Waves
wave upon wave
fomented froth
swashbuckling rudderless
laden with wrath
mist falls down seamlessly
camouflaged by sky
sauntering aimlessly
wondering why
black sands of Mull
white beach' of Ness
smooth rounded stones
of natures caress
stravaiging to slumber
in rhythm and rhyme
pale moon aloof
buccaneer of time.
Symphony in yellow (Mhaol-Bhuide)
A pulsating grind of the subtle illusory art
pounding away at the stringent itinerary within
fragmented emotion grapples with existing function
yet reality exceeds it's annotated existence
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Beauty in persistent rain lashed form
cattle and deer are in a transient norm
oblique eccentricities bulwark the undertow
in ways only sagacious old men can know
On a hillock, in a glen, astride a brook
a lonely sentinel some fool undertook
to build amidst ethereal landscape
Shostakovian in raiment, yet volatile in look
You don't belong here
the Snow Venom growled
I bellowed back louder
with footfalls unfurled
The harsh infrastructure groaned within
but our hearts ensconced the invincible swell
we sloshed over like Cyrus' formidable crew
the wet defence listlessly fell to our path
Meagre shelter of the rarest kind
if yester years switched back, what would you find?
ten kids hollowing aimlessly
haggard parents work vigorously
dusty loom, rusty plough and sweet gloom
hark! The journey of time says forever is soon
-
In the middle of a drought
at the back end of June
I chanced upon a shelter
on a lonely bright hill
A serendipitous moment
swathed in soft mellow
haste ye back
to my symphony in yellow.
The four Seasons (in memory of an old friend)
Summer
What more can I say
one word says it all really
a season, a feeling, a memory
the vibe of our yesterday's
did I really sit by a stream
on a fledgling sunbeam
in a silver lined cloudless day
with a book that never ends
round impervious bends
astride a grassy knoll anchored to stay
children's laughter
peels thereafter
gone but again holds sway
as my mind revieres
through glorious day's
of the sun's illustrious haze
Autumn
Autumn was a friend
a different colour
an ochreous blend
a change of music
in tonal transcend
colours of dawn
portrayed in sunset
ethereal dream
and a different mindset
warm sun soothes the heart
thru a copse of sad trees
but gone are the butterfly's
and swift honey bees
Autumn was a friend
in bold under state
I should have met you again
but now it's too late
Autumn was a friend.
Winter
Winter was an escape
an interminable journey for the mind to take
I could go there forsooth if my heart gave chase...
Winter was an escape
February longs for it, jokes a la carte
three cars round a cottage, joy to impart
Winter was an escape
purple hues adorn the mountains oo'er yonder
frost or due glistens the ground where I wander
a light in the black and a dram warms the heart
Winter was an escape
curious how time's edge softens the fringes
bagging the garbage whilst honing the tinges
dim heathered lonely lochans too play a part
Winter was an escape
basking in poetry midst nature's fine art
are we at the end or if only the start
memories in snatches as only we know
nudging our feelings as gently as snow...
Winter was an escape.
Spring
A fistful of blossom over a carpet of green
birds sing again, O where have they been
warmth sun and flowers
and a more chilled routine
Spring was a dream
birds still twitter like Delius in spate
should of at least said 'hi'
to my haggard old mate
butterflies and honeybees in symphonic state
spring came too late
I'm still flushed with hope
only spring really knows why
such a pleasure to work
under a plaintive blue sky
I know May will come,
like a Spring without end
...but Autumn was a friend.
The key above the door
Integrated over a classic highland sprawl
from the view of our mortal cottage
a ragged form entranced our view
dilapidated in body
bedraggled in raiment
an immotalised sepulchre
in retrospective form
Sixties, seventies eighties
it was in vogue then
but certainly not now
formica, lino, a proud crofting pair
fancy wine glasses adorn shelving.
All devoid of any stimulating charachteristics
graced with insipid crockery, functional I suppose
but that's about all
it was stylish then
but certainly not now
how thoughtful, a fridge
with egg holed rampart.
Looks like red was the colour then
but certainly not now
who left that fork out?
there were no dishwashers then
but there certainly are now
I can't imagine who lived here
amidst glen, stream and moor
yet still to this day there hangs
the 'key above the door'.
A lonely tramps across a bleak moorland
Sometimes, a tram line from the ground to the peak
negates the wilderness that you want to seek
though you may ne'er see a soul throughout the whole day
bulldozed tracks kind of take that freedom away
Inky pools settled in uncharted land
there is beauty in bleakness
there is beauty in bland
Under overcast skies that are tinted with mauve
no outstanding features,
that's where I want to rove
As the dawn kissed the sky
with benighted palms
a lonely tramps across a bleak moorland
is embraced in my arms.
Soon
A Buzzard quarters beneath a leaden sky
as I sit on a tree swing wondering "why?"
life can be painful behind the smile
how we long to walk our 'Golden Mile'
I'm sure this wretched lot will soon be over
then we can rest forever on the banks of sweet Plover.
Memories made to share
Here I sit alone
bedecked by evening light
the beach is golden
the sea is blue
but I am alone
without you
antidote for stress
essence of Durness
it is often in my dreams
for times it merely seems
a dream condemned to be
till you are here with me
I found it hard to go
much harder than before
yet pleasures such as this
the heart is in furrour
what I'm really trying to say
as gently as the evening air
times like this are best between us
memories made to share.
Thinking
Sometimes things can go right
sometimes things can go wrong
some things we can change
some things we can't
some things we think we can change
but realise we can't
some things we can do
some things we can't
some things we think we can do
but it soon becomes apparent that we can't
some things we can do if we put our mind to it
some things are beyond our capabilities
there are always things we can do
there will always be something we excel at
there are always people better than us
there are always people worse
there are always people higher than us
there are always people lower
if we have suffered unjustly
somebody else has suffered worse
if you can perceive something
you can guarantee someone else has also picked up on it
sometimes we are indolent
sometimes we are enthusiastic
we should be happy with what we can do
not being miserable about what we can't
we should be happy about what we have got
not what we haven't
some things are beyond our control
some things we can change
our children can make us happy
our children can make us sad
aim within your own corner
strive to be content.
Lament (A conversation)
Waves coruscating through the fabric of time
Sleepwalking in pertinent memories of mine
Crests mint as froth, unstultified by sorrow
straddle rocks gently like nymphs of the Rhine
Dancing light cascades over time's assuaged hollow
Hazy childhood memories and time intertwine.
Man standing on the beach
Man standing on the beach
watching the waves
what is on your mind?
what makes you tick?
what holds you motionless?
perhaps you are overcome by the power of nature
you linger a while
step aside as the tide is your master
King Canute eloquently made that point
but you've maybe never heard of him
I don't reproach you for that
most people maybe haven't
but most people haven't contemplated
the ebbing and flowing of the waves
pulsing over the sands of time.
Now I'm the man on the beach
I wandered what you were doing
what was going on in your mind
maybe it was the mesmerising roll of the waves,
petering out on the sands of life's long song
... but is it really that long?
Like a wave we start off so mighty
but the crest disrupts our way
as we unrelentingly disperse
on the sands of time.
Fracture
A moment of enthusiasm blossomed
twas during natures long symphony
between the unpunctured firmament
and the fathomless sea
Pageant of yellow
and autumn enlace
to procure a soft silky line
deep within the golden bowl
Colours vociferate on shafts of twilight,
caught deep within the fervent skyline of thought.
Fragment
Smoke bellows aimlessly across heather clad hills
patrons oblivious of artistic connotation
but from my vantage point of perfect isolation
I perceive a discerning need of humanity it fills.
Life in an oil painting (part one)
Soft warm tones of evening light
swathe the salubrious landscape,
feelings and images blur into one,
rays of sunlight are rays of peace.
Surreal yearnings of a heart
appreciating beauty, adoring the
brush strokes of the Master... The MASTER!
Life in a water colour (part two)
Out of the dream of sleep
into the dream of wake.
Nature fondles our deepest senses
Hearts entwined in colours of mirth
minds that have time and space to wander
in the deepest recesses of our very being...
On the beach at night, alone.
Out of the dream of wake
into the dream of sleep
O what a beautiful scene I've seen
O what a beautiful dream I've dreamed
words can't paint the dream I've dreamed
Only time can paint the scene I've seen
In creation you can see and feel
the brush strokes of the Artist...The GREAT ARTIST
On the beach at dawn alone.
O what a beautiful scene I've seen
O what a beautiful dream I've dreamed.
The mist is clearing
The mist is clearing
The sun is shining through
Big sky's are yearning
for a sun drenched hue
The wind is changing
blowing deftly 'cross the loch
but the mussels cling
to the unmovable rock
We cling to the solitude
of this timeless place
like abounding mussels
in enduring brace.
Like a stream
Constantly edifying exhausted minds
Excludes, exudes revitalises and finds
a much safer sober pastoral scene
flowing on endlessly, like a stream
Life flows on faster as we get older
Mechanised life slowly gets colder
Respite and linger on in the dream
Life flows on prudently, like a stream
Onward thru many a deceptive bend
To sheets of blue over yonder fend
Endless life is no mere dream,
It flows on forever... like a stream.
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| A Scotland Constable |
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| Even the most experienced of Scottish fence builders can make the most rudimentary of errors ! |
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| Scottish forestry Commission not yet Internationally recognised for its logistics acumen |
Twilight
Reddish tones on a tinted grass
Icicled peaks towering near tho far away
Luminous clouds prepare for battle
with a few craggy peaks in the foreground
Shimmering lochs come home to roost
whilst twilight prepares to turn in.
The sound of children playing
augments the fugal tone of a foregone age
that is still here.
... to be continued!
Beautiful poetry Mark,really enjoyed reading, Very deep and soulful,and yet accessible to the reader, Ruth xx
ReplyDeleteThanks for this Mark. Your use of language really paints a picture for me.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to further work.