For Scotland I sing,
the Knox-ruined nation
that poet and saint
must rebuild with their passion
George Mackay Brown "Prologue"
I am not a saint
although there is the odd day
when I dare to call myself a poet
I am, nonetheless, all too familiar
with those broken down ramparts
that hold fast
to delusions of grandeur
and that survive all attempts
at structural dismantling
There is something in the soil
and in the water
some basic instinct
that hoards the myths
and jewels of religiosity
as toys for menfolk
that employs
the pointy elbows of unwitting accomplices
to repel invaders
who dare to enter the arena
and pollute
with their softness and compassion
and even steely persistence
the savage wars of status and entitlement
An unspoken claim
on the soul of a nation
that corrupts and defiles
and is perpetuated
like so many rites of passage.
And yet
Even as I dream of dismantling
and rebuilding,
I wonder
Is it even possible to imagine
an alternative nation
that cries FREEDOM!
not only for some
but for all?
Can the unicorn be released
from the rubble of patriarchy
to stand proud
as a symbol
for all that is unique
and unfettered
and otherworldly
and free?
