mad thoughts from the stone

mad thoughts from the stone

-

     I have spiders crawling on the walls

     of my poetry fort

     rock honed by millenia of salt

     and sea, a tattered book of poetry

the prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer

     twix heaven and hell, Eildon tree

     dancing underneath the Eildon tree

faerie queen whispers come with me

entangled, ensnared,        a seven year

reverie - snatched dreams in a silk web

spun in the 

                 spray wild night

-

          a spider tumbles and falls

-

     and the blood of the red Comyn

     spilled remembered desecrated stone

     scratching stalactites dripping down my

     granite soul the treachery 

of b******s killed before god

now watched over by bards baleful

eye

-

          eight scrambling legs falling

-

     and dreamt of godly things and pictish things

     and stone - like things sleeping

in the cold wet maw of the mountain 

beast

-

          a- spider falls

-

     and the sad double irony

     of the twice exiled King

     and the dead hooves and horses of

     the knights of the Celtic cross

were not lost on the tips of the wings of

the Angel ghost of          

                                   St Ninian     -     whispering

accepted at last

in a solitude of stone thoughts

-

          a spider falls to ground

-

     A darting mote of hope, peripheral

     shadow speed flickering cinematic movie frame

     the thread attaches catches life

     and death survival

the inborn geometry of god

the arachnid gospels weaving truth

in gossamer silk sermons of old

-

          a spider starts to climb

-

     I cough up the crushed ancestral bones

     and howl laugh understanding

-

" Aye, wee beastie, aye, "

-

     sword hand bloodied imprint absorbed

     energy merged stone wall

     tartan cloak/tight as night

     unknotting centuries of strangled

rope burn in ocean licked tones

rise up ! rise up !    shouted the

wise ( unbroken by night ) moon

-

          a spider watches unmoved

-

In the footsteps of giants  I stride,

 a behemoth, legion their  ghost

like lives touching/ converting to light

snapped from my past lives,

-

     " To Bannockburn, Bus driver, I have a date, "

-

the tingling of echoes of the triumph of spiders

-

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i have spiders in my poetic attic...caught in the web of the old famous bards...gossamer...mmmm Emily comes to mind.
Yes, Giants, the poets to whom we aspire---strangled rope burns remind me of Billy Collins.
and in the end, the Spiders win, we are the flies caught in the past.
very cool write, gram...love these last two from you.
j.

[gram linski]

thanks for the great review, j. was a bit of a different style of write for me so glad it came across as a cool write , and that the last two lines stood out, thanks again , much appreciated

[Eilis]

Something we've lost in the ambiguity of the 21st century is a bit of our connections to the past. The old pagan ways of communing with the earth and the ghost of before time--the ways those ways permeated the devotions of Christianity--these things have been largely abandoned for slick alloy and instantaneous satisfaction. Cynicism and pessimism. But the past is still there, and every poet who takes a serious moment to write a few lines is toying with the past in one way or another.

I love the way your poem reaches into the past and recounts it, mythologizes it. And the constants of stone and spiders as voyeurs of human folly and endeavor. The spider won't say much, but I wonder if it ever takes one of those legs and scratches its head watching us whip ourselves up for these moments that amount to the blink of an eye in the long view. But even if they are just a blip, we have a habit of carrying things forward and building the future on the past. The old Scottish heroes and villains are not merely history, but they are part of the fabric of culture, along with the places that are synonymous with their names. And these are the things that help us build our concept of humanity.

I believe Rabbie would be proud of this poem, Gram. It's a bit of an epic undertaking. And in a time when cynicism and despair often rule the day, you've presented something connective and introspective and humorous, but also serious work. Something lasting, I'd say. A nod to the past as we take the slow walk into the future. A definite favorite of mine among your poems. Good stuff.

[gram linski]

wow, thanks so much for your great review, Eilis, I was trying to convey that aspect of the spider and stone watching remembering guiding, wasn't sure if it came across as a coherent piece, but once again you have grasped all the salient details, aye the spider does scratch his head on occasion wondering wtf, lol, but it was a definite nod to the past and the residual energy, that bounces around life, caught in the corner of you eye, just in passing, appreciate the great review, Eilis , always love the depth you see in my poems,