Fiach

I walk along the windy beach
Of the Moray Firth to teach
My son of the first to dare
Go from the water into the air.

We can almost see them now.
Lobefin fish struggle up somehow
From surf to sand they creep
On fleshy fins they leave the deep.

The fleshy limbs grow one foot each
To walk bravely away from the beach.
They explore a world on sturdy legs.
But in water they must still lay eggs.

Then some lay eggs in hard shell
Protecting their babies quite well
So further inland they can explore
Forests, plains, hills, and more.

Warm little pioneers find a way
To bear live young, no eggs to lay.
Some climb the forest trees where
Predators cannot harm hide nor hair.

Fingers that grip also pick,
Sharpen, and use a stick.
This can poke the holes in wood
To catch termites that taste good.

Binocular vision and growing brain
Lead some of them to explore again.
Down from the trees onto the ground
Tasting new foods there to be found.

From the forest some venture out
Onto plains where they will scout.
Running on legs built for speed
They evade the lion hoping to feed.

They can carry their food by one arm
And a club or stone to ward off harm
Is carried firmly in the other hand
To bash or hurl, defending the band.

They explore Earth from sea to land
Exploiting all habitats unable to stand
The drastic changes all taking place;
So they turn their eyes toward outer space.

They now go forward to bravely explore
Moon craters and Martian shore.
Heroes may die in search for the light
Of truth, wisdom, and insight.

Wind over wave crests foaming,
Bring my mind back from roaming
To see a crab scamper up the shore.
Perhaps it too will start to explore.

Domhnall MacPherson © (Fiach)

Fiach

Thoughts of An Ancient Farmer

Salty sweat drips from my burning brow
As I strain in the dust behind this plow.
The Sun is bright, the air hot as Hell.
Why I breathe this dust, none can tell.

I cough and ask the gods, “Why oh Why?”
So I gaze into the glare of the empty sky.
Am I punished for some bloody crime
That I can’t recall in this dust and grime?

It must have been a foul sin before my time
By my father, or his, in a past gentle clime.
The sin angered the gods to such cruel rage;
They burned the garden of the Golden Age.

Man and woman were sent into dusty fields,
To scratch the dry soil for meagre yields.
“By the sweat of your brow shall ye struggle to live,”
Said the gods without love or mercy to give.

I asked the shaman about the ancient fall.
“How did our father degrade us all?”
Moses the shaman, told us the story
Of Adam’s sin and his fall from glory.

Adam said, “she, the law first did break
When the fruit of knowledge she did take.”
Eve sought truths that the gods deny,
Good and evil, and the first great lie.

They lied that gods made us from mud,
Slime and dust, spit and crud.
They lied about our majestic source,
Fearing our leaning the truth, of course.

Gods said magic words, arcane chants,
Animated mud became man without pants.
Shamans in their arrogance and bluff
Deny that we are ancient star stuff.

In future we’ll avenge slandered Eve
Using complex brains we did receive.
There is no god but Gaia, our mother,
Earth, visible and real, and no other.

Our complex brains Gaia made us evolve
By climate shifts, thinking minds to solve
Alleles, markers, and nucleotide codes,
Translocations, repeats, and deletion modes.

She evolved our complex frontal lobes
To send into the cosmos, intelligent probes.
Finding our beginnings in a proto-star core,
A supernova blast, and then we did soar.

Protons fused into atoms of Hydrogen,
Carbon, Oxygen, Sulphur, and Nitrogen.
Off into space they sped trillions of miles.
‘Till gravity collected them into dense piles.

Big piles ignited nuclear-fuelled suns.
Little piles made planets in orbital runs.
One watery planet made life in a mix,
Molecules bonding a double helix.

The helix bonds lysed and translocated.
Alleles deleted, repeated, and mutated.
Mutation to mutation made most die out.
But some adapted to walk, think, and shout.

Large frontal lobes discovered our kin,
Amoeba, worm, lungfish, and lobefin,
Kangaroo, primate, ape, and mankind.
Gaia evolved our inquisitive mind.

Here comes that shaman to brow beat
My tired body in this burning heat.
”Thank god for not making your toils
Even worse here as your sinful flesh broils.”

The shaman tells me I will go up there,
To grovel for gods who didn’t care.
From this dusty field I’ll get no relief.
Yet no shaman’s lie will be my belief.

A glob of mud was not my sire.
Eve sought the truth that we all desire.
Our atoms burst from a giant star core.
Across space we sped, 10 billion years more.

We’re not magic mud, not conjured by gods.
We’re star stuff, from a journey against odds.
We formed planets and bonded molecules who
Stood up, thought, and sought what is true.

Domhnall MacPherson © (Fiach)

Doubting Didymus

I don't know art, but I know what I hate...

And I don't hate this.

Fiach

What? I guess you said it was not total bollocks and only moderately daft.

Fiach

Doubting Didymus

No, actually it was something of a compliment. I am not poetically inclined and find the vast majority of poetry appaling and unreadable. that I did NOT find this to be true of your work is about as complimentary as someone like me gets.

Edit: Seriously, its true. I'm complimenting you!

scigirl

Fiach- you wrote that stuff? Right on! And I thought those doctor types were all left brained. ..

I especially liked the second poem.

scigirl

Fiach

Thanks DD.

Fiach

Fiach

I have a collection that I have written over the years. I have one subcategory I call, Freethought Poetry. I have some in Gaelic but not many Gaelic speakers browse hear.

You know we Scots. We all think we are poets even if our poems are damn naffy.

Thanks for the kind words.

Fiach

Jobar

I wrote a lot of poetry back in my twenties; I still am seized by the muse every once in a great while. Here's one of the first ones I ever wrote that I thought was really good.

Blown-up stars' remains rush in
Contracting masses start to spin
Planets, built from lightest gases
Dust motes in expanding vastness
Culminates in me.
Intricacy.
A mind, beholder of it all.
Exalting dew drop
Or blank beige wall.
Going to knowing things unguessed,
Earth as Man as Star expressed.

Bane

Being half Scot, I too have the poet in me. Here's a favorite of mine from the poet McTeagle:

To Ma Own beloved Lassie.
A poem on her 17th Birthday.
Lend us a couple of bob till Thursday.
I'm absolutely skint.
But I'm expecting a postal order
and I can pay you back as soon as it comes.
Love Ewan



Here are more poems from the great McTeagle:


http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/8889/python/mcteag.htm