The Paper Shop
see the different cogs in the same big machine
different pencils with the same lead inside
from different kitchens with the same cuisine
on different desinations but on the same ride
Tom gets ready to go to work at half past five
didn't know his world was about to fall apart
buys his morning paper and twenty Park Drive
then joins the sea of jellyfish without a heart
over a mass of overalls bland clouds drip light rain
that enormous brick box will soon have men inside
outside in metalic blue skies the sun shines in vain
the few spots of rain that fell in the morning have dried
chimneys tower over a checkerboard of streets
a labour of love emanates from quaint little rows
from the Paper Shop you can buy lucky bags and treats
but the deep seated furrows of mechanization shows
his neighbors are relaxing at Sutton on Sea
Tom's never been there, he doesn't have a car
he never see's the cornfields blowing wild and free
from his own terraced house he never strays far
he soon got over his wife dying of cancer
now in his fifties a new job he'll never find
to rising unemployment there seems to be no answer
still the Paper Shop daily feeds Tom's hungry mind
on his way home Tom buys the Lincolnshire echo
to recycle time by the fire till eleven
from the turntable comes the sound of Buddy Crecko
but he's run out of fags 'cause the shop shut at seven
there's a suit in the wardrobe for church on Sunday
where incense and sunlight float on a stained glass wing
his mind's not on the sermon but work on Monday
and on Sunday lunch that will be fit for a King
more newspaper scandals under the setting sun
a few pints in the 'Steam Hammer' to strengthen the strains
as Tom hails a victory that he never won
with industrial breath and deep nicotine stains
his kids have all gone now, with three girls he was blessed
ignored warnings of an imminent heart attack
his fish and chips he clutches close to his chest
but the weight of the future will soon be lifted off his back
it will soon be morning when the jellyfish 'clock in'
and civilised society gives it's final shout
leaving smoke and unfinished crosswords within
as Tom prepares for the final time to 'clock out'.
Idyll
an idyllic thatched cottage on the edge of a dream
but do things always appear to be what they seem
some wild ducks play on a heavenly loch
while a Heron stoically keeps an eye on his stock
just like a lily will always stay on it's leaf
Calum and Eilidh are solid in their belief
like a Curlew and Plover on a North Uist beach
to move off the island is deemed out of reach
cottages dotted about like buttons of gold
when the wind didn't stir it was a sight to behold
the sun illuminates fields brimming with brass
in a land sprinkled with lochans of sparkling glass
dramming away nights of island hospitality
heedless of the ongoing harsh reality
the wind rattles a necklace of lassoed stones
that subdue the thatch with it's agonising groans
a dimly lit room with the fire in a rage
this weather beaten abode has faded with age
the mornings scattered Corncrakes cry in plaintive song
songs about people that didn't live for very long
fresh trout and oatcakes make a sumptuous meal
to the constant whiring of Morag's spinning wheel
Calum gathers his livestock into the shed
while his Wife mends his tweed with invisible thread
an impressionistic offering from Monet's brush
the coastline is chaotic but the meadows are lush
but then came the howling gales and pouring rain
that came through the roof as it had nowhere to drain
green lichened boulders sat ensconced in the bay
Calum mops his brow as he gathers in the hay
soon pipe smoke will fill the room with it's musk
and chimney smoke will cover the last light of dusk
subdued Gaelic murmurings without a care
though children's laughter no longer fills the air
they all moved to the city where some of them thrived
some of them didn't fare so well, some didn't survive
spirited Father, devoted Wife and Mother
they died within just a week of each other
a Golden Eagle was flying overhead
when their last will and testement was read.
Sentinel
drop the drawbridge down but don't make a sound
the Sentinel see's everything that lies all around
his spiral staircase has many twists and turns
he has to make sure no-one poisons the urns
in the middle stands a fountain that will never run dry
beyond towering clouds it points to the sky
drink from it's waters and you'll stay here forever
the two of you bound in the castle together
the Sentinel see's many people all around
as the drawbridge is dropped without making a sound
to the outer courtyards some of them may come
but the inner courtyards are not easily won
to the inner sanctum is but harder still
only one person in the whole world can fulfill
as one you will write a manuscript together
on unending scrolls that will roll out forever
on the walls fading tapestries of yesteryear
replaced by new paintings that you both hold dear
it's high walls let you both roam wild and free
while the monsters in the dungeon are under lock and key
the canary in the birdcage can't stop singing
about the fine treasures that you keep on bringing
there's a forest of whispers but silence in the halls
merriment and laughter at all of your balls
bad memories are kept firmly behind closed doors
the Sentinel will always sooth your worst sores
there are countless castles impossible to find
as YOU are the Sentinel and the castle's in your mind!
Desueutude
The day is serene and still
a huddle of young men depicted in their prime
sipping coffee amidst mutterings of Gaelic
ciamar a tha thu? Tha mi gu mor, ciamar a tha sibh fhein?
joy exudes amongst the convival spirit
in the near distance a young man with a white stick
stands motionless, waiting for his boat to come in
the day is serene and still
unrelenting storms have the final word
timbers lay silent in barnacle rotting dignity
their skeletal remains reflected in the mirror surface of the loch
boats berth elsewhere
the people have long gone
apart from one solitary figure
an old man with a white stick
he waits impassively for his boat to come in
because nobody told him that the pier had collapsed.
Uisge - Beatha
sanctifying a land of smooth decay
scents of gorse and crab creels come together
muir burning, nutmeg and freshly mown hay
stags gallop across the green bouncy heather
a tinkling burn like a happy harpsichord
essence of Gaelic bequethed to the land
the enclosed glen spreads itself out like a lord
the wind takes the gurgling burn by the hand
unfolding like petals from a beautiful flower
fields of gold sit wavering and carefree
through the amber edged tint of a Highland shower
'till the barley is gleefully cut off at the knee
falling down mountainsides you'll never run dry
corries stand firm against fierce storms with pride
the ground soaks up unrelenting rain from the sky
a wee dram of the land will keep you warm inside.
Petriburg Mondays
There's a couple we know who look after the Brothers
and care for us all in a very special way
you can scan the whole world, there are no others
nobody wants to leave, they all want to stay
their hospitality soothes all our deepest fears
the warmth of Petriberg puts us at ease
cars on the drive midst laughter and tears
in the cold grip of winter or a warm summer breeze
"good morning Petriberg, is it baked tates today,
or lasagne or chicken? Everyone's guessing"
the Youth Table has a joy that wont go away
but we all know for sure that it has God's blessing.
Haiku - Home
houses are nothing
memories make houses homes
houses are just bricks.
Thoughts ( three different ones )
realizations start to click into place
like brambles taking advantage of a fallen tree
has the pain of regret fallen with grace
or have we just neglected hospitality?
desperate eyes see things that they try to ignore
you can't see Grasshoppers yet you know they are there
clarity cannot elude us anymore
so why can't entangled deceit be laid bare?
we looked in awe as bygones played themselves out
on a long winding stretch of an empty road
basking in the past yet the future lies in doubt
Master of time please help us carry our load.
Reflections on Loch Bi
no
blurred
lines on the
silver blue frieze.
A blessing suspended in
time. A beauty that wont fade.
The eyes of the land peer into the
beholder. Cleansing us of all vexation.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Giving you a deep sense of inner peace.
When you are at peace yourself
it will radiate to yet others
leave your legacy under
the rays of the sun
where others
will feel
it.
The Repentant Goose
It seems I had fallen too far behind
in cold isolation I fell to the ground
to face loneliness and uncertainty combined
not a single one of my old friends could be found
a cruel gardener malevolently clipped my wings
now I can only walk, I can't fly at all
the little birds chatter as the Blackbird sings
with no friends and no freedom the tears freely fall
a less stressful position was mine to take
we all take it in turns to free up the slack
I was in point position and needed a break
it was purely my pride that was holding me back
now I longingly look up into vacant space
if only I had listened to the other Geese
will the counsel of silence teach me my place?
will my wings ever beat again in chartered peace?
I took the advice, don't fly above your station
obedience must permeate your very soul
remember your place and fly in formation
sweet humility will help you reach your goal
rise above your problems but fly below the clouds
when one issue passes there's always another
drop into slipstream when darkness enshrouds
accept the help of a beloved Brother
soon my wings had grown back and the time was right
Wisdom assured me that I belong to the sky
there's a wonderful desination so clearly in sight
your Brothers are waiting, spread your wings and fly!
The River's Promise
the river flowed onward toward the sea
alongside barley that blows wild and free
it will always flow with a gentle force
it will meander and bow yet stick to it's course
waterfalls will lunge into dancing victory
over cataracts of long forgotten history
bouquets of tributaries will always join the foray
the Eagle will always swoop down on it's prey
the sea will always turn shell into sand
yet exquisitely stick to the moon's command
snow capped peaks will always sparkle in the air
a warm breeze will always comb the Barley's hair
your prayers will always penetrate the sky
as streams of sunlight calmly float by
patient rivers will always reach the sea
the Barley will always blow wild and free.
Atmospheric
recalling a day when the sun never rose
heavy clouds tumbled in silent repose
wind and rain in is in symphonic persuasion
screening off hills like they're planning an invasion
angry waves hurl themselves on the patient sand
joy and melancholy go hand in hand
dew dazzled silhoettes appear in the mist
as if forgotten ancestors still exist
foraging through dreams in a near conscious state
through hazy outlines that time wont put straight
ancestral respect bares right through to the core
in cottage speckled slopes that stretch across the moor
an endless smooth panshot of this lonely place
on a treeless outcrop of Atlantic embrace
unfurled in sweet eternity of blues and greys
until the bold sun strikes and permeates the haze.
We were on the Isle of Barra in December, around the shortest day. It was hard to believe how gloomy it was, yet it still had a beauty that I've tried to distill into words.
A joyfull heart
A joyfull heart will always rise above
casts his worries on the wings of a dove
his own desires he will put on hold
will never leave his friends out in the cold
a happy soul will never wear a frown
because he'll smile even when he's down
and when he smiles his joy will grow
and when he blossoms fresh seeds he'll sow
even a wounded heart can mend
even a rod of steel can bend
but a joyfull heart will always rise above
because a joyfull heart is empowered by love.
Elegy
Christmas used to be sparkling...
when it was a few weeks away,
bathed in pure sentiment of glitter and snow
and tinsel dangling off Christmas trees
but then when it got nearer
the reality of 'just another day' hit home
we chased feathers in the wind
we tried to capture a myth
the elusive white christmas
presents under a tree that nobody needed or wanted
the unfettered reverie never kept it's promise
but we pretended to be happy
then we took down the trimmings
in bland emptiness the feather was blown out of reach
the next year someone shouted 'Christmas' and many people jumped
... but I didn't.
Intrinsic
the kernel of the heart's desire
is encapsulated in grey.
lo, the constant feature
it's an interminable bully!
A Chinese lantern shines through a gossamer of mist
entranced by the furnace of the sea,
will it consume every cogitating thought -
meanwhile, on a fragile island
delicate frothy waves
break with the precision of a conductor's batton
on sand as solid as rock
but how delicate is the plinth of normality underneath?
Endeavour
In honest hearted sweet Endeavour
the sound of Barra will last forever
under weeping skies there's a blessed terrain
a shelter from the wind and pouring rain
serendipity's joy cannot expire
nor the happy glow around your fire
pondering the moment living the dream
a candle in the dark shows where we've been
we always wiped the mud from off our boots
but memories linger right down to the roots
dances and jigs stop your timbers from falling
when the comely Hebridean hills are calling
with heartwarming ale when the day is through
out of your window the sky is always blue.
Wildflower
I once plucked a flower, many years ago
and pressed it within the pages of a book
carefully I placed it back within the row
but was unable to have a second look
memories are concealed within those pages
to open it many times I've had a try
the book has been back on the shelf for ages
if I could open the book I know I'd cry
it's hard when happy memories lay compressed
we knew we had to walk a path of trials
we knew we had to face a difficult test
though the path isn't short, it runs for miles
If I could hold that flower my heart would soar
if I could just thumb the pages of that book
like ripples of grass blowing along the shore
when the time finally comes to have a look.
Forewarned
walking along the Devil's ridge
death drops on either side
fighting for every step
concentration was paramount
my water bottle slips out of my coat pocket
I look on helplessly
as it bounces with crashes of silent violence
down steep slopes of hills laden with ice
I watch in suspended animation
as the top is parted from the bottle
and droplets of water dazzle the mountainside
causing me to make dreadful comparisons
I'm on my own
my Wife has no idea when I aim to be back
I'm ill equipped
and now I've no water
mountains can be unforgiving-
will I learn from this
and get my act together
or am I just an accident waiting to happen!
Plover
ufazed by the gales oblivious of the rain
shore birds on the beach don't have the heart to complain...
there will soon be a time when you're tears wont leave a stain
a flock of Lapwings appear on ground newly ploughed
there's a riot on the beach because nature can be loud...
away from the bustle and away from the crowd
whether a Highland Shepherd or an Island rover
this wicked world and it's ways will soon be over...
then we'll build a cottage near the sea and call it PLOVER.
and finally..
An odd ode!
Nix shoes took her to many different places
she prefers bows but doesn't like laces
to beauty salons, spa days and shopping malls
to exotic holidays and Kingdom Halls
to preach the 'good news' her shoes they were shod
but then she realized, her shoes - they were odd!
"In these shoes I cannot possibly roam...
though I do have another pair like them at home".
KTDA, Markles x.
see the different cogs in the same big machine
different pencils with the same lead inside
from different kitchens with the same cuisine
on different desinations but on the same ride
Tom gets ready to go to work at half past five
didn't know his world was about to fall apart
buys his morning paper and twenty Park Drive
then joins the sea of jellyfish without a heart
over a mass of overalls bland clouds drip light rain
that enormous brick box will soon have men inside
outside in metalic blue skies the sun shines in vain
the few spots of rain that fell in the morning have dried
chimneys tower over a checkerboard of streets
a labour of love emanates from quaint little rows
from the Paper Shop you can buy lucky bags and treats
but the deep seated furrows of mechanization shows
his neighbors are relaxing at Sutton on Sea
Tom's never been there, he doesn't have a car
he never see's the cornfields blowing wild and free
from his own terraced house he never strays far
he soon got over his wife dying of cancer
now in his fifties a new job he'll never find
to rising unemployment there seems to be no answer
still the Paper Shop daily feeds Tom's hungry mind
on his way home Tom buys the Lincolnshire echo
to recycle time by the fire till eleven
from the turntable comes the sound of Buddy Crecko
but he's run out of fags 'cause the shop shut at seven
there's a suit in the wardrobe for church on Sunday
where incense and sunlight float on a stained glass wing
his mind's not on the sermon but work on Monday
and on Sunday lunch that will be fit for a King
more newspaper scandals under the setting sun
a few pints in the 'Steam Hammer' to strengthen the strains
as Tom hails a victory that he never won
with industrial breath and deep nicotine stains
his kids have all gone now, with three girls he was blessed
ignored warnings of an imminent heart attack
his fish and chips he clutches close to his chest
but the weight of the future will soon be lifted off his back
it will soon be morning when the jellyfish 'clock in'
and civilised society gives it's final shout
leaving smoke and unfinished crosswords within
as Tom prepares for the final time to 'clock out'.
Idyll
an idyllic thatched cottage on the edge of a dream
but do things always appear to be what they seem
some wild ducks play on a heavenly loch
while a Heron stoically keeps an eye on his stock
just like a lily will always stay on it's leaf
Calum and Eilidh are solid in their belief
like a Curlew and Plover on a North Uist beach
to move off the island is deemed out of reach
cottages dotted about like buttons of gold
when the wind didn't stir it was a sight to behold
the sun illuminates fields brimming with brass
in a land sprinkled with lochans of sparkling glass
dramming away nights of island hospitality
heedless of the ongoing harsh reality
the wind rattles a necklace of lassoed stones
that subdue the thatch with it's agonising groans
a dimly lit room with the fire in a rage
this weather beaten abode has faded with age
the mornings scattered Corncrakes cry in plaintive song
songs about people that didn't live for very long
fresh trout and oatcakes make a sumptuous meal
to the constant whiring of Morag's spinning wheel
Calum gathers his livestock into the shed
while his Wife mends his tweed with invisible thread
an impressionistic offering from Monet's brush
the coastline is chaotic but the meadows are lush
but then came the howling gales and pouring rain
that came through the roof as it had nowhere to drain
green lichened boulders sat ensconced in the bay
Calum mops his brow as he gathers in the hay
soon pipe smoke will fill the room with it's musk
and chimney smoke will cover the last light of dusk
subdued Gaelic murmurings without a care
though children's laughter no longer fills the air
they all moved to the city where some of them thrived
some of them didn't fare so well, some didn't survive
spirited Father, devoted Wife and Mother
they died within just a week of each other
a Golden Eagle was flying overhead
when their last will and testement was read.
Sentinel
drop the drawbridge down but don't make a sound
the Sentinel see's everything that lies all around
his spiral staircase has many twists and turns
he has to make sure no-one poisons the urns
in the middle stands a fountain that will never run dry
beyond towering clouds it points to the sky
drink from it's waters and you'll stay here forever
the two of you bound in the castle together
the Sentinel see's many people all around
as the drawbridge is dropped without making a sound
to the outer courtyards some of them may come
but the inner courtyards are not easily won
to the inner sanctum is but harder still
only one person in the whole world can fulfill
as one you will write a manuscript together
on unending scrolls that will roll out forever
on the walls fading tapestries of yesteryear
replaced by new paintings that you both hold dear
it's high walls let you both roam wild and free
while the monsters in the dungeon are under lock and key
the canary in the birdcage can't stop singing
about the fine treasures that you keep on bringing
there's a forest of whispers but silence in the halls
merriment and laughter at all of your balls
bad memories are kept firmly behind closed doors
the Sentinel will always sooth your worst sores
there are countless castles impossible to find
as YOU are the Sentinel and the castle's in your mind!
Desueutude
The day is serene and still
a huddle of young men depicted in their prime
sipping coffee amidst mutterings of Gaelic
ciamar a tha thu? Tha mi gu mor, ciamar a tha sibh fhein?
joy exudes amongst the convival spirit
in the near distance a young man with a white stick
stands motionless, waiting for his boat to come in
the day is serene and still
unrelenting storms have the final word
timbers lay silent in barnacle rotting dignity
their skeletal remains reflected in the mirror surface of the loch
boats berth elsewhere
the people have long gone
apart from one solitary figure
an old man with a white stick
he waits impassively for his boat to come in
because nobody told him that the pier had collapsed.
Uisge - Beatha
sanctifying a land of smooth decay
scents of gorse and crab creels come together
muir burning, nutmeg and freshly mown hay
stags gallop across the green bouncy heather
a tinkling burn like a happy harpsichord
essence of Gaelic bequethed to the land
the enclosed glen spreads itself out like a lord
the wind takes the gurgling burn by the hand
unfolding like petals from a beautiful flower
fields of gold sit wavering and carefree
through the amber edged tint of a Highland shower
'till the barley is gleefully cut off at the knee
falling down mountainsides you'll never run dry
corries stand firm against fierce storms with pride
the ground soaks up unrelenting rain from the sky
a wee dram of the land will keep you warm inside.
Petriburg Mondays
There's a couple we know who look after the Brothers
and care for us all in a very special way
you can scan the whole world, there are no others
nobody wants to leave, they all want to stay
their hospitality soothes all our deepest fears
the warmth of Petriberg puts us at ease
cars on the drive midst laughter and tears
in the cold grip of winter or a warm summer breeze
"good morning Petriberg, is it baked tates today,
or lasagne or chicken? Everyone's guessing"
the Youth Table has a joy that wont go away
but we all know for sure that it has God's blessing.
 |
| Tesco's in monochrome - from Petriberg. |
Haiku - Home
houses are nothing
memories make houses homes
houses are just bricks.
Thoughts ( three different ones )
realizations start to click into place
like brambles taking advantage of a fallen tree
has the pain of regret fallen with grace
or have we just neglected hospitality?
desperate eyes see things that they try to ignore
you can't see Grasshoppers yet you know they are there
clarity cannot elude us anymore
so why can't entangled deceit be laid bare?
we looked in awe as bygones played themselves out
on a long winding stretch of an empty road
basking in the past yet the future lies in doubt
Master of time please help us carry our load.
Reflections on Loch Bi
no
blurred
lines on the
silver blue frieze.
A blessing suspended in
time. A beauty that wont fade.
The eyes of the land peer into the
beholder. Cleansing us of all vexation.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Giving you a deep sense of inner peace.
When you are at peace yourself
it will radiate to yet others
leave your legacy under
the rays of the sun
where others
will feel
it.
The Repentant Goose
It seems I had fallen too far behind
in cold isolation I fell to the ground
to face loneliness and uncertainty combined
not a single one of my old friends could be found
a cruel gardener malevolently clipped my wings
now I can only walk, I can't fly at all
the little birds chatter as the Blackbird sings
with no friends and no freedom the tears freely fall
a less stressful position was mine to take
we all take it in turns to free up the slack
I was in point position and needed a break
it was purely my pride that was holding me back
now I longingly look up into vacant space
if only I had listened to the other Geese
will the counsel of silence teach me my place?
will my wings ever beat again in chartered peace?
I took the advice, don't fly above your station
obedience must permeate your very soul
remember your place and fly in formation
sweet humility will help you reach your goal
rise above your problems but fly below the clouds
when one issue passes there's always another
drop into slipstream when darkness enshrouds
accept the help of a beloved Brother
soon my wings had grown back and the time was right
Wisdom assured me that I belong to the sky
there's a wonderful desination so clearly in sight
your Brothers are waiting, spread your wings and fly!
 |
| these are actually Starlings! |
The River's Promise
the river flowed onward toward the sea
alongside barley that blows wild and free
it will always flow with a gentle force
it will meander and bow yet stick to it's course
waterfalls will lunge into dancing victory
over cataracts of long forgotten history
bouquets of tributaries will always join the foray
the Eagle will always swoop down on it's prey
the sea will always turn shell into sand
yet exquisitely stick to the moon's command
snow capped peaks will always sparkle in the air
a warm breeze will always comb the Barley's hair
your prayers will always penetrate the sky
as streams of sunlight calmly float by
patient rivers will always reach the sea
the Barley will always blow wild and free.
 |
| River Dionard - judging by the shadows I'd say the photo was taken around midday. |
Atmospheric
recalling a day when the sun never rose
heavy clouds tumbled in silent repose
wind and rain in is in symphonic persuasion
screening off hills like they're planning an invasion
angry waves hurl themselves on the patient sand
joy and melancholy go hand in hand
dew dazzled silhoettes appear in the mist
as if forgotten ancestors still exist
foraging through dreams in a near conscious state
through hazy outlines that time wont put straight
ancestral respect bares right through to the core
in cottage speckled slopes that stretch across the moor
an endless smooth panshot of this lonely place
on a treeless outcrop of Atlantic embrace
unfurled in sweet eternity of blues and greys
until the bold sun strikes and permeates the haze.
We were on the Isle of Barra in December, around the shortest day. It was hard to believe how gloomy it was, yet it still had a beauty that I've tried to distill into words.
A joyfull heart will always rise above
casts his worries on the wings of a dove
his own desires he will put on hold
will never leave his friends out in the cold
a happy soul will never wear a frown
because he'll smile even when he's down
and when he smiles his joy will grow
and when he blossoms fresh seeds he'll sow
even a wounded heart can mend
even a rod of steel can bend
but a joyfull heart will always rise above
because a joyfull heart is empowered by love.
Elegy
Christmas used to be sparkling...
when it was a few weeks away,
bathed in pure sentiment of glitter and snow
and tinsel dangling off Christmas trees
but then when it got nearer
the reality of 'just another day' hit home
we chased feathers in the wind
we tried to capture a myth
the elusive white christmas
presents under a tree that nobody needed or wanted
the unfettered reverie never kept it's promise
but we pretended to be happy
then we took down the trimmings
in bland emptiness the feather was blown out of reach
the next year someone shouted 'Christmas' and many people jumped
... but I didn't.
Intrinsic
the kernel of the heart's desire
is encapsulated in grey.
lo, the constant feature
it's an interminable bully!
A Chinese lantern shines through a gossamer of mist
entranced by the furnace of the sea,
will it consume every cogitating thought -
meanwhile, on a fragile island
delicate frothy waves
break with the precision of a conductor's batton
on sand as solid as rock
but how delicate is the plinth of normality underneath?
Endeavour
In honest hearted sweet Endeavour
the sound of Barra will last forever
under weeping skies there's a blessed terrain
a shelter from the wind and pouring rain
serendipity's joy cannot expire
nor the happy glow around your fire
pondering the moment living the dream
a candle in the dark shows where we've been
we always wiped the mud from off our boots
but memories linger right down to the roots
dances and jigs stop your timbers from falling
when the comely Hebridean hills are calling
with heartwarming ale when the day is through
out of your window the sky is always blue.
Wildflower
I once plucked a flower, many years ago
and pressed it within the pages of a book
carefully I placed it back within the row
but was unable to have a second look
memories are concealed within those pages
to open it many times I've had a try
the book has been back on the shelf for ages
if I could open the book I know I'd cry
it's hard when happy memories lay compressed
we knew we had to walk a path of trials
we knew we had to face a difficult test
though the path isn't short, it runs for miles
If I could hold that flower my heart would soar
if I could just thumb the pages of that book
like ripples of grass blowing along the shore
when the time finally comes to have a look.
Forewarned
walking along the Devil's ridge
death drops on either side
fighting for every step
concentration was paramount
my water bottle slips out of my coat pocket
I look on helplessly
as it bounces with crashes of silent violence
down steep slopes of hills laden with ice
I watch in suspended animation
as the top is parted from the bottle
and droplets of water dazzle the mountainside
causing me to make dreadful comparisons
I'm on my own
my Wife has no idea when I aim to be back
I'm ill equipped
and now I've no water
mountains can be unforgiving-
will I learn from this
and get my act together
or am I just an accident waiting to happen!
Plover
ufazed by the gales oblivious of the rain
shore birds on the beach don't have the heart to complain...
there will soon be a time when you're tears wont leave a stain
a flock of Lapwings appear on ground newly ploughed
there's a riot on the beach because nature can be loud...
away from the bustle and away from the crowd
whether a Highland Shepherd or an Island rover
this wicked world and it's ways will soon be over...
then we'll build a cottage near the sea and call it PLOVER.
and finally..
An odd ode!
Nix shoes took her to many different places
she prefers bows but doesn't like laces
to beauty salons, spa days and shopping malls
to exotic holidays and Kingdom Halls
to preach the 'good news' her shoes they were shod
but then she realized, her shoes - they were odd!
"In these shoes I cannot possibly roam...
though I do have another pair like them at home".
KTDA, Markles x.
My goodness what a journey you have taken me on, it was a joy to spend quality time here and read your amazing collection of poems. A great pleasure to read them. I hope you manage to fulfill your dream and find your forever home here.
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