A case for the defence. Do others share my sympathetic view? – Lesley Duncan
PLANT PARIAHS
Bandits! Outlaws! Outcasts!
Destroy them! Blitz them! Burn them!
Eradicate them from this green and pleasant land!
How sad to be the focus of such horticultural hate.
But the plant pariahs do have their admirers.
Giant hogwood, I like your pizzazz,
Waving your great umbelliferous heads
Above river banks and motorways.
You’re dandy for making peashooters.
If your sap stings, then Caveat puer!
Rhododendron ponticum, I wouldn’t swap you
For all your showy cultivated cousins. All right,
You’re a nineteenth-century Himalayan import
But took to Scotland like an energetic native.
Sealochs and hillsides are blazoned with your mauve in spring.
Swashbuckling mavericks of the countryside,
You suit the kingdom of the awkward thistle.
The distinguished Glasgow-born psychiatrist R D Laing (1927-1989) was also an accomplished poet. His collection, simply called Sonnets, was published in 1979 (Michael Joseph). Understandably for someone who looked deeply into troubled humankind, some of the sonnets are dark in tone; but No 37 shows him in pretty positive mood. – Lesley Duncan
There’s Light and Love and Joy and Freshness Yet
There’s light and love and joy and freshness yet.
There’re those who have something to celebrate.
There can be times we hope we’ll not forget.
A helping hand is not always too late.
Up really high there’s still clear perfect blue.
Morning must dawn as long as there is night.
Without the old there’s nothing to renew.
Once in a while it almost feels all right.
Although I know that light needs dark to shine,
I don ‘t expect to tell what atoms mean.
The universe is fine without being mine.
The flowers of countless valleys grow unseen.
What is above subsists on what’s beneath.
The world is not entirely blasted heath.
Now that Scottish schools are on holiday, here’s a reminder of the country adventures that children enjoyed in the pre-computer age. The celebrant is James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, also the author of that dark masterpiece, The Confessions of a Justified Sinner. – Lesley Duncan
A BOY’S SONG
Where the pools are bright and deep
Where the grey trout lies asleep
Up the river and o’er the lea
That’s the way for Billy and me
Where the blackbird sings the latest
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest
Where the nestlings plentiest be
That’s the way for Billy and me
Where the mowers mow the cleanest
Where the hay lies thick and greenest
There to trace the homeward bee
That’s the way for Billy and me
Where the poplar grows the smallest
Where the old pine waves the tallest
Pies and rooks know who are we
That’s the way for Billy and me
Where the hazel bank is steepest
Where the shadow falls the deepest
There the clustering nuts fall free
That’s the way for Billy and me
Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play
Or love to tear and fight so well
That’s the thing I never could tell
But this I know I love to play
Through the meadow among the hay
Up the water and o’er the lea
That’s the way for Billy and me
Sheena Blackhall experiences a less than sunny Sabbath in Spain. Note how cleverly her rhyme scheme is sustained as she tells her story of rain and incomprehension. The piece comes from her pamphlet The Red Horseman (published by Lochlands, Maud, Aberdeenshire, at £5). – Lesley Duncan
SPANISH SUNDAY
Rain is a high-powered hose-down everywhere
English dilutes in watered tourist-speak
Wrong-footed I gesticulate in air
Struggle where sullen vendors do not care
For foreigners, like Frenchman, Scot or Greek
Bull-ring I say. The waiters stand and stare
As I, with pointed fingers try to share
By charging up the pavement like a geek
My wish to see this ritual affair
You want a steak Senora, maybe rare?
A waiter guesses, wrongly. Heavens leak
The day is dreich’s a tale by Baudelaire.
I’m Gulliver in Lilliput. A freak
Tongue-tied by meanings that play hide and seek
Palm trees bend groaning, trunks lashed wet and bare
Costa del Sol shows its sadistic streak
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