Auchenshuggle Dreamin` Oan Sic a Winter`s day

By Roddie McKenzie

Auchenshoogle Dreaming, on Sic a Winters day

 

( The HawkHill and Sinderins)

 

 

As my eyes cleared of the watering chill,

there was a familiar vision:

crescent moon in that Prussian blue sky

remembered in- as in Oor Willie:

white arc over a douce-town horizon,

piked with steeples.

 

Stoaterin`frae the Campbeltown Bar on the Hackie

reeking o` Cally 80,

I saw it framed by the Gothic steeple of the Church,

despite Sinderins, empty

ae cuddies and silhouettes of spear-heided bobbies.

 

 

That silver sickle sinking in the west,

shone through eighty years of Scottish childhoods.

I took comfort from seeing it.

Jings! crivvens! Help ma boab!

Oh tae live in Auchenshoogle,

Wi` Soapy, Eck, Bob an` The Broons.

Times I wished for woods around me,

instead of the tenemented canyons o` Glesga.

And to find a lucky four leafed clover

or sixpences in the grass.

 

Years later,

I`m still seeking that lost,

black–inked horizon.

o`er the Stoorie Brae.

 

Forever,

Auchenshoogle.

 

 

 

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©Roddie McKenzie   23/2/15