Ross Mackay

The shimmer of the morning cold
seemed to stroke its fingers across
my late morning dream.
You turned towards me,
...

The dust bowl of my poisoned breath
The tepid low narcotic test
The tempered brain falls from the nest
The captive tied a King in jest
...

Our play is made up of four different stories,
laid in different periods of history,
each with its own set of characters
...

Cario, Cario, Cario
...

Where way down east,
broken blossoms in her hair,
in the birth of a nation,
the intolerance in her stare-
...

- -Where She Watches Over Babylon- -
...

The night will bite like fingers on an egg,
leave a tang on the tongue like old coffee.
The holy neophyte with cat like tread
and wading through the elm heartwood
...

She whithers in the wind,
she crumbles in my hand.
I set the table for Sunday dinner,
just for myself, no one else was coming.
...

The Mother

Don't let go, or I'll be alone in my age-
tripping hither, tripping thither...
...

...

I


Let us daydream through 38th street
...

Take my life back four years, I recall the wild parties, the quick tempers and long summers. I can see them again...

I'd sing for blackbirds while we leant over the balcony, looking over Venice and watching the bright eyes. I can see them again...
...

We never saw the city lights,
just old earth under country stars,
the dirt track where tarmac stops
to walk one hundred hours-
...

Orpheaus and the soul sucking stone,
never to see Eurydice,
River Styx, to cross, one penny-
Disparity in the Hebridies.
...

Against her weeping head,
twenty spiders dead

And what is it you had to say?
Mantua too far away?
...

Out of the cradle, endlessly rocking
...

539 B.C, Ancient Babylon
...

1572 A.D. Paris.


Brown Eyes, make me your goodnight kiss.
...

Judea and the Holy Intervention
...

To the field at night,
yellow crisp moon dips its paintbrush,
into the tar sea of grass.
Sombre spectre in woe,
...