It loomed before me

a wall I’d only glimpsed before

built with bricks

I’d stepped over

in the past

It blocked all passage

barrier to where I wished to be

an obstacle that reached

as wide as high

and had done all along

It would not move

I could not shift it

mortar bound, its rigid face

growled down

and all around


And so I climbed


I found the footholds

the nooks and crannies

I stood abreast its height

and saw for miles

And there were others

at either side of

finding ways to scale

to reach that place

beyond the wall

And high upon division’s altar

hand in hand, we made a chain

we linked and found that 

on the other side of walls

we were the same

Meanwhile…In Not So Sunny Scotia

In my absence here I have been reading and researching. I have been engaging with social media and clicking on links to papers and documents, to videos and newsreels. I have been trying to find out more about what is making this world tick in the particular manner it is currently ticking. Like a timebomb.

One of the things I enjoyed about studying history when I was at school was when I realised that nothing happens in isolation. My older brother was the one who helped me see this.

The night before an important history exam he offered to help me prepare by quizzing me. I failed. Miserably. If I remember correctly he asked me how the First World War started. I can’t remember my answer now.

I do remember he said, ‘No. You’re looking at this all wrong. You have to look at what was going on elsewhere. One place wasn’t operating in a vacuum to another. Think about it. While you’re up here studying, the rest of the family are doing other things. Some of those things will be unimportant to you. But some of them could be rocking your boat. What if mum is arguing with dad? What if ….’

And on he went, describing what other people may or may not be doing that may or may not be impacting on my life.

I got it.

I finally got it.

He then went on to describe a series of events happening around the world at the time leading up to the outbreak of WW1. I was hooked. Every story he told, he would say, ‘Meanwhile….’


I’ve had ‘meanwhile’ in my mind a lot this while back.

The USA is bitterly divided on who to elect for president. Why? What’s on offer and what’s coming out of the closet around each candidate? And how much of what is revealed is true? How trustworthy is the established media? Whose corner are they fighting and why? How much of alternative media can be trusted? What is the source of information, do they have an axe to grind and what might that be?

Meanwhile, Britain has decided to leave the European Union. The Tory party seem intent on going for the so-called ‘hard’ option despite all evidence that suggests it’s the wrong option. No access to the free market if it means having to accept uncontrolled borders. Why is the Tory Party so intent in going for the most difficult option? Why would the Tory Party – capitalists of the first order – attempt to embrace the centre ground and sacrifice the pound in the name of immigration? Why is the rhetoric emanating from that quarter embracing xenophobic speech and helping, by their rhetoric, to cultivate antagonism towards the immigrant population? How many of the decisions made by UKgov are independent of that ‘special relationship’ with the US?

Meanwhile, in Syria, atrocities are being carried out against children. Why? In whose interests is it to control that area and why?

Meanwhile, in Israel and Palestine, what was done to one is being done to others. Why? Apart from history, is there psychology at play? Abused becoming abusers? Why are we so divided on seeing the connections?

Meanwhile, back in not so sunny Scotland, Nicola Sturgeon has promised the possibility of a second independence referendum for Scotland. Why? Is she a power-hungry politician intent on breaking up the UK to the dissatisfaction of those who value its togetherness at all costs? Why are there still so many Scots still against it? It surely makes sense to support something which allows the Scottish people to determine their own course in the world. Why are some then still resistant to the independence that would allow their own voices to be heard by virtue of having a government that they actually voted for as opposed to always having the government that the rest of Britain votes for?

Meanwhile, 40million citizens in Russia are mobilized to prepare for nuclear war.

Meanwhile, Scotland is sitting on Trident. Rejected by Scotland. But housing it, nevertheless, because nowhere else on the British Isles is capable of accomodating it, apparently. And it would be too dangerous to house near a large city. Greater Glasgow (population just over 1million) is 39 miles from Faslane, the Trident nuclear base.

Meanwhile, the Scottish Government is doing everything it can to enhance renewable energy as the best way forward.

Meanwhile, oil, Syria.

Meanwhile, new sources of oil discovered off the west coast of Scotland.

Meanwhile, some still believe that Scotland’s last referendum on independence was rigged. You think for a minute you’re walking out of here? We need your tax receipts.


It goes on.

The one thing that I am sure of in this muddle of information is that we are being manipulated. All of us.

How is it possible that so much of mainstream media sings from the same hymn sheet while there is evidence to the contrary?

How is it possible that so much anti-immigrant speech is being allowed? Not only being allowed, but being poured forth, in some quarters, like an avalanche of putrid vomit.

How did Hitler rise to power? Why were so many susceptible to his particular brand of fascist rhetoric?

How did World War 2 begin? What was going on elsewhere around the world that culminated in yet another war to disprove that the first would be the war to end all wars?

What is all the fighting about?

Is it fear of ‘the other’? Is it notions of a Caliphate? Is it protectionism of borders?  Is it humanitarian? Is it oil?

Is it, in fact, about who controls the means of providing their citizens with the sources of energy that allow us to switch on that TV? To run that car? To have the life that we deserve? At all costs?

Meanwhile, here in Scotland, a nation of just over 5million, some of us have a dream. The dream is that when we gain independence – and we will, eventually – we will pursue policies that reject nuclear weapons wholesale, embrace renewable energy as the means of safeguarding our planet while still allowing us to function in the world. We reject xenophobia, reject homophobia, reject austerity that hurts the poorest in the country. The poorest whose voices are not heard and yet must pay the cost of failure of fiscal policies and the austerity needed to balance the books. Whose fiscal policies? Whose interests are they representing? Where did all that revenue go to? Who benefited?

We reject the sectarianism that is still rife in this country of ours. A sectarianism that divides the population into Catholics and Protestants. Into two colours of two football teams. Into ‘yoons’ and ‘cybernats’. We reject the idea, repeated by mainstream media and successive UK governments that we are ‘too stupid, too small, too poor’. Despite evidence to the contrary. Evidence deliberately hidden by successive UK governments.

Natural resources are gifted throughout this world of ours. There isn’t a place on this planet that could not be self-sufficient in safe energy if the will were there, by those who wield the power, to invest in research and production. Why is there no will? In whose short term interests is it to safeguard the status quo? Where there is the will there is a way. I believe that.

But the will is lacking. Why? That is the billion dollar question. The Rockefeller Foundation renounced fossil fuels in favour of pursuing renewables just prior to the Paris Climate Talks last year. From what I’ve read of the Rockefellers that sets alarm bells ringing. Has the agency, founded on snake oil, become so altruistic that its main concern now is to preserve the planet? Or just some of it?

Scotland has already shown that it is possible to produce energy through many different, safer means. Research and investment into wind, into tidal. Feckin’ kites for god’s sake! This country – rich in oil – wants another way. The research needs developing. But the finances available to further that aim have been cut by UKgov.

For yes, we receive pocket money from Westminster. Scotland may be an oil rich nation but the revenue from these many years of production has gone south. Privatised and misused. Successive UK governments – regardless of party politics – have used the revenue to give tax breaks to the rich or develop selected areas of England. All other countries can fend for themselves and then take the blame when what is allocated does not – cannot – counter policies made elsewhere for the benefit of some.

I recognise that large swathes of England have been neglected at the expense of a select few. I’m as heart sorry for them as I am for us. Wales. Northern Ireland. For Scotland.

I recognise that money rules the world.

I recognise that those whose sole pursuit is money and power don’t give a damn about anyone else but their own interests.

I recognise that people are considered collateral damage by those who wield power.

I recognise it. And I reject it.

I will fight for Scotland’s independence till the day I die. Not because we do actually contribute more to UK’s coffers than they advertise and we want to keep that to help our nation in the way we see fit. Valid though that reason is, it is, for me, not the main one.

It is because we are ignored.

It is because our values and aspirations are ignored and deemed unimportant.

It is because we are deemed expendable. It is because UKgov allows and encourages, advertises, an erroneous image of Scotland to sustain their power base.

It is because successive UK governments have allowed and promoted the notion that we are a nation of scroungers.

And they have not done that for no reason.

Double negatives aside, how does one conquer?


Divide countries in a union – any union – by the language and information you use. Manipulation.

Blame ‘the other’ for failings in economic policies. Manipulation.

Control the media. Manipulation.

Lie. Manipulation.


Yes, this is my conspiracy theory.

But what is a conspiracy but what we are NOT told?

And we are not told plenty.

So I will continue to search. I shall continue to seek answers to why it is, apparently, imperative that wars are carried out in the name of one thing while ulterior motives are present.

I will continue to question why US and UK still sell weapons then cry foul when they are used. Why regimes are undermined then controlled. Why lives are unimportant in pursuit of something else. Anything else. Whether that be religion, oil, land or power for power’s sake.

Our world is a fucked up mess and we are all culpable. Every last one of us. We let our governments play by standards and rules that we are not privy to. We let them build the weapons of the future to maintain supremacy.

We let them.

Is Nicola different?


I don’t know.

I think she is.

I believe she is.

Her actions suggest she is.


But, no matter, it is not the SNP that drives the voice of independence.

I am not a member of the SNP.

I am not a member of any political party.

Been there, seen that, done it. Scottish Labour. The northern branch of Westminster. I did not leave them. They left me. They left all working class people in pursuit of something else. Something now indistinct from what the Tories stand for.

I abhor party politics.

They’ve proven time and again they do not work.

Except for themselves.


SNP? They, for me, are a vehicle that will give the people of Scotland the independence they need to change our corner of this globe and, hopefully, the wider world.

If I were to be a member of any political party I’d be Green.

It is the natural choice for someone who wants to protect our planet in oh, so many ways, from the worst excesses of ourselves.

Oh, one of the things that my brother and I disagreed on way back then.

Him: If I have to die I want everyone I know to go with me. I don’t want to think that everyone’s here while I’m not.

Me: Oh, God, no, when I die I want to think that there are people here I know and love keeping the story going.


I feel I should apologise for this post. Not the content, per se. But the hurried together, rather manic way in which it has been written. But, you know what, I’m not going to.

I will not apologise for being worried, for caring about people all over the planet, for wanting my children to have a future. For all children to have a future, no matter their race, creed or colour.


I also wanted to take the time to go back and insert references/links to what I have been finding. But, I’m not going to. I’m not going back. I’m going forward. The information is out there. The reasons are there. Find them. If there is one thing that the internet was surely invented for was to help save us from ourselves.



It’s Friday. I’m on holiday from school for a week. Thank heavens. What a week!

May your god or none go with you.

May you know peace wherever you are. May you know peace in your heart.

We’re just this tiny blue dot.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in space….

The Bigger Picture

plate glass closes tightly, thickly frosted

screened with lacework, curtained, floor to sky

scenes we’ve known diminished, still reducing

shrinking into rooms, to let them lie


the scenery is panelled, framed and stillborn, stale the air 

through windows draped in layers and layered again

wedged tightly shut, a febrile, formed protection

muted from all colour, from all pain


the bigger picture’s framed by heavy woodwork

wrought iron, trellises, most intricate

but it calls across the lands, traverses oceans

recognize again, perceive my work


the faintest breeze, a stirring spiral, reaches

downwards, into rooms, through chimneys climbed

a twitching, eager nose and then one finger

responsive to the urge to know again


repossession reaches, that one finger

then two, then three, then four, then many more

the barricades, torn down, from every window

a tempting glimpse of what may be in store


the sliding doors grow wider, wider, wider

a gush and rush of air that surges, calls

come and look, have sight once more, remember

as once you were before entrapment by these walls


the bigger picture holds aloft a mirror

questions what is seen and what is not

validates existence by reflection

refuses to believe all she is taught


the bigger picture’s green and blue horizons

clarified, the seascapes, mountains, open fields

panoramas, visions, prospect, vistas

to veritas, the cloistered view must yield

In the darkness of the storm, we can see the rainbow

The Ghosts Of Cable Street…

Wee Ginger Dug

You might think that with a Brexit vote supported by just 52% of those who voted that the Tories would go slowly and carefully on their plans to take the UK out of Europe. You might think that they’d be concerned to ensure that they gained the support of the whole country. You might think that they’d be careful not to antagonise other EU countries which hold most of the cards in Brexit negotiations and which are concerned about the fate of their citizens who live in the UK. You might think all of these things because you’d be a sane, rational and reasonable person. Which means you’re not a Tory.

The Tories have instead chosen to use the Brexit vote as an excuse to go full on fuck the foreigners. They want companies who employ foreign citizens to list them, so that the companies can be shamed. In Britain…

View original post 1,183 more words

A Different Table

sitting at the same table

watching while

food disappears from my plate

a recognised

invisible hand

reaching across my shoulder

another from beneath a tablecloth

patterned in red white and blue

feeling the hunger

but waiting for decency and manners

to acknowledge that what is served



by me

I have a right to

realising, eventually, that

the currs will feed first

be favoured

that, in that dining room


kitchen staff


are by the by

ignorance is indifferent

much flaunted manners

a learned behaviour

that breeding will out

the pilfered silverware laughs as it clatters

among the nonsensical chatter

lives brokered and bartered

leaded receptacles fall


and death becomes invited


its toll growing

while the same knowing hand

sprawls messages


and obviously

that counter truth

my table

my plate

my food

stolen from me

while calling me


and thief

the parasite

peddling lies

breeding disharmony

and hate


Waited too long

We leave that table

We leave those plates

We leave the inhospitable

We leave

In our kitchen

We have all the ingredients we need

To make a new meal

A better meal

To season it

According to our tastes

We serve it

Share it

Sit at a different table

A round tablecloth of multi-hued



Consumes fairly

Mutualism moreso

We need

A different table


To continue the analogy, I am currently consumed by politics and news. Scunnered by it, to be honest. Like I’ve eaten too much and want to barf. The taste of what is being served inter/nationally and globally has me retching. And I know I’m not alone in this. Between school work, family, writing and following politics and news like a demented disciple, I’m not on WordPress at all at the moment. I even thought to delete my account, thinking ‘what’s the point?’ but I can’t quite bring myself to do that. There’s too much of myself here.  Forgive me please for not visiting. I’m sure the urge will return. Until it does, may I offer you all my warmest wishes and blessings and hope that everyone is doing what they can to change the menu.x 

These Pancake Days

Had never known the pancake days

Her contribution to that sweetest feast

The land she worked

Had never seen a coffee house

Nor taste inhaled

Fast food a crust too quick consumed

While toil prevailed


Had never heard of internet

Her contribution down across the years

A lonesome sound

Had never seen a telephone

Imagined wireless

Her conversations few and far between

In language under stress


Had never wanted more than home

Her contribution all that any woman wants

Or man could need

Had never thought that there could be

Another way

Nor wished it so

Until that day


Had never once believed that she might find

Her contribution nullified by greed’s desire

And dark intent

Had simply held to land and work

To family and friends

Believed that that would always be

Until her end


Had never plotted, planned or killed

Her contribution life-affirming

Always so

Had shunned all retribution

Though bereft

Held fast to memories in death

While history slept


Had never thought that there would come a time

Her contribution could arise again

And she might live

That one would come from other days

With plan in tow

Would know what she had not

Right wrongs of long ago


Had never thought she might be pivotal

Her contribution wending down through time

A story lives

Had never known, how could she then

That space remembers and relays

Fills in the blanks and notices

Appreciates her ways


Had never known of pancake days

Her contribution to that sweetest feast

Eviction’s hand

Had never once confessed allegiance to a distant throne

Misfortune’s twist

A feudal lord, a flock of sheep

The tethered wrist


Had never once inhaled the bean nor tasted sweet by artifice

Her contribution to that cause

Too distant past in other age

Had never once known circumstance

That changed her ways as that day did

While haunted she her highland home

To simmer there till duty bid


Had never known such vengeance in her heart

Her contribution now a bloodlet thing

A howling cry

Had thrown her past into the present

Outwith all time unto this place

The peat is prepped, the griddle hot

These pancake days


Vague world she lives within, and outwith, distance

Abstraction’s silhouette is lost to all

In body, mind and soul, without existence

Suspending rumoured life with no recoil

Her vantage is exterior, objective

Surveyor, with a click, her irised eyes

Scan in black and white, a negative

Unequalled glimpses caught devoid of lies

Approval pending passionless perusal

Time, motionless, postponed, at strange command

Impassively, she views without arousal

No finger lifted by immobile hands

She’s frigid in a zone bereft of features

Motility awaits what other thinks

Canopied reflection while viewed creature

Intuits fate, her future indistinct

Her patience ponders choices until certain

A settled will determines when she moves

Eternal present fleeting while one person

Verifies inaction and approves

Legging It

I’m not pregnant

I’ll never be again (just so’s you know)

Then why’s my belly so distended

(Like I’m three months gone

And my secret’s starting, now, to show)


It could be constipation

But I don’t think that’s it

If you’re at your dinner, please excuse,

For the first thing that I did, on returning home from work,

Was to take my kindle for a sit


It might be all the Revels that I ate last night

Why, oh why, I did, I do not know

Except perhaps for comfort

(That all chocolate brings)

We women ( and some men) know this is so


It could be from the BLT that I ate for lunch

Sitting in my gut and festering

Wondering why I did

(When I did not enjoy)

Exponential indigestion and thinking


It could be from the second glass of wine consumed

Unused, this while back, to tasting grape

Gurgling in my gut, with too little food,

Objecting, as tums do

And going ape


I’m thinking that it could be from the seven weans

Who’ve stretched my belly out of sync

And, as soon as I relax,

It all goes to pot

No wonder mums and dads need stronger drink


I’m tempted to suggest that I’ve been too lax

In yoga exercises and the rest

Delaying till tomorrow (what needs done today)

Of all excuses,

This one sounds the best


My tablet’s resting on a little mound

(It’s handy and I think I’m doing well)

Slurping on the red stuff

(With too little food)

Relaxing while my tummy grows and swells


Maybe I am windy, (hadn’t thought of that)

It’s never on my mind (swear on my heart)

Maybe if I squeeze

(And groan a little bit)

I’ll get a flatter tummy and new start


I’m not troubled by the swelling

(Well, maybe just a bit)

It’s awkward, as hell, in too-tight jeans

Bugger all the effort, (I paused to hunt them out)

I understand why people wear leggings


The comfort that they bring (never mind the bulge)

Explodes the myth of uncool (all that guff)

It’s either that or jammies

(And it’s way too early)

And too many folk here to go in the buff


I’m tranquil in my leggings with my pregnant pause

(Revels are waiting in the drawer)

The working week is over

(Thank god for it)

Why would any working woman want more


Yoga on the morrow

(With my fingers crossed)

(It’s not my fault, she cancelled every class)

Not worried ’bout the belly (I can cope with that)

But don’t get me started on my arse!

Hope Sings And Dances



Hope springs eternal in the fields where freedom grows

Gushes forth forever and, with liberty, it flows

It dances and it frolics while it buds and builds anew

Pleasures in the pastures where the words are strong and true

It glories in a garden that will always foster fair

Edifying, magnifying, everyone who’s there

It weaves and wanders wondrously, pervading every dream

Paves the way with petals that are always what they seem

It does not lie to have its way, though despairing may accuse

For it’s allied with the future and a world it won’t abuse

Hope springs and dances for the right to live again

In the hearts of all who seek it and feel its longing pain

Hope smiles and witnesses, will not abandon you

But dances still because of life and dreams it won’t eschew

Remember, in that garden, there is room for all who see

That winter cedes to spring that blooms each and every year

We nurture it and take it with us everywhere we go

And tag the dancers, one and all, so hope its seeds may sow

With hope that never dies a death, for eternally it springs

We build a world that starts, right here, where hope will dance and sing

Give hope a voice that reaches far and fills the hills and glens

A voice that touches one and all, transforms their lives and then

Let hope be in the notes of every song it can conceive

From island homes to city streets for, with hope, we may believe

So when hope asks for permission, for it never will impose

Let all who hear the voice of hope sing all the songs hope knows

Foot Soldiers

all hail to ye, deceased, forgotten heroes

whose lifeblood nurtures soil on nations built

once watered it with sweat and toil and seeds sowed

to reap but only death for all life spilt

all hail to mothers, fathers, generations

who set foundation stones, the bedrock laid

whose transitory lives persist in permanence

by paying of the price that must be paid

the living and the being and the doing

the dying unto self as years unfold

the sacrifice, the giving, life unravelling

as youth claims future, naturally, from old

all hail to ye, the vanguard, on whose shoulders

we build, it shall not pass in vain, that life you give

in honour and remembrance of foot soldiers

heroic, every day, in life well-lived

as once you were the present, still the future

your stake, the building blocks, that stand time’s test

as examples, living ever, in the nurture

of the relay, bearing batons, while you rest

all hail to ye, the immortal, timeless heroes

you have not passed while life holds firm the hands

of those who fill formation and then follow

no, never shall there be a final stand

your blood belongs and runs in endless heartbeats

you did not die, you live till time stands still

all hail to ye, we hear, salute your footsteps

foot soldiers, marching onwards, always will