Destitution Road

Destitution Road
A lonely way
Through
A barren land

Stern mountains
Dark forests
Endless moors
And sullen streams

The wind is ceaseless
In its unending howl
Of lament
And sorrow

When famine raised
Its starving head
Only labour
Would stave it off

A horseman
Of the apocalypse
That visited the
Scottish West

Many homesteads
Now lie abandoned forlorn
Only their rowans remain
By Destitution Road

Picture courtesy John Fox

The empty lands

This week's debate addressed the issue of the lands, left empty by the clearances. Should they be left empty, as a wilderness? Or used for new opportunities for development.

Like a finger
pointing
at the empty sky
a ruin in an empty land

Like a weeping
the rowan sighs
for those
who will never return

As years pass by
unseen
not uncounted
the memory remains

The laughs and tears
the rowan remembers
of those
who would return

The empty lands
a memorial, an opportunity
history’s blank page
will pass final judgment

Cianalas

The whistle blows
the chorus reaches a crescendo
The steamer slowly backs
away from the quay

Faces quickly lost from sight
on the quay to those aboard
on board to those ashore
The last farewell's been said

As the town disappears from sight
Some will not see it again
A thought at the back
of the mind of all

Even longer ago
Departing hardly voluntarily
Forced by hands of gold
to abandon the land of heather

The certainty was even greater
As were the distances
for deportation
after the clearance

But whether for war
for compulsion
or to seek a better life
The yearning back remains

Dodging the torpedo of the enemy
Espying the shoreline of a distant land
or the smoking stacks of cities
The image remains alive

So when victory is sounded
And the opportunity appears
for the journey back northwest
To once more greet what's home

The old harbour
The empty moorland
The hills rising behind the croft
You're home

Calum Zachary

Hey, where are you?
Need a word, real quick
You and I, well, what do you say?
Be together for good

But listen, we're poor
Can't get any land
Your folks have so little
splitting it would leave even less

Don't get me wrong, though
I'll be yours alright
We are as one
And will always be

Look, come look, who's that?
He's here for the money
What my dad hasn't got
Hasn't had for so long

Hey, where are you?
Got some news, bad and good
We've got to leave the island
Dad's been turned off his land

Come with me tonight
Nothing left here for us
We'll start a new life together
Take our chance, wherever

They were to meet on the pierhead
To start afresh somewhere
The moon set early though
and darkness shrouded all

He could not find his lady
She could not find her man
He therefore went to America
without his love by his side

His name was Calum Zachary
A name living on in song
echoing his loss
across the waves and years

To Canada

The man walked down the road
his knapsack slung over his shoulder
although he had gained some land
he had lost his neighbours

There had been only one way out
to Canada
Cutting down trees
building the Pacific railway

Gratitude had led to this separation
for the man left his family behind
sending back money
that he had earned over there

His neighbours were behind with the rent
And as he had saved the proprietor's life
The reward was a piece of land
taken off his neighbours' croft

The man did not ask for a reward
even less for more land
however useful
And certainly not at the expense of his neighbour

So he walked down the road
His family staring after him
As he disappeared in the distance
Never to return

The clearance

Let's have some cuts
can't sustain all that lumber
I'm not here to provide
for those that can't help themselves

Back when Napoleon strode
the battlefields of Europe
we needed gunpowder
and only kelp would do

I had those natives
along the shoreline cutting
seaweed for me for
just a few bob

They didn't need much land
but now they're just sitting there
eating out of my pocket
leaving me out of pocket for all the meal

Going forth and multiplying
well, they can go on daddy's croft
divide, subdivide
and rule

I want my money out of them
Can't get it from anywhere else
Can't afford to be seen to be less rich
So they can't afford the rent?

Gone round the villages
Who's in arrears, off you go
We'll cancel what's owed
if you go to America

Here is the ship
you can take so much
leave the rest behind
including your relatives

Don't want to go, how dare you
Torch to the roof
Milk on the fire,
OK, we'll let you bury your dead

The statue stands grand
in the deserted glen
Green fields of grass
Rolling hills around

The statue stands grand
in the Canadian city
The achievements celebrated
of those boldly gone forth

Did they want to leave their
humble homesteads
where their forefathers
lived happily?

Achievements for sure
Many did great things
in the land of the prairie
But why not in their homeland?

Arnol

Empty windows look out on the yellowed grass
Panes blown out in a forgotten gale
Tiles disappearing from the roof
But no one is caring

The ocean thunders onto distant cliffs
A moving wreath around the western coast
An army of white riders incessantly
assail the crumbling fortress that is shore

Sagging poles carry rusting wire
No longer delineating the patch
of infertile, poor, unsustaining ground
where once cattle and sheep grazed

The door has gone, a void beyond
Another frame behind, also unshuttered
Countless rocks from the empire of
sonte, yet choked with rocks the ground remains

Walls stand up, bewildered now that
the roof has vanished, perhaps
a beam remains, collapsed into
the ruin below

A squall blows in, the scene darkens
no shelter here, in the old dwelling
an echo of years gone by
left as an in memoriam

Fled the yoke of the man in the castle
his cruel minions who cared not
to improve the lives of those
he was in charge of caring for

A distant gun echoes, multiplying the life it took
by countless millions, including
those who answered the call
from the humble abodes out here

Now crumbling slowly, remembering
the golden days of long sunshine and warmth
laughter, singing, merry-making
love, kinship and bonds

Some crossed the seas for better lives
Never to return to the humble home
Looking down to the shoreline below
Remembering all who departed

The proprietor

A cupola and statue
Not far from his castle
Looking out east over the harbour
A man who made his mark

Now a marker of Remembrance
then a token of wealth
ruthlessly accumulated
the seedbox of the poppy, and its dried sap

A war was fabricated
in the distant Orient
over the trade in this soporific
this analgesic - this addictive

The benefactor, so hailed by some
Made many an improvement
But selective who would enjoy it
If you were in arrears, off in the boat you went

Decided by his managers
wearing more than thirty hats at once
an impressive act of balancing
an abuse of powers never seen before or since

An arbitrary power of eviction
not always based in law
exercised by those in his stead
compassion and empathy were alien to them

A mixed view from the modern times
of what some term a drugs baron
Others, one who put the island into modern times
Money talks, even to this day

Three dozen their number

Long reach the arms of the sea
North from the channel off the isle of the mists
High rise the mountains
As they impotently block passage

Reach to the sky in vertiginous heights
Grey in the clouds, grey the rocks strewn
Brown in heather tumbling down
to a narrow green strip by the water

Three dozen their number, now only two
A ruinous house, the outline of walls
The poorest of ground, in strips parallel
Draining the bogland for crops

Fishing the waters to feed the mouths
Rearing some cattle for milk at the hearth
Three dozen their number, now only two
Where the others go to?

Look for them northward, on divided land
demonstrating the asymptote
the more you divide, the lesser you get
until you're near nothing, in all possible respects

Another sea arm, do not breathe in
You won't fit in your strip of land
You'll be wider than that
Three dozen their number, now only two

Whilst thirty-four cram onto alien shores
And two come and go
Their land went to sheep
But even that was not enough

And the stag now roars his lust
Whilst being chased, shot and gutted - for fun

Three dozen townships teetering
on the edge of existence
on the edge of the sea
pushed to extinction for the greed of another

Napoleon's defeat heralded their demise
Peace took their livelihood
An end to subsistence
An end to life, more than through war

What have we now, in the derelict corner?
A rich man's playground
A rich man's money press
Soon churning out power.

Three dozen their number
Now only two