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A poem about the Isle of Skye, Scotland; January and Scottish independence :)

Skye Independence Poem

Gillian_ferguson_photo_high_resby Gillian K Ferguson31 Jan 2019

Dim indigo nets
of pitiable light
the colour of melancholy

snag pruned day;
mopping the last puny milks of summer,

fishing for runt stars -
cosmological smolt;
slick jet elver swarming
dark energy pools.

The blear moon
a numb pearl.

Dire rain beats
ruined blackhouse stones -
cenotaph skeletons of homes;
infernal arrhythmic drum.
Janus hearts lashed,
our blood must not follow
January’s awful philosophy.

I hear the city ruckus in a rammy of gulls;
the brutal dementia of glens
remembering crucial antique cruelties,
red perfume of immortal deaths:
the indelible anguish of history

no mawkish shortbread tin
nor scornful mockery;
no tea towel tat with tritest tosh,
nor patronising jibe or eedjit barb;
no ignorance imperious,
nor ill-considered spurious superiority,
no humbug spurning of democracy,
duplicitous re-writing of the past;
no pusillanimous wimpery,
nor lily-livered sycophants;
no subjugated simpering,
nor craven lackeys, unctuous flunkeys,
promulgating colonial cack and caterwaul,

will ever end -
tuned to this ruthless, pibroch wind
singing pitch words through bogled night;
stitched in enduring snow shrouds
the scoured Black Cuillin wear -
cadaverous brides of cantankerous winter.

The prissy garden broken here
from bleak created wilderness
shivers like a first lamb.

Elderly gods and untold men
are clamouring on the murky hill.

Guttural umber water
rankles the radge burn -
a raw song flyting
sea’s rancorous stramash;
inexorable hymn thrashing the shore.
The scrupulous fury of the north -
abundant salt for every wound
but oil enough for any troubled gut,
treacling so rich and sweet:
Scotland’s black angel.

Under this pale wink,
foil coin stuttering from glowering cloud,
there is a lion sun.

There will be no rapturous bones,
no rogues’ gold returned,
nor muscled white rose

until sky is restored
to a blue flag again:
Pantone 300.

Gillian K Ferguson, Isle of Skye, 2019

Gillian K Ferguson has poetry books published at Bloodaxe and Canongate and lives on the Isle of Skye. Her forthcoming collection is ‘Flora: The Evolution of Eden’.