Category: Detritus

…will this be the weekend I finally get my house in order?

Probably not bloody likely, but a girl can dream…

The Yew Tree

by Brian McNeill

as performed by the Battlefield Band

A mile frae Pencaitland, on the road to the sea

Stands a yew tree a thousand years old,

And the old women swear by the gray o? their hear

That it knows what the future will hold,

For the shadow of Scotland surround you,

?Mid the kail and the corn and the kye.

All the hopes and the fears of a thousand long years,

Under the Lothian sky.

Chorus:

My bonny yew tree, tell me what do you see.

My bonny yew tree, tell me what do you see.

Did you look through the haze o? the long summer days

To the south and the far English border?

All the bonnets o? steel on Flodden?s cold field.

Did they march by your side in good order?

Did you ask them the price of their glory

When you heard the great slaughter begin?

All the dust o? their bones Would rise up frae the stones

To bring tears to the eyes o? the wind.

Chorus

Not once did you speak for the poor or the weak

When the moss-troopers lay in your shade

For to hide frae the thunder and count all the plunder

And share out the spoils o? the raid.

But you saw the smiles o? the gentry,

And the laughter of lords at their gains,

Oh, when the poor hunt the poor

Through mountain and moor,

The rich man can keep them in chains.

Chorus

And there as I stood and laid hands to your wood

It might be a kindness to fell you.

One kiss o? the axe and you?re freed frae the racks

O? the sad bloody tales that we tell you.

But a wee bird flew from your branches

And sang out as never before.

And the song that he sang was a thousand years old.

And to learn it along thousand more.

Chorus

My bonny yew tree, tell me what can you see?

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Man refers to Mankind and your interaction with the whole of human population. This rune is reversed, suggesting a separation from your fellow man. There is a lack of harmony in your interaction with others, either because you do not accept society or society does not accept you. Alternatively, this rune may also represent your separation from nature, and your ability to rise above the base level of being. As the rune is reversed, this may suggest an incomplete level of spiritual attainment or an intellectual block.

Eoh refers to the Yew tree. The Yew does not go dormant and therefore represents endurance. Even the wood of the tree is strong, resilient, and pliable – the Yew bends, but does not break. The evergreen nature of the Yew is present even in the rune itself, as it cannot be changed even by reversal. This rune is historically symbolic of death, but, as in the Tarot and as suggested by the nature of the Yew tree itself, death is seen only as a transmutation of something eternal and unchanging – the spirit.

(detritus)(dream)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

This is already posted on my poetry blog, but nobody ever reads that stupid thing…

Another Sunday Poem

Sunday morning she wakes

to a thousand drunken prayers

left in the night

by the eternal penitent

She gently removes the nails from his wrists

And turns to more trivial matters

Newspaper drivel

mixes body counts with fuel prices

fashion trends with natural disasters

class struggle with the fall TV lineup

All this violence and juxtaposition smacks of Christianity

Sunday is the patron saint of hypocrites

The television oozes talk of war

and athletes aping warriors

Murder is the king of Sunday morning

Worshippers kneeling in homage to a bloody human sacrifice

And failing to heed the lesson of it

There are days when it’s better to forget you’re human

better not to admit you belong to that

Sometimes she seeks absolution in sin

Lets forgiveness drip from her breasts like mother’s milk

And takes her turn at needing a saviour

More often than not one will be provided

The fisher king lies in wait

A thousand blessed kisses

could never heal a wound like that

but a girl could save her soul in the trying

Sunday morning she wakes

to a thousand drunken prayers

left in the night

by the eternal penitent

She gently removes the nails from his wrists

And turns to more trivial matters

Newspaper drivel

mixes body counts with fuel prices

fashion trends with natural disasters

class struggle with the fall TV lineup

All this violence and juxtaposition smacks of Christianity

Sunday is the patron saint of hypocrites

The television oozes talk of war

and athletes aping warriors

Murder is the king of Sunday morning

Worshippers kneeling in homage to a bloody human sacrifice

And failing to heed the lesson of it

There are days when it’s better to forget you’re human

better not to admit you belong to that

Sometimes she seeks absolution in sin

Lets forgiveness drip from her breasts like mother’s milk

And takes her turn at needing a saviour

More often than not one will be provided

The fisher king lies in wait

A thousand blessed kisses

could never heal a wound like that

but a girl could save her soul in the trying

(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Actual results may vary.

“So why don’t you be a man about it, like they do in the grown up movies?”

36 hours straight of nonconnectivity. ISP bastards.

After I’d awakened the first time this morning, I drifted back into a light sleep and heard my late grandmother calling my name in a soft and ancient Southern Illinois/Kentucky twang. I don’t know why I dreamt her voice, but I sure as hell display her legacy of sheer stubbornness every day of my life.

(detritus)(poetica)(myth)(opinion)(divination)

Danced this morning with my wee toddler,the famous and beautiful Miss Sarah Peanut, to a soundtrack including The Cure, Hank Williams III, and The Velvet Underground. Nothing like The Velvet Underground and Belgian Waffles for breakfast…