A Skirl o’Pipes

The moaning of  the bagpipes… my Scottish muse Suzana Wylie (Susan Wylie Wilson) recognizes the overlay of bitter tears on the history of Scotland and on the very lives of her people.

This flash poem was inspired by my own impoverished prose, seen on this site (on the page titled “SWD 8”).

pipes flourish

The skirl of the bagpipes
The haunting of the moor
Call forth from lowering sky
Bean Nighe, tilting up her washing tub
To pour her grief upon the world.
There is no world but Highland.
All else can matter not
The pipes alone can call this mourning
Of a clan, of a family, of a people.
Grief is the fruit of Scotland,
Gleaned from the corners of the song
The notes that sit but are not sung
Driven downward toward the earth
By the beat of kestrel wings
To meet the purple thistle-heads
Thrust up from blood drenched soil.

 

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About erinsromance

Erin O'Quinn is a writer who has published all 35 of her books through her own company, New Dawn Press. She earned a BA (English) and MA (Comp. Lit.) from the Univ. of Southern California but says her best education has come from the badlands and the good people who inhabit them. From the outskirts of a small town in central Texas, Erin conjures up visions of ancient and jazz-age Ireland; Old World Wales and Britannia; and the Scotland of people from Picts to contemporary. The badlands of Nevada are in the mix, but far removed from these Gaelic shores. Most of O'Quinn's writing is here: Kindle US http://amzn.to/1w8PVgI Kindle UK http://amzn.to/24BcIcj Queer Romance Ink http://bit.ly/2mnG1hL( links, reviews, etc.) Sea to Sky http://bit.ly/2lJ72bd (epub or pdf links, excerpts) Smashwords http://bit.ly/1s3cf1q (epub)
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