tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354407992024-03-07T08:46:49.433+00:00frankenstinaA new creation from random impulses ...Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-34180120354177756182019-07-31T13:51:00.000+00:002019-07-31T13:51:20.854+00:00SuperfluousI've been going on for years about the problem of language as a vehicle for abstract thought - in particular the snares of prose, which seems to simplify but can end up destroying. R.S.Thomas has been here already; this is my take just now.<br />
<br />
<b>Superfluous</b><br />
<br />
Myriad words pinned to paper<br />
in the never-ending search<br />
for truth that hovers through the ages<br />
on the tantalising edge of faith -<br />
so we struggle with expressing<br />
that bright fire to which we give a face,<br />
humanise, imagine friendship<br />
through the realm of time and space.<br />
<br />
But the prayer when it happens<br />
comes in darkness and in heat,<br />
still eludes our Babel-clamour,<br />
needs our silence to defeat<br />
the world God’s children have constructed<br />
from complexity and rules<br />
till we rise again, replenished,<br />
filled with fire that nothing cools.<br />
<br />
© C.M.M. 07/19Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-60324319827942887442019-07-16T11:18:00.000+00:002019-07-16T11:18:02.791+00:00Jordan<br />
The burden of that sudden light<br />
Overwhelms my shrinking self<br />
As I step into the surge<br />
Of life and what will come.<br />
The holy dove, its wings outspread,<br />
Hovers close. No comfort there.<br />
I see the darkness pressing back<br />
Around the edges of my world<br />
Through eyes half closed,<br />
Through lash and hair<br />
That covers my defenceless face.<br />
The water swirls. I feel the tug<br />
Of forces far beyond my reach.<br />
I will obey. God, I accept<br />
- will lift this burden that is Light.<br />
<br />
C.M.M.<br />
© Back, Lewis. June 19.<br />
<br />
(Inspired by a painting by Daniel Bonnel, <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=daniel+bonnell+baptism+of+christ&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=wyorcJxBQas0sM%253A%252CvYAVUCKFdkP9FM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kSRdVq2SSizAmHRoStUXdPzABhg6w&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi7w5WkqLnjAhWUSxUIHarKB6cQ9QEwAXoECAcQBg#imgrc=wyorcJxBQas0sM:">The Baptism of the Christ)</a>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-57628676885838486392019-07-16T11:14:00.000+00:002019-07-16T11:18:19.530+00:00OutburstO, be silent when the God speaks -<br />
do not blurt your blunted vision<br />
to distort or seek to bend<br />
the flow of love and pain.<br />
Listen. Open. Feel the keenness<br />
of the shaft that wounds the soul;<br />
feel the way you change, but quiet<br />
like a child that hears a call.<br />
<br />
Only then, within that silence<br />
can the music truly sing,<br />
make the wordless song of heaven<br />
sweep you up until your tongue<br />
is freed from all the weight of language<br />
- free to wonder, free to cease -<br />
and your soul can shed what has been, <br />
free to wander heaven’s peace.<br />
<br />
© C.M.M. Back, Lewis, June 2019Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-80649955951674013312018-02-07T18:05:00.000+00:002018-02-07T18:05:19.132+00:00Springing thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij6JqEjkSMw0UEFeI3sotVarCtEuHvCQFsNynubRo3RrI8imUS5Wxbbj2ZHBZl5dvI9-zGMNMiLEwzK0Sp1ShHz98KZrCgxTr2Iz9JDJrRvdHYg245aZJ6vg3gWxSn5vveKp28eA/s1600/IMG_5092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij6JqEjkSMw0UEFeI3sotVarCtEuHvCQFsNynubRo3RrI8imUS5Wxbbj2ZHBZl5dvI9-zGMNMiLEwzK0Sp1ShHz98KZrCgxTr2Iz9JDJrRvdHYg245aZJ6vg3gWxSn5vveKp28eA/s320/IMG_5092.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Two days after the last snow left</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">I saw the tiny hint of life</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">in colour, purple, on the mud</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">which rain had flooded winter-long,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">and thought of Spring.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Encouraged by the silent sun</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">the lack of wind, the sudden song</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">- a blackbird sitting on a pole -</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">in air so silent I could hear</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">the rush of wings above my head </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">as pigeons - should I call them doves?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> - set off briskly over roofs</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">and gardens, sodden mossy lawns</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">and foodless shrubs where dunnocks live</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">I stopped, for long enough to feel.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">But what I felt was not the joy</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">that children feel when freedom calls</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">but rather that nostalgic pain</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">more keen with every passing year</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">that tells me each Spring takes us up</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">the path towards that distant peak</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">where only faith says flowers will bloom.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">© C.M.M 02/18</span></div>
Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-66727976017081343412017-12-12T13:29:00.000+00:002017-12-12T13:29:22.976+00:00Another Advent<b>Another Advent</b><br />
<br />
<i>for AM, who suggested possibilities</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8RB6qy0ex00Vn1r7abmRGFVkOY_BCqQ2HtzsXDQb_zflCnbv-D6GEzsl0pZFuJtqzjPtfvqEt0hdE0DGgGCSw_lBXNofqgpxqnfAUBKdJqopcb6vx8L946ZXf3NKWp__NGH2NA/s1600/IMG_4076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8RB6qy0ex00Vn1r7abmRGFVkOY_BCqQ2HtzsXDQb_zflCnbv-D6GEzsl0pZFuJtqzjPtfvqEt0hdE0DGgGCSw_lBXNofqgpxqnfAUBKdJqopcb6vx8L946ZXf3NKWp__NGH2NA/s320/IMG_4076.JPG" width="320" /></a>From the darkness that returns<br />
each year we sing our plaintive song<br />
and ask that God will come again<br />
and fill our lives with what we know<br />
and hardly know is all we need.<br />
The fire burns low, the night is long,<br />
and yet we feel in some way held<br />
within the circle of this flame<br />
that still we tend with anxious care<br />
in some place hidden from the eyes<br />
that mock and laugh and turn away<br />
with restless ease towards their end.<br />
The world too turns, and we await<br />
the power that fills our life with light<br />
and let our alleluias ring<br />
within the darkness of the earth.<br />
<br />
C.M.M. 12/17<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-12602216649656161192017-12-06T17:59:00.002+00:002017-12-06T18:00:43.881+00:00Argyll Weather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtUYzEFj04_GDK8bob0D4eA5gXtv3YhlYhhwngGkZJTHxTAd_ecrBiIboq8GJQ_DoFMCyU4SGfE9XDK91u204UUyVCR9z2UxTVmqTuN5IA6PW8gupd2NgdZ90Wd6lx_sjCUeQ4A/s1600/IMG_2533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtUYzEFj04_GDK8bob0D4eA5gXtv3YhlYhhwngGkZJTHxTAd_ecrBiIboq8GJQ_DoFMCyU4SGfE9XDK91u204UUyVCR9z2UxTVmqTuN5IA6PW8gupd2NgdZ90Wd6lx_sjCUeQ4A/s320/IMG_2533.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
ARGYLL WEATHER<br />
<i>A Sonnet for Jim</i><br />
<br />
The rain drifts in grey curtains from the hills<br />
and turns the loch’s black surface into lace<br />
before a random wind takes up the chase<br />
that now obliterates the day it kills.<br />
The burn beside me gurgles as it fills<br />
and overflows. There’s water on my face,<br />
the path I followed gone without a trace,<br />
enthusiasm drowned in sudden chills.<br />
<br />
But as I turn to make my sodden way<br />
to shelter, warmth …dry feet … a sudden gleam<br />
appears. It’s like another day.<br />
The wet rock all around me starts to steam<br />
and birdsong cuts the air as if to say<br />
This is Argyll. Things are not what they seem.<br />
<br />
C.M.M. 12/17Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-21469394947183190092016-10-12T17:20:00.003+00:002016-10-12T17:20:52.401+00:00Perhaps<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicExeuNN2BNtMQlC8zn6S80LFHbaH7-mM3k2TTg7JGFZ5sh5cdtrxcQjlusIIUFD8x14ZQvkWQI-bRQ4P7dARQS5LDeXPp2lJiYxAiKW3JIlLBqP-kWnwa74HdFRNbaBk5X82Yxg/s1600/2395774920_10bf8c1fab_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicExeuNN2BNtMQlC8zn6S80LFHbaH7-mM3k2TTg7JGFZ5sh5cdtrxcQjlusIIUFD8x14ZQvkWQI-bRQ4P7dARQS5LDeXPp2lJiYxAiKW3JIlLBqP-kWnwa74HdFRNbaBk5X82Yxg/s400/2395774920_10bf8c1fab_o.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aonach Eagach, Glencoe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The path is steep and rocky</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and my body’s growing tired.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m looking for the summit cairn,</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the peak I hope to find - </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and at the top I’ll rest awhile</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and take a look around, </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">decide if I’ve the energy</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">for the track above the cloud.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For I know that there's more climbing, </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">there are still flowers at my feet,</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">but weariness keeps nagging me - </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a voice I cannot cheat.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve wandered far, I’ve sung my songs, </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the wind is still as sweet, </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">but all of us are passing through</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">to where all pathways meet.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My track is strewn with metaphor</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and words mean what you read.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We all of us hear different songs</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">along the roads we tread.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> But looming in the distance</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> or rising at our feet</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">that final hill is where we go</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and where all pathways meet.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">© C.M.M. 10/16</span></span></div>
Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-33199658610027321202013-03-09T18:42:00.000+00:002013-03-09T18:42:20.139+00:00Eyes wide open<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgin2cGGyEz19822QTUEAvAD6C2GUwz6bA2h9UVVdxmJzkWElbNlzfepHgkzx6wda189oIzxnPYDlU9HUasqtUl9y9_tq_-CLz-6aDdWr8eW3t6qTo03L-_eDyqc1ObMpc5Etdf9g/s1600/L1010002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgin2cGGyEz19822QTUEAvAD6C2GUwz6bA2h9UVVdxmJzkWElbNlzfepHgkzx6wda189oIzxnPYDlU9HUasqtUl9y9_tq_-CLz-6aDdWr8eW3t6qTo03L-_eDyqc1ObMpc5Etdf9g/s400/L1010002.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">One pale, quiet morning, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I open my soul’s eyes </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">unarmed with faith or company, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">responsibility or joy, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and see quite plain</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">the vastness of it all, the loneliness, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">the very impossibility of life.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A hand in the desert - </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">will there be a hand? </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Someone who knows the way</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">to travel this grey distance</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and find the distant hills?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The question hangs</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">in the still air. But </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">in the birdless silence</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">is that the gentle ripple</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">not mocking or sardonic</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">but inviting, is that -</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">oh please, is that -</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">a companionable laugh?</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b>© C.M. 03/13</b></span></div>
Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-57339641801908476992012-09-21T13:50:00.004+00:002012-09-21T13:51:29.991+00:00Ridgewalk<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsAkIOVciY90BVWtCp_5MbvH5LKONSFlwuAaFK9df8szF4sAPAa5LT6boGdnMfnRqVVqMJ12__NjNqbaTo9NR9SvGjHLC8ZCtqCX0RouhkQso6WcY6ZhnHRYaCQDSMXDYLEUMkQ/s1600/2395774920_10bf8c1fab_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsAkIOVciY90BVWtCp_5MbvH5LKONSFlwuAaFK9df8szF4sAPAa5LT6boGdnMfnRqVVqMJ12__NjNqbaTo9NR9SvGjHLC8ZCtqCX0RouhkQso6WcY6ZhnHRYaCQDSMXDYLEUMkQ/s320/2395774920_10bf8c1fab_o.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
I have walked the high places, seen</div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">the haze in the glaciated</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">trough beneath my feet;</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I have heard the raven’s croak</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">among tall crags, felt the winds</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">keen around my head. I have</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">trusted my life to a friend, sensed the</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">taut rope’s reassurance,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">known the joy of balance</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">on the white path’s ribbon.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I have sensed the unseen God in</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">the fierce, dangerous joy, the</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">tension and the trust, and always,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">always the wind of his breath</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">piling the tumultuous clouds,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">sweeping the pale sky clear.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">©C.M.M. 12/01</span></div>
Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-69376426404321908482012-09-14T16:22:00.002+00:002012-09-24T10:15:09.361+00:00Arles: Feria du Riz<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8GJb1AC12pMva2hVrdHJhqc8-0t-2Ueo6TcgVlngBr7OWbGHoJeqItZHPMslANf4acYj7HiY7mybqLwiUhs7mq7xKdsh50decYPbJ57dpvTHKdnJVOZyBEaVdK7nEP_FVD9Udw/s1600/IMG_4431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8GJb1AC12pMva2hVrdHJhqc8-0t-2Ueo6TcgVlngBr7OWbGHoJeqItZHPMslANf4acYj7HiY7mybqLwiUhs7mq7xKdsh50decYPbJ57dpvTHKdnJVOZyBEaVdK7nEP_FVD9Udw/s320/IMG_4431.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo ©Fraser Shiells, by permission</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Sitting at lunch beneath the shade</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">we heard the gunfire - loud, sharp - </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and then the growing noise of cheers</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">above the music of the band</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and rushed to line the barricade</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">between us and the road.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And what came next was troubling to</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">the me that thinks I’m civilised</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">as horses clattered in the dust</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and lances waved and suddenly</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I saw the bulls - small, dusty, black</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and gone: a swiftness barely seen</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">as bodies swirled and young boys clawed</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and darted in among the hooves</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and grabbed and cheered and strutted there.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And my blood raced in sympathy</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">as small dogs yapped beside my legs</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and all my civilised disdain</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">was pulverised and lay in dust.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">C.M. 09/12</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><i>This was a fascinating, thrilling and ultimately disturbing experience - the more so because I had not anticipated the event. I'm grateful to my friend Fraser Shiells for his photo - the speed of everything made it hard to capture, and this moment, when one of the bulls escaped the corralling horses and headed back down the road on its own, was especially dramatic.</i></span></div>
Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-79305565359387907252012-08-31T16:51:00.000+00:002012-08-31T16:52:47.330+00:00Night Piper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG8XzQ5XapJxA8QlHBs6K6vlhrEjhmQB8PIpCBPFDQGuk-MPNzba7T7ve92uFCGhwif_59v4kA4CZAlVGOpK1s7MT770yabEK22AyGeNMaRcgE-hCvyCdUqJTN8SKQAQtfI7dvw/s1600/3869601515_472b435815_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjG8XzQ5XapJxA8QlHBs6K6vlhrEjhmQB8PIpCBPFDQGuk-MPNzba7T7ve92uFCGhwif_59v4kA4CZAlVGOpK1s7MT770yabEK22AyGeNMaRcgE-hCvyCdUqJTN8SKQAQtfI7dvw/s200/3869601515_472b435815_z.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo ©Ewan McIntosh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Into a random dream, only half-remembered,</div>
dances the noise of -<br />
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">God, it’s pipes! And it’s</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">three am and I’ve been sleeping but</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">I leap from my bed and look </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">out and there they are: a man, </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">pipes shouldered, marching along</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">the sleeping crescent playing </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">his heart out. And it’s not just the old</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">Scotland the Brave stuff but</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">an intricate shifting pattern of notes</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">and he’s good, good, but</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">far too loud for my wincing brain.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">In front of this marching kilt </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">five figures dance</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">yes, dance,</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">keeping time as they</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">make their way past the</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">dark houses which seem</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">like me not to have welcomed them</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">with lights, but they don’t care.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">Light on their feet and lightly</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">rhythmic they pass on and the music sounds</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">more and more distant as the night </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">folds back and sleep floods over</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">the vacant echoes of the town.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">©C.M.M.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1"><i>This happened on the only weekend of the year when such things are, in fact, normal - Cowal Games weekend. The poem actually suggested itself to me as I was drifting back to sleep, but I've taken almost a week to get round to putting it down.</i></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<br />Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-43044626374773887162012-05-06T09:31:00.000+00:002012-05-06T09:31:32.275+00:00MIners' Gala 1984<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_yacXPQmfJ7t4FSLYoA5-B5dETKjBrJLYQWqvECjKMnuHt3a3NGSwV7S7j7fcnbMq4W1QZV_zh4INVkuLuJkq_E75W4PaZzZPUX38B1veTm2eTwhXh8B3kgM_IamN4fZ4XNtGQ/s1600/Miners'+gala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_yacXPQmfJ7t4FSLYoA5-B5dETKjBrJLYQWqvECjKMnuHt3a3NGSwV7S7j7fcnbMq4W1QZV_zh4INVkuLuJkq_E75W4PaZzZPUX38B1veTm2eTwhXh8B3kgM_IamN4fZ4XNtGQ/s320/Miners'+gala.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m riding on a lorry through</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">the Edinburgh streets. Beside</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">me is a missile, quite small, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">made of cardboard painted </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">silver. Should be black.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Upturned faces in the sun</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">stare white; some shout:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><i>Save oor pits, missus</i></span><span lang="EN-US"> – </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">as if this missile </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">had the power to sweep away </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">the English government of the day</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and blow it back to when</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">their fathers walked in</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">heavy boots, pale in the</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">morning sun and back, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">black-faced at dusk</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">from hellish pits of endless toil</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">that now would end</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and they would miss. And I</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">and my missile trundle on,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">an incidental sideshow</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">in Thatcher’s Circus 84.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">C.M.M 05/12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><i>A sudden memory, triggered by local election talk and the despair of those who feel government cares little for them. This was certainly the case in 1984, the year of the Miners' Strike, after which the mining industry was never the same again. As CND activists we were seen as allies against the Thatcher government, though I felt strongly that in that situation we were merely demonstrating solidarity - for there was nothing we could do about it, any more than the miners whose families lined the Edinburgh streets on that sunny day.</i></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-3504175256268727792012-04-06T11:29:00.004+00:002012-04-06T11:29:41.851+00:00The Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpAkIv2JS3lYlgY5RPkVOVcwNv24d44mp_rEY5iVfcnWIhl6k_OFXwqzKqD9bVyzqb8YPzTjj0EOwKP7kyDbOqLcQMpNewCFcwY19jUlRlTcJ4Eoy_rqolFI5-zNYBUFsa-oykQ/s1600/L1070911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpAkIv2JS3lYlgY5RPkVOVcwNv24d44mp_rEY5iVfcnWIhl6k_OFXwqzKqD9bVyzqb8YPzTjj0EOwKP7kyDbOqLcQMpNewCFcwY19jUlRlTcJ4Eoy_rqolFI5-zNYBUFsa-oykQ/s320/L1070911.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That night there was no</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">peace in the garden. The voice</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">beat randomly and wordless</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">on the shrinking sense as the flames</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">flickered irritably in the unseen chill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">The struggling prayer faltered </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">with each startling blow and </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">died as the God’s voice dwindled and</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">withdrew. And when the silence fell</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">blessedly and the night grew still</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">it was already over, this riven time,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">and the marching feet, the harsher </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">shouts, the drawn steel glinting</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">in the dark – to this the prayer had led</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">and left the silence of the grave.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
C.M.M. 04/12</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-17841039119767089092012-03-14T13:19:00.001+00:002012-03-14T13:20:39.832+00:00Dali's Christ<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1y5Xy_S_wA9rSqAHk8zdDu5P_DT8ON0Xzuf1DAx1l3Q2z030hBzBRvDtaLJ22wW_tLoSU9NyxII1wfX74xK9w5vI1oMyn8YVjT9bi9OWX7XeSfQ5FWGKlAOxmB_rCqqVhqROqg/s1600/Dali's+Christ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1y5Xy_S_wA9rSqAHk8zdDu5P_DT8ON0Xzuf1DAx1l3Q2z030hBzBRvDtaLJ22wW_tLoSU9NyxII1wfX74xK9w5vI1oMyn8YVjT9bi9OWX7XeSfQ5FWGKlAOxmB_rCqqVhqROqg/s400/Dali's+Christ.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: navy; font-family: Arial; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> © Culture and Sport Glasgow (Museums)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>There are no nails<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">no bonds or blood to mar</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">perfection. Instead, the figure hangs</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">beautiful above the flat sea</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">watched – or ignored – by anachronistic fishermen,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">brooding over the water yet</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">soaring out to embrace</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">the viewer in the small space</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">dwarfed by the cosmos that is</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">the final resting of the crucified.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The humanity is complete, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">the only agony visible in the twist</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">of the arms, the taut sculpture</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">of tormented shoulders,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">but this is God who leaves behind</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">the tawdry superscription that would </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">seek to limit him,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">this is God who reaches out as</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">crucifix to dying lips</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">as benediction to the world</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">as light into the darkened sky – </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">stop. Look up. Can you not </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">feel the wind?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b>C.M.M. 02/12<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #274e13;">Dali's painting, Christ of St John of the Cross, hangs in the Kelvingrove Art Galleries in Glasgow. I grew up visiting it, and wrote this poem after my most recent visit, when I saw it in a fourth new setting. I am indebted to <a href="http://www.glasgowlife.org.uk/museums/our-museums/Pages/home.aspx">Glasgow Museums</a> for permission to use the image.</span></i></div>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-59394916620853873442011-12-20T23:40:00.000+00:002011-12-20T23:40:42.120+00:00Thinking of angels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_jWXA5AhuGJEuXKooU2LHw42kB66fn5HFuSDuDBckqvOjswU2xipbB7ieFepeobXt7kTdtLw4vuF6wpF4qnWy7_Yv98tatbyoVmkwqbJ2jX1AGqa90ChQbNkRg1Aa2ML4Ej80Q/s1600/annunciationjpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_jWXA5AhuGJEuXKooU2LHw42kB66fn5HFuSDuDBckqvOjswU2xipbB7ieFepeobXt7kTdtLw4vuF6wpF4qnWy7_Yv98tatbyoVmkwqbJ2jX1AGqa90ChQbNkRg1Aa2ML4Ej80Q/s320/annunciationjpg.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Oh, do not try to make it ordinary</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">or even think of credibility -</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">this visitation by the angel</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">or many</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">to shepherds in their freezing fields</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">or Mary -</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">no: I see hosts of snowy wings</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">descending in impossible sweeps</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">of power, I see</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">faces taut and gleaming, and those</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">piercing eyes that penetrate the soul</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">so that breath fails, and when it</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">passes there remains a vacuum -</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">and perhaps just a single</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> shining</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"> feather.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">©C.M.M. 12/11</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 8pt;"><b><span style="color: #0c343d;">Dedicated to the choir of St Thomas, Fifth Avenue, for their singing of A Babe is Born (Matthias)</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 8pt;"><b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Garamond; font-size: x-small;"><b>I've used a different picture here of the Annunciation from the one I used on blethers - though nothing I could find quite matched the vision I had!</b></span></div>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-91956644270926884222011-12-19T15:51:00.001+00:002011-12-19T15:52:38.264+00:00Winter Solstice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6Q1_w792FfACAAp6lnzh-Re1SIu37PIwyiyJ8dOLRR_7x5q2qlJC3szf251ZUTVA5h_ydJbQjVnPxy9f4RCpH8NMU8ydW1UikcTzzEd7KzoO4gedTMMFQ8p1_OFYc3l0I9UXTQ/s1600/L1100060_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6Q1_w792FfACAAp6lnzh-Re1SIu37PIwyiyJ8dOLRR_7x5q2qlJC3szf251ZUTVA5h_ydJbQjVnPxy9f4RCpH8NMU8ydW1UikcTzzEd7KzoO4gedTMMFQ8p1_OFYc3l0I9UXTQ/s400/L1100060_2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The silver tree is a white ghost</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">in the dimpled white of last week’s snow</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">as the pale glow in the eastern sky</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">shows where the short-lived sun will rise</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">while night withdraws itself to where</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">a thin moon hangs above the hills.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The coloured lights of the coming feast</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Shine in the silent streets below;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The last cries of the drunken night</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Are echoes, and the drinkers sleep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The birds wait, frozen on the tree.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">A prayer stirs in the coldest heart.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b>© C.M.M</b></span><span lang="EN-US">. 12/11</span></div>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-51169169235575038062011-11-20T18:28:00.000+00:002011-11-20T18:28:40.839+00:00Suffering General<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcC4B8Zw2rBXEe-h4M0T99wlfUrMGx9-Ctw8pjXF7_y77fKT9Gx6nt-RTc_3hSAcyFvAAB09OqFyHXd0P0qIxoXssehyeMwTJnwOfbvihwPZ4NGNk9nOIjyoEa_D80L6S4HPxXWw/s1600/SG+jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcC4B8Zw2rBXEe-h4M0T99wlfUrMGx9-Ctw8pjXF7_y77fKT9Gx6nt-RTc_3hSAcyFvAAB09OqFyHXd0P0qIxoXssehyeMwTJnwOfbvihwPZ4NGNk9nOIjyoEa_D80L6S4HPxXWw/s320/SG+jpg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original Southern General Hospital, Glasgow</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Hospitals no longer have that smell</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">- the fearful pungency of old - </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">no: there is a casual air</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">about the hours of waiting, where</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">random chat is fractured</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">and coffee cups abandoned</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">as if this were a station – </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">a brief halt in life’s affairs</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">a stop along the line</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">before the terminus.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Stop: don’t think of terminus,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">not here, among the shifting</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">interrupted lives of those</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">who miss their names –</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">impatient calls and repetitions – </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">then stumble off to share their need</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">and leave, calmed for now or not,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">out into the grey day where fog</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">swirls round a half-built tower</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">and coughing echoes in the biting air.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">©C.M. 11/11</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-79382131180812298042011-08-01T10:42:00.000+00:002011-08-01T10:42:52.508+00:00The conversation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmdnu9RTUkI-zYeHWQMMI4vlgQHOsHdS6XSYsxy2LIVPGXmLRlQFRvLDIM26BtxHbyhy1g5fWCfF1owzgGv2c700K7w95bhMEl-aQeCN_tYUJc6EVdDMzLMLIQLTtuOXJNKhLEg/s1600/L1090165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmdnu9RTUkI-zYeHWQMMI4vlgQHOsHdS6XSYsxy2LIVPGXmLRlQFRvLDIM26BtxHbyhy1g5fWCfF1owzgGv2c700K7w95bhMEl-aQeCN_tYUJc6EVdDMzLMLIQLTtuOXJNKhLEg/s320/L1090165.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Under a pale sun - not cool,just<br />
grey and calm - the words<br />
flowed. Dissonance and history,<br />
patronage and eternal things,<br />
maths and music and the links or<br />
not links were tossed about,<br />
resolved and questioned,<br />
worried and smoothed against the demons<br />
that might darken a day.<br />
And all around the earnest talk<br />
the birdsong fluttered in the unthinking light,<br />
the peerless technique of the singers<br />
rising and falling among the flowers,<br />
its challenge merely territorial<br />
its beauty only in our minds.<br />
<br />
C.M.M 07/11</span>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-90651433321618308202011-04-22T22:16:00.000+00:002011-04-22T22:16:29.440+00:00Birdsong in Gethsemane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioL32w5U8CQ42zXcYijztXOsQqqmrcJZOegWHGfO_zfLQCw8zigzW-fgCT7Dn7ShFLpnE6b0VLfokRy_apvZd8BnqAy8jSdIQt2_pVwmf0OWTFBeaT38Vw8b0ccea8YYXsOhzdTA/s1600/Geth2jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioL32w5U8CQ42zXcYijztXOsQqqmrcJZOegWHGfO_zfLQCw8zigzW-fgCT7Dn7ShFLpnE6b0VLfokRy_apvZd8BnqAy8jSdIQt2_pVwmf0OWTFBeaT38Vw8b0ccea8YYXsOhzdTA/s320/Geth2jpg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">In the darkling garden</div><div class="MsoNormal">a lone bird<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>drops </div><div class="MsoNormal">liquid notes like dark blood </div><div class="MsoNormal">beneath the quiet trees. And then</div><div class="MsoNormal">silence. And in the silence</div><div class="MsoNormal">the old struggle surges</div><div class="MsoNormal">as flesh and soul pull</div><div class="MsoNormal">apart. The body aches</div><div class="MsoNormal">to be the prayer, to feel</div><div class="MsoNormal">the God’s warmth</div><div class="MsoNormal">in the darkness. But</div><div class="MsoNormal">there is only stillness</div><div class="MsoNormal">and the blood’s song</div><div class="MsoNormal">and the everlasting longing</div><div class="MsoNormal">as somewhere far away</div><div class="MsoNormal">innocence sleeps.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">©C.M.M. 04/11</div><!--EndFragment-->Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-35504702709802882692010-12-15T17:34:00.002+00:002010-12-15T17:36:04.560+00:00Dark Waiting<div style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/goforchris/4117924720/" title="photo sharing"><img alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2784/4117924720_160ea585c4_m.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/goforchris/4117924720/">Dying light</a><br />
Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/goforchris/">goforchris</a></span></div><i>This poem was commissioned for the Advent issue of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Inspires </span>magazine. As the magazine is now out, with the poem very handsomely presented, I feel free to share it here: the first poem I've ever written to order. I'm grateful for the stimulus - I thought I might have written all the Advent poems I was going to.</i><br />
<br />
As the months slide towards<br />
the winter dark, the first pang<br />
of longing stirs, like the<br />
quickening of the unborn child –<br />
the sudden recognition, yet again, <br />
of waiting and of need.<br />
<br />
This deep-felt urge was surely felt<br />
each winter, on the darkest fringe<br />
where small fires flickered in the gloom<br />
and men looked east, towards the rim<br />
where every morning brought the sun<br />
a little fainter, lower, cold –<br />
and now we wait another dawn,<br />
a birth of hope and love and trust.<br />
And do we long to see the Son,<br />
or long for longing, long to kiss<br />
the wind of love, its passing felt<br />
by all who light their candles here?<br />
The child stirs in the womb of dark.<br />
We stretch our hands in hope, and wait.<br />
<br />
©C.M.M.Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-18291152188588931762010-12-13T13:09:00.001+00:002010-12-13T13:09:16.235+00:00Advent Child: for Anna<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/99471404@N00/5242657576/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5242657576_e68816655c_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/99471404@N00/5242657576/">Anna</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/99471404@N00/">Mac44</a></span></div>She came with the first snow,<br />the Advent child, a small, crumpled flower<br />opening beneath the hard stars.<br />The tiny clever hand has minute nails<br />and closes warm around my soul.<br />The dark eyes seem serene and filled<br />with unborn wisdom far beyond<br />the knowledge born of age.<br />My world contracts to hold this<br />shining moment in a timeless breath<br />as the snow falls and the world stops<br />and all the Advent waiting seems to end<br />in this new child, this vulnerable love<br />melting the frozen darkness<br />from the winter of my heart.<br /><br />© C.M.M. 12/10<br clear="all" />Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-62224220998729775072010-09-05T17:18:00.000+00:002010-09-05T17:22:01.746+00:00Ben Donich<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUDm0eo8vi3qPakIdZz7IhpR18JmBUi75x-pWpwOMN4MswQPm5nI9GfYfNWU_z0klblXFjaa6NIH0keeJ_17xwiY4tAY-XlmXGHseH_MVgud7VZ6ra26poELrs4pg6wIOeOCF7A/s1600/L1060893.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUDm0eo8vi3qPakIdZz7IhpR18JmBUi75x-pWpwOMN4MswQPm5nI9GfYfNWU_z0klblXFjaa6NIH0keeJ_17xwiY4tAY-XlmXGHseH_MVgud7VZ6ra26poELrs4pg6wIOeOCF7A/s320/L1060893.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513480593430166354" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Each climb to the high places brings</p> <p class="MsoNormal">a question: will I come again?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The wind blows, the crow swoops by</p> <p class="MsoNormal">on silent wings, upcurved and still</p> <p class="MsoNormal">on the flying air, and I no longer</p> <p class="MsoNormal">earthbound feel the soaring </p> <p class="MsoNormal">and wonder when the flight will end.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The spacious air mocks this</p> <p class="MsoNormal">introspection, calls me to </p> <p class="MsoNormal">the briefly precious moment</p> <p class="MsoNormal">on this thin-earthed crag</p> <p class="MsoNormal">where the rock glints hard in the</p> <p class="MsoNormal">noonday sun and the fool’s gold</p> <p class="MsoNormal">shines at my fingertips</p> <p class="MsoNormal">and the downward path curves</p> <p class="MsoNormal">into the purple afternoon.</p><p class="MsoNormal">©C.M.M.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-620197023165283942010-08-28T10:10:00.000+00:002010-08-28T10:11:34.322+00:00Cowal Games: Midnight<p class="MsoNormal">Along the crescent, in the middle of the night,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">a hooded figure minces, its tight step</p> <p class="MsoNormal">in bondage to its low-slung jeans. It looks along</p> <p class="MsoNormal">its shoulder at the road, and then I see</p> <p class="MsoNormal">the green glow from the mobile phone</p> <p class="MsoNormal">held like a talisman against the dark –</p> <p class="MsoNormal">against the loneliness of being young</p> <p class="MsoNormal">as other figures seem to taunt</p> <p class="MsoNormal">by being three instead of one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And hidden at the window I observe</p> <p class="MsoNormal">this interplay of darkness and of threat</p> <p class="MsoNormal">as distant voices call and jeer</p> <p class="MsoNormal">and music snatches at the air</p> <p class="MsoNormal">in this, the hour of midnight lives</p> <p class="MsoNormal">before the silence of the dawn.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-36509311289677460822010-08-21T15:45:00.003+00:002010-08-21T15:53:10.486+00:00Morgan in school<div><i>I wrote this ten years ago, the last time Edwin Morgan visited Dunoon Grammar School. Someone else sent the poem to him, and he replied: "I was touched by her words. I promise to 'speak for us still' as long as I am able!" </i></div><div><i>And he did. </i></div><div><br /></div>Your words fall quieter now, <div>Poet, sometimes submerged in</div><div>The hornet hum that is</div><div>Technology's voice. Older, you yet</div><div>Play young men's games with</div><div>Joyous random images from</div><div>Mercury to Maryhill.</div><div>I see you a small, valiant</div><div>Bird-figure in canary yellow,</div><div>Quick light movements underpinning</div><div>Words as fluent as a song.</div><div>The circle of young faces,</div><div>Sunflowers in rapt attendance,</div><div>Bear witness to your potent</div><div>Weaving of wisdom with youth's vigour.</div><div>Speak for us still, poet, lest</div><div>The tide of dumbness sweep over our</div><div>Inarticulate longings, and we drown.</div><div><br /></div><div>©C.M.M. 11/00</div>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35440799.post-36896239849882186312010-07-08T10:43:00.002+00:002010-07-08T10:48:22.773+00:00Weathered<div><i>This poem is the child of the previous post - a development rooted in the same experience.</i></div><div><br /></div>The wind chases bright fractured<div>gleams over the grey sea, </div><div>the tree-dark green </div><div>of the encircling hill - </div><div>tosses the petals with small regard</div><div>for their fragile beauty.</div><div>The sun comes only in</div><div>short bursts punctuating</div><div>the fat grey of the clouds</div><div>gestating tirelessly above my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>In such a way it too comes - </div><div>I cannot call it He, this vastness</div><div>with its divine connotations</div><div>randomly and so seldom here.</div><div>But were it summer heat</div><div>always, without the aching</div><div>chill of clouded skies,</div><div>would I ever know the</div><div>sudden searing joy</div><div>of unexpected warmth?</div><div><br /></div><div>©C.M.M.</div>Christine McIntoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14198224025775398453noreply@blogger.com1