Michael Brett, 'Star Shells over Stonehenge'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Star Shells over Stonehenge

Stonehenge, right next to an artillery range,
Had its megaliths, lit by star shells. These
Were like the severed halves of giant stone men-
Stomachs vanished- holding hands.

The sky and we- just Army cadets- were worlds intersecting
Like lines in Futurist paintings. The guns,
Were giant curtains and doors opening
And slamming in the sky.

My father saw this in 1940, his father in 1917.

Perhaps time is like this:
Past, present and future don't ease apart like trains.
They collide with one another. They
Are beaten together like heads. Nations
Are engines that thrust all these like pool balls into Ds.

Perhaps that is greatness: giant stone men,
Raising sparks, banging ages together like star shells;

Somewhere a Great Caesar dreams of an existence-
Unbuilt - in the centre of the Stonehenge ring

Lit by lights of wars past, present and those to come.

By Michael Brett

Jim Malcolm, 'Jimmy's Gone To Flanders'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Jimmy's Gone To Flanders

Jimmy's gone to Flanders, his fiddle lies upon his bed
It was his father's fiddle, though he's aye been shy to practice it
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, his fishing creel's a tangle
From the nicht he and Willie fished the Earn though there was no moon

Jimmy's gone to Flanders, he spoilt the old dog rotten
With scraps below the table, though I told him time and time again
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, his football boots are sodden
For they've no been near dubbin since he bought them new from Sandy Broon

When Jimmy's home from Flanders, he'll be shamed to clean those football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy's home from Flanders, he'll be sat down by the table
And we'll coax him to his fiddle, Jimmy, gie's "The Bonawe Highlanders"

Jimmy's gone to Flanders, though he had a job at Logie's yard
But all the lads were joining, it'll all be over by Christmas time
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, though he's no' the strength his father had
I'm sure he'll be worthy and that Jocky would have burst with pride

Jimmy's gone to Flanders, and I ken he has a lassie
Her father saw them walking by themselves below the Falls of May
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, he's as secret as his father was
But I caught her weeping as the sergeant marched him to the train

When Jimmy's home from Flanders, he'll be shamed to clean those football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy's home from Flanders, he'll be sat down by the table
And we'll coax him to his fiddle, Jimmy, gie's "The Bonawe Highlanders"

By Jim Malcolm

http://youtu.be/wzJnu2bZUvs