Back slapper

 Back slapper

get back in line

Backslapper gonna make you mine

Do you the things that I want you to

Back slapper

You gonna slap me black and blue

Kindness never killed the cat

Curiosity did that

You keep slpping all them backs

There gonna back you in a corner 

Gonna lay you out flat

Catnapper on the pay of the man

Painstaker you gonna carry the can

Rain wrapper gonna drink your span

Slam dunker in the holiday van

This kind of love

 This kind of love isn't floating my boat

This kind of love is sticking in my throat

This kind of love,

This kind of love

This kinda, this kinda love

This kind of love isn't doing me any good

Oh I should have been in showbiz

I'm in the wrong neighbourhood

This kind of love, this kind a love

This kinda, this kinda love

This kind a love is like a bottle of wine

Corked in the middle, it's way past its prime

Down in the alley with the dirt and grime

This kind a love is some kind a crime

This kind of love is getting my goat

This kind of love is making me bloat

I've gorged on the love, I've worn out its coat

I need a new candidate before I have to vote

That kind of love is winning the race

I want that kind a love to take this one's place

It's all up in the air, it's over the line

This kind a love is some kind of sign

Somebody like you

Here it is the mountainside

The moon like surface

Meet your guide

Its uphill from now

Be on your way

The wise pilgrim knows he cannot stay

Be up high, closer to God

The shoes on the other foot

And the horse is shod

First, there was a Tailor

And next came the Priest

But the crucifix jailor

Was not one known least

He was a soldier

A fighter like you

And like you he once was on a mountain too

Giant’s Table

 The Rocks have splodges, splotches of black

Moss spotted, lichen baked, the microbe rack

Faces that were once cracked

By the ice and snow

A shattered crown, a humpty dumpty

A Jack on a hill with a crow

And a crowing goes Jack now

His pock-a-dot tied up in a sack

A stick on his shoulder

A whistle on his lips

Hip-hopping over boulder

Tip-toe topping down dips

A slipping on wet stones

The rushing galling river glen

The flushing archipelagos

Of Moss, liverwort and lichen

The saxifrage in Saxon tongues

Lolling, lapping at the fringes

Watercourses bleeding through the rock

 

Water falling in dark singes

The high table land set in cloud shadows

Laid for a feast of the giant of the mountain

Yet his guest never comes

Never treads foot on steep path

Nor tows his flag pole up

Nor visits with his laugh

 

This cold place of Ghosts and stages

Actors rehearsing dead plays

Poets reading from never seen before pages

All is secrets up in this plot

All is hand tied

Mouths closed

You get what you’re given

And you’re not given a lot

 

These are the days on the thunder mountain

Where the crags are the stalls

And they echo their applause

In claps and snaps

And cracks in the atmosphere

In the buzz of the dead listening skies

In the hearts that crack and break up there

On the mountainside of the mountain lair

Highlands in the Heart

My heart is in the highlands

The lowlands are gone

My mind is making no bones about it

If my love will not wait

Then I’ll not hesitate

And follow the three kings

Who do not doubt it – do no wrong

Come kisses and runes

Remember your tunes

That play as the bag pipes on stages

And the Loch is not forgotten

By the songs they have begotten

As by Pan who listens throughout the ages

Oh four is the number and the number is six

Who must remember to dance at the jigs

And follow the Pages

Who dance like the sages

And beckon on old ancestor wigs

The caber is tossed

The rope is tugged

And men will be men

In ghost or as rugged

Their faces show lines

Their fathers once wore

As their bodies old sinews

Strong as lions that roar

The place in Glen

Where these favourite men

Pulled hand over hand

Until they won

Echoed with their Heave Ho

The rope tight like a bow

The line that can never be broken

Back through the mists of time

To the devil’s very own crime

These mountains have echoed to fighting

Cain fought Abel

Joseph did his father

Abraham prepared Isaac for the slaughter

But as you walk up Glen Nevis

And shadows leave the skies

The sun sets all men free

In its lighting

Song of the Rocks

 Sat on a boulder

With a sac on my shoulder

Watching the river flow

The air grew colder

And I felt  much older

Remembering my time must go

Let go the past

Like a jet it is fast

And flies by just

So and so

I take out my glass

And look at the lass

Who told me my love

Must be slow

Oh come to the hills

Where the Buzzard shrills

And the birch bark peels its skin

And though time marches on

The last words of its song

Have yet to be fully writ in

With a song on my sleeve

And a one to believe

My heart is free as the crows

Who do all hurry on

In their black and white song

Just as the river that flows

Manna from heaven

The dial tone of eternity, rings on and on
Until God - the operator
Reconnects you
I have run out of money I say
Can I reverse the charges
Sure who are you trying to get through to?
Anyone, Adam, Abraham Cain, Isaac
Jesus?
Jesus doesn't listen
Oh sure he does
No he doesn't he just puts the phone down, I tried him the other Sunday
He has BT call minder, I say my name but he never picks up sometimes
That is very sad, and what about the other prophets?
They are too busy trying to set each other's pants on fire,
Or putting them out.
So what do you want me to do about it?
I don't know just give me some sign, please tell me what I should do now, I need a sign please