Glen Coe



Who can understand the Scots
who hasn’t seen Glen Coe?
-Our dark cold heart of rock
haunted by cloud-shadows
history racing the green slopes
as phantoms escaping nothing
twisted stone prison and fortress
pitted deep against itself
in endless rain and mists’ confusion
riven schizoid fissured
strong and defiantly ashamed
enjoyed as drama only
by everybody else: Japanese
tourists by the busload taking
selfies of our psychotic
geology like an amusement park
this glacial culture
strewn with lethal erratics
manifest metaphor
of treachery and doubt.
And yet this broken heart
ours uniquely
as a golden eagle
above all others
still moves and soars.

This entry was posted in Archeology, History, Photography, Poetry, Psychology, Travel, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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