Ross Maclennan

Why is this sea so deep and dark, when all around so light?
Can't others see how deep it is? So deep and dark and right.
O wilfulness, O wantoness, cold lust for night, not day.
Warm hands rejected, faces close and puzzled, look away
...

If Lear had hated Limericks and Betjeman a laugh,
If Wilde had leaned the other way towards a better half,
If Odgen ditched the doggerel and Milligan was sane,
If Poe had been a happy man and Plath had shrunk from pain,
...

I'm sure it was just yesterday
I left my glasses by the sink.
The children gone outside to play,
a rare and treasured time to think.
...

Oh, what a proud world!

Watch with awe, the skill with which we carve our pride
Upon the hearts of those whose passion's not yet burned:
...

Still...

Still as the moon in midnights' pond,
The darkness slept,
...

'Be honest, be open' they cried as they fled,
Back to their houses and home to their bed.
'The night is upon us and laughter is lost,
We played and we gambled and Jesus! the cost'.
...

It's a small black book that contains my life:
My mistresses' names and my dear ex-wife.
From my brokers fees to my dentists chair.
Even the girl who does my hair.
...

If I had lived a thousand years
And counted promises I'd kept,
The candles lit, the shrines erected,
How many vanished whilst I slept?
...

There is little doubt the Artist knows of life
And of death and laughter and of tears;
Of how to mock the tragedy, or draw the sting from strife
Or summon, seer-like, tenderness and fears
...

Do not regret the act, proud children,
Rejecting, causing, backward-looking.
Do not disdain to dream and wander,
Soaring, climbing, forward facing.
...

The blade that cuts clean is a much kinder knife,
For the wound heals fast not endangering life.

Wounds from steel that is twisted and feeds where it's bled,
...

If a moment belongs
In a stanza or song.
Is a treasure so precious and rare.
...

If I could swing but briefly, upon the bough where passion blooms,
I would but gently taste those soft embracing flowers.
Fragile tenderness, offered brimming with the calm innocence
Of morning dew; suckling the sweet bitter balm of cool aloes
...

The Wisdom of youth is a dismal pursuit,
Tempered by temper and hardened by boot.
The tremulous tears of the difficult age,
The pendulum swinging from orgy to rage.
...