them” he says
“they’re too cold– they’re deep&–“

it is about roads&what we find
&driving on the left’s//an extra challenge

“gotta leave for work” she says
“make yourself at home”
i smile
“if we’re gone before you’re back– it was a pleasure meeting you”
the door clicks

&we’re in a new land that throws night’s–
“i swear he wears a kilt” i yawn
“&who?”
“the moon”
&i lean out to find him// hiding

in the wind’s cool breath

 

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we’re writing Ruba’i and Rubáiyá at dVerse today…either as stand-alone or as part of a longer poem…doors open at 3pm EST…the part in italics is from the song “Loch Lomond” by the scottish band Runrig

no. i didn’ lose my mind in scotland// it’s a spring poem actually

view on edinburgh from carlton hill

view on edinburgh from carlton hill

.
es-ce que grant ‘em
e-top tattooe into my hand
where? reduce it Gaudi – a
pure pure atom

floor & pi returns

so L. (for lovely)serene atom nei’tha
a/miam’ d’cendant tree steal yah
ESTA ‘s? read it!
none– c? re’ar, seed it
hi. i miss// sea wee tires


& that’s the original: 
extracts from ecce gratum from the carmina burana

Ecce gratum
et optatum
Ver reducit gaudia.
purpuratum
floret pratum.
Sol serenat omnia.
iamiam cedant tristia!
Aestas redit,
nunc recedit
Hiemis saevitia.

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smiles… marina challenges us at dVerse today to take a poem in a language we don’t understand, listen closely and “translate” it the way we hear it by focusing on how the words sound…

back from scotland – loved it!! &will be catching up with you now…

birgit//

her head is bald
&she’s in her pajamas
wind howls as i lock my bike
in front the door

we drink coffee where the woods are dark//
strETCHED lungs tentacling wide into a forest
we can’t see

in spite the mossy patches on our knees,
she tells me that the tumor in her breast has shrunk
to half its size
“so cool” i smile “&honestly, you’re looking great”

at oNe point in life i think
everyone should razor-blade their head,
abandon all the gel and spray
thiCK curlers, piNs and grips
that hold us fiXEd to—
perm wave_ed// perox-ided
blond or red, yet—
stranGEly motionless

“would you go out on the street with me like that?” she asks
“people would stare,
you know that– out of norm
&fEAR, deNIAL of our own
unbattled weaknesses

but yeah// i proudly would, i—“

outside in the highlands is a seed,
bumped by a storm to this&that side,

&the steel-womb gutters cannot hold
us, eyes // fixed—
“uuuhh, i thought we’re moving”
“oh, we do”
the cake is sweet
“chocolate & nuts”
“you mom baked it?– it’s excellent”

on the horizon, a small boat, braving the stream
&on the steering wheel
a bald man with a cup of tea
curls a smile//both wild & rugged
upon his lips

.
smiles… things are looking good for my friend… so def. much reason to be thankful…
from tuesday on i’ll be away for a week on a road trip through scotland with my husband… getting lost in the highlands and such… smiles… see you then…

of COURse she’s choosing ARCHEry

from my sketchbook

from my sketchbook

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my lines are SOFter
and the ROOster on the cupBoard croWS
no more,
INStead a mix of VAses
balANce their WOMbs
to either THIS or that siDE
noNE FAlls

LAst night i fought bATTLes
on a THOUsand hilltops
in my Best paJAMAs, SOAking wet,
lava buRNing strEAMS aCROSS my forehead
where the feVER
HIT

she SITs benT over the kitchen table
focused on her laptop, browSINg// eyeBROWs WRINkled,
wiNGs–

“they’re grOWing– SEE? moM–?”

“Yes” i smile// &ansWER
with a Sco-tiSH acCent//
words are TRails in highland haZE
wrapPINg shaky limBS–
“How ya DOing with your Bow?”
“HaHA–see–// SEE?!”

She HitS the TARget in no time
with EASe, in breAKneck spEED
gallOPPIng over diZZYing heights
that deTERMIned gaZE in her brown eyes//
soFT velVet

“they’re BEARs out there–“
“i knoW”
“&frEEdom for the braVE”

there’s also MAGic in this landscape, STill,
as sCARRed and ruGGED as it is

“you’re gonna FINd it”

&i hUM an old CLan meLOdy,
that spreads WIDe&wiLD&BOld into the sKY
as i clean aWAy the dishes

 

.
for mtb at dVerse today Gay has us point out our very own beat & i highlighted it with capital letters
my daughter will be moving out this summer as she’s going to university & yeah i played a bit off the movie “brave” cause really, there ARE similarities…smiles… and thanks for all your well-wishes – the fever has left and i’m feeling a bit better already

one day i might get lost in one

photo 4-3

Glurns in the Vinschgau region of Italy

.
i didn’t hear him first
stepping behind me,
sketchbook in my hand,
immersed in–
“how’s it going?”
“oh– “ i sigh “it’s tough
to get the angles right&–“

“let me have a look– the oriel,
don’t wanna paint it in?”
“dunno, the corner windows– it’s so difficult– “

“it is”
he tells me how perspective was discovered
then forgot for centuries, the world
squeezed flat on even surfaces
“gimme your pen?”

we watched him painting earlier,
easy, secure strokes
he puts a biker on the page
they’re gone before he’s finished
“someone new will come”

a board with “BACON” written on it
“paint the signs in and as many people as you can,
the bus stop//cars,
they make a painting real–
leave away what you don’t like–
i love that tower so i’m gonna move it //here– “

it’s much like poetry i think
it’s easy//in a way&
jumping in
you lose and find yourself in crosswalk stripes
&–

“you paint charming pictures” he says &
“we’re gonna meet in 15 minutes”
“right” i nod, pencil a cat, the chimneys
&a couple, icecream on their lips onto the page,

&climbing out of it, cheeks splashed
with color

why we do what we do

photo-261
.
“that was the only reason for them” he says
“to teach the violin– the singing,
holding tunes and such”

he drinks red wine
&we’re in the former classroom of an ancient castle,
music banging from the speakers

“so when did you start to play?”
“i was eight– left home– it was at boarding school,
it was disaster”

he sits in the aisle,
a little boy, his teacher practicing–
“i wanna play like that”
& it’s a love affair
it’s hate
it’s tough times

“at thirteen i gave up//
lost the years when you learn most” he says,
shrugging his shoulders
“couldn’t bear to touch her”

little groups around us,
bent over their sketchbooks

you know love is real
when it comes back
like throwing bottles deep into the sea
&some resurface
with a loud splash

“so you took her back?” i smile

mesmerized at how he holds her to his chin//chest
&the gentle bend//his arms//hands
wooing her in yet
another tune//that way beyond the chambers in my breast
resonate and hang head first
like bats from the old castle wall

“&what about you?”

“hmmm” i take a sip of beer
“guitar, piano, saxophone.. just nothing very good”
“you sketch”
“i write”
the taste of reed and vowels on my tongue
“multi-faceted”
“nothing in depth”
we laugh
“i go and dance” i say
& lean
into the song, the beat of drums
//devouring me

.

for PU