Meanwhile in Glasgow the Scrap Yard Carries a Secret.

For more than seventy years in a run down area of a Scottish city called Glasgow a noted compound existed upon the top of a hill existed a place called by locals mad old metal. Commonly known in this world as a scrapyard.  Run down dirty and no match for clean modern on line parts today.  Yet it still existed owned by a cranky septuagenarian named Gonfreid McLeish.  Rusty metal and uneven wire and the obligatory German shepherd named Snooze, not as wild as he looked according to local children who regularly threw scraps for him. Every year that went by the metal in this compound seemed to drop to a darker shade of grey. more grey than rust, that is supposed to be within this mangled menagerie of mess what you could describe as treble sized round dustbin lids but without handles save for a smattering of holes atop of the lids.

“Wee scotty oan th’ wey tae schuil saw a lid chaynge shape tae a saucer ye see in th’ movies ‘n’ back again. Said hamish in th’ howf (pub).

Know one took a blind bit of notice except shrewd schoolchildren walking past this site to and from school they had noticed smattering’s of what appeared to be  vortex lights forming energy of red to the harmony of green, all speckling and arcing then drawing back to the lid metal. The children would scamper home to mums and dads babbling their tales of spinning lights bouncing from oversized grey dustbin lids.

But mums and dads just said “Git awa’ ye wee tell talers its only a jingle jungle of metal but how wrong could parents be, it would be Christmas eve at midnight when slowly the grey lids in the scrapyard would slowly rotate to a spin struggling to rise colour vortexes digging into the surfaces of the lids. Curtains in the industrial terrace district of the city pulled apart, the lids then appeared not to be lids at all but rather something else and it was apparent to all who saw, that they were watching wee space peoples going home for Christmas after seventy years behind Mr McLeish’s scrapyard you see McLeish is an alien and the lids UFOs small to the human eye cleverly masked as they are bigger on and upwards across the sky of Glasgow and who would know it was an alien base in disguise…

Author: Mason Cult Poet

Mason Cult Poet was born in Westmorland in the Lake District in a farming engineering community. On one side of the family many portions of nobility mainly the Stuarts. Mason Cult did as the herd does and went through the education process. attended drama school and ran small businesses. The stigma of mental health issues blighted him as it does with all creative people, was diagnosed in 2011 with a form of Asperger’s Syndrome which can impair executive function however it has given him a higher sense to see what others do not and from this ability he concludes the world is controlled by esoteric forces and that other interventions operate steering the world we know ro a new beginning.. What we witness we are forced to challenge and the work of Mason Cult assists this

Leave a Reply

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive
%d bloggers like this: