Wild Woman

Unmanned, like a bull bereft of all; a flaccid decoration without use; at least if thee had what I have thou could be a woman; eunuch hiding your treasure for marriage and hypocrisy. And leave me with empty decoration; rings without sense, dresses without purpose. Go about your business thou say I want nothing to do with thee now; yet

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A Bitter Wind

A poem about Culloden Battlefield today and the effects of the subsequent highland clearances.       And so, t’is a bitter wind that blowsaround Drumossie.A plaintive crow that lends a single voicepiercing guilty silence.The moss itself, whispers among the slanted stones,footsteps sinking into sacrifice. Distant, calm blue firth betrays the battle-yellsawake forever on the breeze.Over heathered moors, ruined cottages

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