Sunrise

Clouds re-group as the morning progresses
brushing the petals of sleepy Princesses
butterflies dance in garlands of flowers
the moorland drinks of your soft spring showers

Ambrosia combs out her golden tones
tangerine skies and the cold leaves your bones
coruscating colours spread down through the glen
the clouds whisper... ''hey! Shall we start again? ''

Brother Thrush

I said to an Owl
as it was in flight
hasten toward evening
to turn the day back to night

I then heard a Cuckoo
how beautiful did it sing
I said go forth to winter
and turn it into spring

I said to a Butterfly
an energetic hummer
go forth to the spring
and turn it into summer

and then to the Thrush
I did go on to say
go forth to the night
and turn it into day

I called out Brother Thrush
I want to hear you today
but the Blackbird cried
... Brother Thrush passed away.


Caithness weeps alone

sits in the corner on her own
sings a song that nobody knows
about being a child all alone
and misty mornings dripped in prose

sing to the distant Sapphire sea
honeyed child please sing for me
Caithness weeps alone

basket of fragments, green and gold
heather laughs at an angry world
purple carpets stand so bold
tracts of barley autumn swirled

sing to the green hills of eternity
honeyed child please sing for me
Caithness weeps alone.

crystal meandering waters flow
an emblem of wild artistry
an uncomposed song no-one will know
like a dream forged against reality

sing to the barley, sing to the sheaves
sing to the bog cotton that nobody weaves
sing to the cataracts of tears in the breeze
honeyed child sing to the sun through the trees
but always sing for me

Caithness weeps alone.

Greenland

Sixty five islands around a sea of ice
transparent crystals glow green overhead
graunching glaciers between mountains of gneiss
arctic sun sets in vermilion and red.

Icebergs floating in a bath of silver
children looked after by nature not school
gaily painted houses make the westworld bewilder
at minus twenty six each one is a jewel

An arcadian presence that can't be ignored
Inuit have priority here that is the rule
kids playing in the snow, they'll never be bored
you'll fish forever or less your a fool
.
Tell me then Greenland, what do you fear?
The sun does not shine here for three months a year.
Tell me then Greenland what makes you unique?
Nowhere on earth has this kind of mystique.

Burt

Music was the tide that pulled Burt to the shore
blues, rock and roll, jazz affairs galore
Burt recognised talent a mile away
if a band was good Burt would have his say

Burt was impressed by these young lads singing
and pretty soon the neighbours ears were ringing
''you've got to see them on the telly tonight,
after two minutes you'll know I was right''

a bunch of young lads they looked real cool
excellent singers come from up the Pool
it was the long hot summer of  '62
the charts were staid  they needed something new

''they will change the world'' that was what Burt said
little did  he know in a month he'd be dead
how Burt was taken is still a mystery
the bands name. . . The Beatles! The rest is history!

Burt, my Parents neighbour died young. Although the details are pretty sketchy to say the least, it seems Burt died from heart failure. Burt passed away in the September of 1962. The Beatles first hit 'love me do'  peaked at no.17 in October in the U.K chart of that year . The rest  really is history.



Monks Road

Baggeholmegate in old Lindum Colonia
sweet flows the Witham on it's way to the sea
even a Cathedral couldn't have been any holier
when the Romans left Lincoln to it's final destiny

then came the Monks and then came the abbey
soon there were groves and a path through the trees
a lovers lane walk not the slightest bit shabby
gently flowing river and sweet scented leas

then came the factories then came the houses
crowds came no longer to be healed by the spa
working class men that neglected their spouses
gathered together to get drunk in the bar

from Claremont Street you could just see the farm
until John Thomas Winn built hundreds of homes
no longer the 'lovers lane' Monks road lost it's charm
a metropolis of factories where vermin now roams

then came the Arboretum, a collection of trees
from Cattle Market to College, a centre of learning
bad roads helped to bring Engineering to it's knees
death knell for Monks Road or is the tide still turning?

Okay Blogfans this was the odd one out, not quite Scotland but I grew up there and still spend a lot of time down there, hence I've seen it change.

Isle of Jura

Why ever would anybody want to go there?
three warrior peaks that thrust up out of the Atlantic
angry pulsating granite
not exactly welcoming is it?

I went to Jura

swirls of mist rolled into Lowlandmans Bay
who wants to see a barren landscape under a blanket of fog?
I didn't see many people
I didn't see many cars
I didn't see any chaos
I couldn't hear a treadmill going round and round and round

I talked to myself
as I walked the one long road
smatterings of civilization
eventually peter out
into craggy moorland and ubiquitous bog
I began whistling the main theme from Schuberts 9th symphony

In between the palls of mist
an Eagle traces cryptic runes in the sky overhead
wild, untamed, uncharted.... free

I walked down the west coast
I didn't see any people
there wasn't a road
there wasn't a track, or even a cairn
just reverberating loneliness
I sang to myself
no-one could hear me
well maybe the Eagle that quartered overhead

caves, arches and raised beaches
gradually drifted into the distance
as I crossed the bracken of the Evans path
and was reconciled to the one long beautiful road
I sang, skipped and danced on the road
in the middle of the road
drank the cup of emptiness
threw myself into the arms of the angry granite warriors
repatriated to a secret world
uncharted and free
like an Eagle.

The Artist and the Engineer ( a parody )

Everything thought about had to be real
what couldn't be seen you just could not feel
opened Haynes manual with shatter diagrams
or busy installing computer programmes

art is never impressed with reality
paintboxes have a tight grip on your sanity
so what is it that's going to be on the canvas
a scene from the North or the mountains of Anthas

Art washed away all the Painters problems
head full of fluff and never in the doldrums
rattle from the engine sounds like a loose screw
as the noise got louder the music did too

Mechanics think in an analytical way
the music of silence often  holds sway
under an oily car lying on your back
single mindedness takes up any slack

Engineers keep imagination at bay
Painters use art as a chance to run away
Mechanics devout to minimalist plight
Artists surrounded by poetry all night

they say that sometimes opposites attract
counterparts not replicas keep love intact
a friend a Sister or even your Brother
must have worked they're still married to each other!

Golden Hair

Fjord yield forth your golden bowers
Pretty girls never tire of flowers
Pallet of yellow and blue on the sand
Midst a dream in a fairy tale land
Ripples thru the gloom when midnight cowers
Fjord go wash your hair in the showers
Sing you are beautiful sing you are free
Sing melodies to the sound of the sea
Phosphor's dust of gold beheld in your stare
Go brush out your tresses. . . Golden Hair.

The Piper

they'd lived there for a thousand years
through their joy and through their tears
built their humble lowly  homes
from sand and straw and sweat and stones

as The Piper played his tune

but down in London the Duke had planned
the cruel eviction of the land
and shipped them off to who knows where
they starved and died the Duke didn't care

to hide the fact the gentry were fools
they will not teach it in their schools
can't sweep it under the carpet yet
as history says it wont forget

evil acts cannot be excused
when women and children are abused
on their own land their blood was smeared
and without mercy it was cleared,

as the Devil played his tune

hear the little children weep
as they rid the land of their homes for sheep!
For a great and noble, worthy cause
to sponsor pointless bloody wars

as the devil danced his tune

but the dead will rise and sing their song
and claim the land that they belong
and in that day the sky will fall
and in that day their home will call

when the Piper plays his tune

The charge of the Pine Brigade

a myriad Green Coats charged up the hill
serving King and country
hear the battle cry
the swish of the sword
the clank of the metal
the breath
the anger
the fury

each one fell
routed to the spot
some huddled together
some in lines
some in a corner of solitary space
but permanently anchored to the hill
an enduring grave

below
the river flowed on by
oblivious of the rampage overhead.

Ullapool

Oyster Catchers pose on rocks in the sea
a few boats linger motionless in the bay
old people hold hands, the sun sets them free
the peaceful vibe of Ullapool holds sway

whitewashed shops just like children holding hands
follow the Pied Piper into the hills
barbarous with Gulls as nature commands
everywhere rows of swaying daffodils

young people hold hands, so clearly in love
near the quaint little harbour on the verge of peace
crime flew away on the wings of a Dove
people are happy here, there cares are on lease

onwards the ferry heads for the Islands
golden evening under a tumbling sky
joy of Ullapool the Queen of the Highlands
a mirrored loch at the end of July

Tall trees

tall trees
peer down at you
like a Headmaster
towering over a naughty pupil
but one day
the Headmaster's back will bend
and his eyes will grow dim
lo the saplings will rise
and tower over the withered tree
that they fear no more
and remind him that the axe is at the root
lest we should tower over the young trees
that are in our midst
that their eyes don't burn with vengeance
and tower over us
when it's our turn to die!

Some Words

hopelessly mislaid but not lost

                         I

drift along in sweet afterglow but

                      CAN'T

recapture lost memories or even

                       TURN

reality into fantasy. So it's

                       BACK

to uncomposed perpetuity, before

                        THE

unforgiving rigidity of the illustrious

                        CLOCK

steals our path! I'll write 'some words'.


         















Green ( word picture )

                                                           
                                                            
                                                          - green-.
                                                    .  serene- warm.
                                                 .  soothing .comforting-.
                                                -green -reassuring .heartening.
                                          -  consoling .pleasant .green. composed-.
                                      - cool -quiet .green. sedate- smooth .unruffled. .
                                 -.  sunny- clear- bright .together. restful. leaf -tranquil.
                             -  green -untroubled. relaxed .placid -unperturbed .showery.
                                                                      se.
                                                                      cu-.
                                                                      ri.
                                                                      ty.
                                                                      st
                                                                      re
                                                                      ng
                                                                      th
                                                   
               How many times do you see the word 'green'  in the above? Look closely.




                                                    
Then

an eerie mist rolls down the moor
Firemoor beach lies in quiet seclusion
amazingly there is no wind
but the midges are ferocious

we find sanctuary in our caravan
some neighbours have brought us some mackerel
fished out the loch just a couple of hours before
all our family were together
it was very peaceful
we were all happy

then

that is how I remember it
I know time softens the rough edges
but we were all at peace
within our own bubble

a finger of upholstered green
gradually juts out into the sea
Fishermen regularly fish from that point
0ur kids played in the sea until the sun went down

a whalebone of rocks puncture the perfection of the beach
here we played children's games over many years
summers came and went, winters did too
yet we were on those rocks, in character

this place was home to us all
in the evenings we would sit contentedly around the bbq
in the day we would upend rocks around the shore
and marvel at the myriads of tiny creatures

then

that is how I remember it all those years ago
all at one in our own little bubble
but then the wind picked up
and blew the bubble in a direction it didn't want to go
and the sun went down

I still think of Firemore as home
the couple who brought us the mackerel
have long since passed away
different fishermen fish from the point
the wind still howls
the mist still rolls down from the hills
and the midges are still ferocious
and still this place is home

still at peace in our bubble
but eventually the bubble burst
and the 'sea pink' innocence
exploded over  the rocks
from whence it was sown
and the sun went down

summers and winters come and quickly go
children's games have long since ceased
the mist still rolls down the hills
the wind still roars
and the midges are ferocious

yet since the bubble has burst
we cannot go home.

 The Heights of Kinlochewe

where the peaks are climbed only by shadows
where it's scarce a human foot will e'er tread
where the harshness of the scenery mellows
where streams rhyme down hills like tumbling blue thread

where the breeze brings in the smell of the gorse
where burns move on like a passing stranger
where Beinn Eighe is the local tour de force
where wild horses don't pose a danger

where fools gold blazes in dissolving light
where the skies sheen is icy silver blue
where bog cotton sways on a fragile night
where a riot of clouds stare back at you
 

True Story ( a Satire )

I say young Rawlinson I have an idea
let's send your army to attack from the rear
they'll soon drive those Gerry scoundrells back
throw caution to the wind just outright attack

I say Haig old chap, are you cold sat there?
Madam, more coal please, there's a chill in the air
how about a cup of fine Earl Grey tea
shameless luxury I'm sure you'd agree

The following evening...

Dougie old boy, I don't know what to say
fifty eight thousand  fell on the first day
do you think we'll win this battle of the Somme?
Don't worry Henry, plenty more where they're from

how about Kitcheners lads, they're barely sixteen
bursting for adventure, all young fit and mean
get 'em away from parents and they will go far
Rawley good man, would you care for a cigar?

don't worry about Gerry, I'll shell them in floods
he certainly did but half of them were duds
over 'no mans land' young men marched so brave
into German gun fire and an early grave

I'll teach those blaggards to trifle with me
pull out the stops, send in my Cavalry
Cavalry's outdated Haig, don't be a plank!
I know what I'll do, I'll invent the Tank

the Tank in this case didn't do any good
 like everything else it got stuck in the mud
calm yourself down man, okay it was too risky
for goodness sake Madam, fix this man a whiskey

the Press went positive and sold for glory
but one million dead men told the TRUE STORY
dead men in muddy graves, slime, rats and mice
Madam, a biscuit  with  tea next time would be nice.




Heartbeat- a prosody

commerce heads in stealthily from the South
yet the same mountains will always pose like chessmen in the North

peoples attitudes are certainly changing
but the vagaries of Highland weather are unchangeable

people might revert to road rage, with no break on their emotions
and the wind will blow round the same salty coastline with the same vigour

the country may even be plunged in war
but the waves still throw themselves at the same chaotic coastline with the same Herculean force.

the stock market could crash
but waters still cascade down those same hills

people are busy installing new computer programmes
yet the wilderness still has that same emptiness

peoples perspective is changing
but the Heartbeat of the land will always be the same.




Sunset

Merlot clouds move in a Buttercup breeze
golden apples spreading auburn leaves 
painted with honey and strawberries galore
dusky purples adorn natures shore

the sun sits squat just like full bodied wine
in the end we  all danced  the same skyline
spray painted colours of natures caress
God's restfulness over man's restlessness.
 

KTDA, Markles.