Atmosphere

The haze has lifted but the view is still unclear

the tapestry of the future you cannot predict

your life swoons away just like a boat in the harbour

but your focus remains on the landscape in your mind

your subconscious collides with the realm of the surreal

the eternal rage is at the end of its tether

the boundary of existence raises it's anchor

as a crackle of anticipation fills the air

you can see happy people avoiding the shadows

as early summer filters through the leaves on the trees

stepping out you plunge into surges of lilac

that soothe the pain that you never knew you had.

Walking around Ullapool during the third wave of the Pandemic, as restrictions were gradually being lifted - there was an atmosphere that was indescribable, kind of relaxed and tense at the same time. I tried to put it into words....maybe you had to be there.

Cormorants

Bejewelled together on an unreachable crag

a vibrant dawn begins another day of bliss

their safety in numbers are like links in a chain

but in one graceful sweep they are up and away

as one they scan the wide open spaces of blue

then huddled together and forgotten by time

the links in the chain are of excessive caution

united in their mistrust of the motives of man.

Am I really here?

They all said that I would never get there again

I knew that they meant it, I could tell by their eyes

yet here I sit in the gold of the evening

taking it all in with a dram in my hand

am I really here? I keep asking myself

as a Swallow lands with some miles in his wings

a Sparrow sits next to him to take in the view

to an aural backdrop of the Cuckoo's call

aspirin bottle clouds embellish the sky

as they hang over mountains that speak to the heart

the cobalt blue sea loch twinkles in merriment

in the bold felicity of eventides glow

so I ask once again, am I really here?

Nothing is this beautiful, it must be a dream

it's impossible for your spirit not to soar

basking in the symphony of this promised land.

The view from the summit

Like a dimension from another time

as if a map is being brought to life

edified by the grace of eternity

subdued by the deep peace of clarity

a network of streams

and a patchwork of lochans

are drawn irresistably towards the sea

where toy boats denude vexation

and the veil of mortality is lifted

so from one falling star to another

our descent through the ages of man begins

from the summit of the morning

to the flatland static of the evening 

rooted to the ground of nostalgia

never to gain height again ...yet!

     Little Loch Broom from Sail Mhor

Gratitude?

The ultimate hotchpotch of weather

where the Atlantic meets the mountains

and the Gulf stream meets it's match

we never expect wall to wall sun

how can waterfalls keep tumbling

and rivers keep gushing

and lochans keep brimming

if there is no constant supply of water

so after two weeks of car wash proportion rain

drizzle that somehow manages to get you even wetter

and mountains curtained off by mist

we head home happy that the water levels are full once more.

     Ardressie Falls

Static Point - A picture

The tide crashes on the rocks like brooding impressions

shaking the Cormorants from their ageless stance

a Doe raises her head from the all pervasive fern

her mind is smothered with the impact of fear

the Sheep have long gone now, how timid they were

or maybe their hearts have been broken before

now the Goats stand resolute bordering a precipice

they know they're secure and untouchable up there

banging the big bass drum of nonconformity

the lone hiker acts wisely and gives them a wide berth

he has an open mind and keeps them at a distance

and stays still as the rocks  lunge towards the sea

then basks in the  afterglow of a luxurious sunset

as the Cormorants return to their timeless world.

The Jetty

Happiness stretches its mighty hand forward

as corduroy ripples play upon the loch

shadows dance merrily in the joy of the morning

blissfully unaware that the mist has been called

from the jetty I see it all

still the mountains carried out their sullen promises

this rooted advancement is unstopable now

their war chariots trail the sky with colour

no one could escape it's impenetrable stare

from the jetty I saw it all

but the furnace will rise on wings of sunlight

and the mist will gradually succumb to blue

sunbeams will roll down the glen once more

and the mountains will open their gates again.

from the jetty I will see it all.

     Badrualach Jetty

To an unnamed lochan

On a hill there lies a lochan

it doesn't even have a name

just a lonely pool of blue

from hazy days and games outplayed

but this lochan has a story

no one cares about it now

of the triumphs that you had

and the people round your shores

now the gateway to the past

will never be revealed

as time moved on relentless

and people came no more

now the secrets of the stones

lie permanently concealed

and we'll never know the answers

that lay on the lochans floor.

The 'stones' here refer to the ancient Highland sport of Curling. Over two thousand lochs and lochans were thought to have been used. When Loch Droma was drained for a hydro-electric project, a stone was found with the date 1511 inscribed on it.

Calm

Time falls quietly

an angry sky becomes as blue as silk

cumulus clouds turn to cotton wool

the scent of the sea tempers the wind

 trees begin to rest their branches

a ballerina dances on the glimmering waters

waves soften as they displace the pebbles on the shore

the sky colours up with the glow of the evening

a haze hangs in the air

waiting to fall as dew in the morning

forever quietly.

Nature's gift

There is a whimsical land

          where the sun never sets

                      and there is no night

here lies nature's glory

          like childhood dreams

                     on the wings of freedom

dancing on thistles

        for miles of moments

                 through the bracken of summer

just another flower

        of nature's blessing

                  in the mural of time

as the war rages on

         in this manacled world

                  you're dutifully unfazed

wings painted with sunlight

               iridescence in flight

                      like moving poetry

you're flightpath's all around me

                 an audience with nature

                     in sun strong hills of hope

                

you can change peoples lives

         I know this to be true

                because you changed mine.

Dark Green Frittilary

Common Blue

                             Pearl Bordered Fritillary

   

Liathach

Clinging on to the bare bones of creation

that thrust up from the very core of the planet

like being in a dream that won't come to an end

your voice wants to scream out yet nothing comes forth

surrender belies every unsteady breath

while the sweet dancing river can be seen on the ground

but on the ridge you know that the mountain is hostile

as unforgiving as the groanings of the earth

rounding the next corner of this bent and twisted strata

pinnacles upended by some great celestial plough

grey prophets of doom rise in bold proximity

but you're firmly committed to the rubicon you've crossed.

Requiem

Born upon the cusp of a sweet summer breeze

raised on sunbeams and laced with pure gold

how people would smile at your awkward flight

the proud victor of yesterday's battles

while the Scotch Argus still sings songs of tomorrow

you drag yourself to the nearest Myrtle bush

the mountain stares down on the silent townships

while the harvest moon sets for the final time

poor thing's heart beats at the same rate as yours

but didn't have the strength for another winter

it was easier to succumb to tiredness

as the price of innocence is finally paid.

Northern Eggar Moth

Wheels of Freedom

Riding the perpetual wave of bumps and holes

past Heron- guarded lochans and stoic waterfalls

and rickety old bridges that sway with the wind

in the undying flame of another Highland day

irresistably following the curve of the river

echoes of birdsong from the new leaves of summer

as you glide over pastures of grassy green carpets

now you have wings and are as free as a bird

our lives glide by fast on the wheels of freedom

sometimes throwing up stones that ping off the spokes

we all follow the river as it bends and bows

until the flame dies out and the wheels spin no more.

5 Minutes

A Mayfly said to his mate

"I've been searching for algea for 5 minutes!

It was such a long time,

most of my life has gone by"

a Painted Lady said to his mate

" do you realise we've been waiting a whole day!

It took so long for our friends from Spain to arrive,

most of our lives have gone by"

A Wren said to her chicks

"you're going to have to fend for yourselves now!

I've looked after you for a whole month

and most of my life has gone by"

an old Oak tree stretched out it's branches and said

"I've been in this wood for over a hundred years

and I have seen many things come and go

yet when I think back it seems just like 5 minutes".

Sunset over Little Loch Broom

Once the sun has dipped below the skyline

colours of a lullaby begin to emerge.

While Assynt's mountains are bathed in tranquility

and cut dark against a tangerine backcloth,

distant crofts come forward to huddle together

on caramel slopes that slant towards a wrinkled sea.

Now colours begin to meld together on a frozen sky-

fluffy waves of crimson and pink,

embellish clouds of rosy gold,

an afterglow in wisps of vermillion

over an undertow of cherry blossom.

A covenant of peace was made

the most wonderful promise ever,

that will never fade,

just like the sunset.

In the Northern Highlands they have what is known as the 'simmer dim' that is three weeks either side of the longest day it doesn't get dark after sunset, it remains as twilight and sometimes with a very colourful sky.

Untitled

She stopped to look at the waterfall

drawn to the graceful roar of nature

excited by the power of tumbling water

the poet stopped to look at the waterfall

he saw the irreversible river of life

plunging down the cliff face of eternity

in the rear view mirror of her car

she took a cursory glance at the waterfall

the currency of time was in short supply

the poet holds a rose in his hand

the Blackbird sings a song of hope

cognizant of the hand held flower

now she is running towards the sea

so many places she wants to go to

and the Poet holds on to the rose no longer.

Lonely Boat

Lonely boat

bobbing around on the water

you are in no ones space

and nobody is in yours

never  played with the other children

you danced on your own

now you stare into the sunset

happily swaying in your own dotted rhythm

or violent and dissonant passages

on the way to melancholy

on the island of solitude

your very own island

far away from the crowd

because nobody will ever understand you

apart from yourself.

And finally...

I've lost my keys!

I was ever so embarrassed

when I said I'd lost my keys

it was not the first time

I'd been on my hands and knees

I carefully traced my tracks

with a very fine toothed comb

a few good friends they joined me

and swept right through our home

I hunted high and low

used everything in my power

I left no stone unturned

and searched for hour upon hour

finally I asked my wife

"this secret, can you unlock it?"

it took her but a minute

as she found them in my pocket.

see you again soon !