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Aquarius Buried Treasure Callanish S T O N E D Q U A R T Z McMac Pardon? Tattoo Camera Obscura High Creagan The West Highlander Pot Of Gold StarVoyagers Deep Breath Vulpes Vulgaris Richard |
H.M.S. Belfast Firing Range Royal Visit Crisp and Even Elizabeth Great Court S.T. Barnabas Runaway Vengence Weapon No 1 Water Trough Woolwich Ferry CloudBusting Segas Showing My Age 39 Rue Grande Nigel Knows Disco Not Cricket It Is Better Mind How You Go No Flowers Ashes to Ashes R.I.P. Feminist |
Rooted in the centre Of this Great Hall, Solid silence in my head As carpet wall to wall, No ringing footsteps Where my feet are placed, No hurrying scullions Where my body spaced, Only sound of travelling blackbirds And shadows, that cross the light, Draw back to reality Thoughts of royal might, And days of purple and mink, Pheasants feathers, peacocks fans, And roses, dew dropped, pink. If kings and queens walked these boards Then Ceasars columns once camped here, If cohorts, confused, Mused at antler picks And hammerheads of stone, And wondered at finds of flint, At curving surface of hone, The sight from fortress hill, The safety of this place, Will surely bring another Age Of achievement, and grace. |