TRUMP, IMPEACHMENT, & POETRY
Stuart McKinlay:
The President and the Cat:
President Trump is speaking on television and as he speaks my mind drifts away from economic projections and the lowest average unemployment rates in history, wages are rising, are growing faster than management wages, the most inclusive economy ever to exist, the voice is suffused by wandering thoughts, to a willow trailing in a burn, and a breeze shimmering over the water, and the word pellucid comes to mind, it seems right, and is displaced in the mind's eye by the gentle face of a cat, my wee Ruri, bonnie Ruri[1] …
Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That's the way for Ruri and me.
Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Ruri and me...
...in the United States we're building an economy that works for everyone, today I hold up the American model to the world.. working together for the whole nation, China has agreed to remove trade barriers, where we were treated so badly, we went through a very rough patch.. we love each other...true energy security... the natural beauty of God's creation...one trillion trees...
Let's go wee Ruri,
More like a dug than a dug can be,
Up the river and over the lea
That's the way for Ruri and me.
(Poetic apologies to James Hogg.)[2]
Neil McKinlay:
Where the wild cat growls
And the red fox howls
As the moonshine lights up the Ben
When my mind sets sail
I catch a breeze for the Vale
And I navigate the Loch once again.
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| Stuart McKinlay Snr.'s ship "Fort Spokane" sailing under Sydney Harbour Bridge 1950 |
Where, Ah say, Where did that come from? Suddenly, I'm hearing faither aka Frankie Laine giving quite the laldy treatment to My heart knows where the wild goose goes / And I must go where the wild goose goes / Wild goose, brother goose, which is best? / A wandering fool or a heart at rest?... well, he'd know, of course; at least he spared us Mule Train.
But then, I see a friend, in Norway, reporting on Facebook that he is in the grips of Jack London's The Call of the Wild and, of course, White Fang, the wolfdog whose voice we heard howling so comfortingly over the snows of moonlit Ontario as children, before he retired to domestication. People don't really know, and it is to their loss, the voices of wolves, so beautiful to the ear, friends out there in the vastness beyond the trees, by yonder creek where branches crack like gunshots in the freezing nothingness; we do though (thanks to faither, the wandering sailor, as if you need reminding of our glorious homeland).
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| Written by faither's own hand |
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
... that unmistakable rousing note of panhandlers perishing in the mess of the mud and blood of their disintegrating dreams. I'm willing to wager the words are your own, and if they aren't, they should be.
Neil McKinlay:
Where did it come from? It was you wot started it! It doesn’t take much to get my mind a-wandering. The Schumer/Schiff Impeachment drivel on television was boring me as I read your wee ditties about you and Ruri walking beside babbling burns and twittering trees and what have you. It was Diamond and me that used to go walk about, every day a new adventure on the western hills above the Vale and Loch Lomond. For me, the “wild goose” was a a greylag down by Drumkinnon Bay. Aye, it probably was dad, with all his songs, poetic recitals, book quotes and travel tales, that brought the wanderlust upon me. I knew he had sailed to Australia, (I have the photo of his ship, Spokane, with him on board, sailing under the Sydney Harbour Bridge), but I was amazed that he had been to Tasmania before me. But I bet he never camped outdoors on a ranch near Springsure, Central Queensland, listening to an Arizonan recite Robert Service to the crackle of a campfire as its smoke rose like incense to drift among the heavens like the Milky Way! I love life!
Stuart McKinlay:
Yup, the The Schumer/Schiff Impeachment seems to be a dainty affair rather than a merry dance, all the fun of the unfair, they're so diffident. The Democrats are off on a namby-pamby expedition to they know not where, like they've gone and hooked their shark despite themselves, and don't know what to do with the thing with the camera running an' all. Does anyone really want a terribly nice President?
No, when I said "where did that come from", I didn't mean the theme, which I'd established whimsically enough, but the song itself; it's quite appropriate that I had to tail off lamely, interrupted by the persistent yowling of the bonnie Ruri, to get out for another catwalk - as you know, he insists I stalk the streets with him... That's the way for Ruri and me...
Neil McKinlay:
The Impeachment is all that dem Dems have left in their now empty arsenal to try to stop the Donald’s reelection in November. They have a snowball’s chance in sunny Queensland against him. It’s all their bare-faced lies and deception that is really turning Joe public agin them. Everyone with half an eye open can see that this is a complete farce. I’m thankful that at least the Republicans are trying to do the right thing, ie, physically follow the Constitution, rather than just paying it only lip service like the desperate Democrats.
The song was extemporaneous, inspired by and in response to, your ruminations about yourself and Ruri.
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