Poem Blog 37 - Painting With Words

Kylesku

It's a privilege to be here at Kylesku

where swathes of sunset caress the blue

on the edge of time where serenity glows

under northern skies where nobody goes

a living promise of peace and sanctuary

midst sparkling sunlight where poets are meant to be

in pockets of time where memories are made

when all of your sad thoughts glide into the shade

where aspirin bottle clouds roll in wandering bands

over island mountains that cannot hold hands

where meandering burns forge their way through the gorse

as time gilds its crafty frame and all things run their course.

Strontian

Go and build up the dam and  constrain your pride

if you don't it will be a terrrifying ride

the setting sun is beyond our control

and the devil is always on shore patrol

you can't tame a waterfall

rainbows defracted in droplets so pure

when your world turns dark you still can endure

maybe not possible to hold back the tears

over pain built up over so many years

you can't tame a waterfall

plunging in turquoise pools of foaming white

streams will still reach the forgotten sea tonight

hours still cascading from the spring of time

your heart it bled but you committed no crime 

you can't tame a waterfall.

Tissue

(Part one - through the eyes of 'black and white')

As the neighborhood cat I'm quite lost for words

my newly found friend isn't interested in birds

he's an amiable fellow I have to admit

on sharing his food we would agree to split

he didn't wander far just stayed close to home

he didn't jump fences or stay out and roam

I often pass by and wait by your garden door

but my dear little friend isn't there anymore

(Part two - through the eyes of the 'human cat')

little footprints in the gravel led to next doors grass

you avoided injury, you were in a different class

from a human standpoint you were indeed so clever

now those little footprints are in our hearts forever

you loved your treats so much and always made us laugh

never were the lowly one, always the chief of staff

we always smile whenever we think of you

as no cat in the world was ever called Tissue!

                        Polish Cats are hard!

                                       A unique obedience

                         Tissue and 'Black and White' were best of friends

                        How did he know where the treats were?

        Lord and lady of Rudkin Lodge

Introspective

I do wish that I could think a little quicker

exert dynamism a little slicker

align every single piece together

rather than just reach the end of my tether

I am only able to think in straight lines

not see around corners and read the signs

I really wish I could think one step ahead

instead of just regreting what I had said

just what can you do when the brain fog comes down

when the lights go out and you feel such a clown

I just wish I could see what other people see

but if I did all of that would I really be me?

       

Promotion!*

top five of the league as tight as a clenched fist

recounting decades of opportunities missed

such a small club, who'd of thought they were able

to fight their way to the top of the table

amidst a year of muscle strains and bruises

a hard team to beat there weren't many loses

as the season fell just like a pack of cards

the defence wouldn't yield a couple of yards

we raced down the steps as the final whistle blew

to applaud the heroes that nobody knew

why football excites us is largely a mystery

a day in the sun on a parchment of history.

                           

*could be changed to 'Champions'! 

Connisborough Keep

I once threw an apple from Connisborough Keep

I think I would have only been nine or ten

I got such a telling off it nearly made me weep

but now it makes me smile every now and then

school trips and mischief often went together

as the apple landed it didn't make a sound

but poor Miss Pilling had reached the end of her tether

I guess she had a point, there were people around

I was only trying to reinvent gravity

if I'd thought about it that's what I'd have said

but a deep respect held back my hilarity

with head bowed a finger kept pointing at my head

mischief and laughter have stalked me all my life

50 odd years later, same old apple cheeked boy

shock absorbers for all the trouble and strife

never let anything rob you of your joy!

I wanted to call this little ditty 'Connisborough Castle' but not many words rhyme with castle.

By Loch Alsh

I walk alone while others sleep

where willow trees will always weep

but don't pass beyond the poet's notepad please.

Imbibing the treasures of distant hills

where goldfinches dialogue in trills

by pillars left behind by Hercules

sunrise quickens a clearing mist

shoreline rocks are white surf kissed

redolence unfurls the atmosphere.

Scented echoes of yesterdays

lifting hearts on sunlight rays

shadows once cast are now not so near

on distant dulcet lullabies

in latent warmth I close my eyes

behold I see the clouds are all silver lined.

Dreams unfold where paths diverge

where loch and land so sweetly merge

and the beauty and the bland are intertwined.

Altnahara in Spring

where burns have learned to whisper and not to shout

the weather's stopped arguing with itself for now

still a smattering of rooftops are strewn about

that the mighty sentinel Ben Hope will just allow

walkers leave footprints that will soon be washed away

in the east Ben Klibreck has turned his cold shoulder

stood between two worlds on an Altnahara spring day

fishermen with their thoughts don't grow any older

gusts of wind have stopped competing for a personel best

hills still have their stories and the keepers their flame

where you know you'll return and once more be their guest

as Altnahara will always remember your name.

The Cello in the Mountains

The wind howls in the corries

waves break on the shoreline

with each melancholic strain of the cello's sigh

it contours the mountains with its loneliness

even on sun strong hills the cello still weeps

now this musical vessel trespasses

by an invisible bridge of sound it connects to the pulse of the land

evoking the harshness and sad struggle of this empty hamlet

moments of fleeting pizzicato happiness on curlew mornings

before clouds reclaim the sky with each caress of the bow

melodies linger from the cello's soul

long after the music has faded

the wind still howls in the corries

and waves still break on the shoreline.

Iron Lodge - a dirge

a solitary heartbeat in a wild land

soon to be reclaimed by her relentless hand

in ancient woodlands pine trees are looking on

and the mountains rugged throne has never gone

an inward journey to the depths of the past

a relationship you knew would never last

in Victorian stance you squared up to the hill

with the crumbling mortar of your own free will

walls are no longer alive with tweed and gun

no longer the sound of children having fun

gone is the fragrance of firearms and leather

dogs no longer galloping through the heather

you could hear her outside when the fire burned bright

when storms lashed the lodge in the dead of the night

she's still out on the moors where you once loved to roam

now Mother Nature's moved in and she's made it her home.

Threnoidia

They walked along the sea shore and listened to the sea

each ones pilgrimage had its own grief

each one a requiem for the life they could of had

each one like a character from a classic novel

(the one that you were supposed to feel sorry for)

the Hermit Crabs are protected by their calcium walls

their safety is in its strength

but when a ferrocious tide comes,

will they be able to find a new home?

still walking along the sea shore

still listening to the sea

they speak only in silence

each one being in their own tidal pool

a dog walker passes with a greeting

they say more to the stranger 

than the whole time with each other

four seperate heartbeats on one path

four seperate silences  carried by the wind

but when the Seagulls swooped down

the Hermit Crabs didn't stand a chance.

Tea for One

They had lived there for forty seven years

around the garden table now there's an empty chair

a family was raised in that home of joy and tears

she calls his name out aloud as if he's still there

6am in an empty kitchen morning in spring

only one cup comes down from the cupboard now

sitting in the garden the birds begin to sing*

she needs to move on but doesn't know how

overhead clouds look on in wandering bands

no folded paper on the garden table anymore

the tea is too hot but it still warms her hands

a lady who had never been lonely before.

Summer of Butterflies

June opened the gate and the Keepers came forth

the Brown family stay low while the wind's in the north

Peacocks dead leaf underwing fools many birds

saphire spots on Torts will leave you lost for words

cycling and dancing with ones of their own kind

a special moment when the sky is Clouded Yellow lined

"stay in your own lane!" rang the Admirals  harsh tone

the Emperor looked on from on his stately oak throne

from an Argus paw print to a paint splattered Blue

the gates were wide open the whole summer through

Fritillaries were grabbing nectar in random flight

Hairstreaks were finding flowers to bed down for the night

but a september breeze turned the pages of time

a vibrant Small Copper knows soon autumn will chime

the Skippers sense that the end is very near

when natures huge gates are shut for the year.

     Large Skipper

                                    Common Blue

                                            Brown Argus

8

                             

     Purple Hairstreak

On leaving Star Croft

As I hold the ant ridden sugar bowl aloft

I deeply regret the day we left Star Croft

how I miss the slug races on the living room floor

in a house full of blown windows, who could ask for more?

the thrill of isolation and of being alive

if you can manage to get your blinkin car down the drive

dog hairs are an integral part of your stay

"ne'er mind didn't want to use the oven anyway"

although a bath or a shower would have been nice

but with no hot water it's not quite paradise

looking down from Morvern, the croft's nearest Ben

I decided perhaps we wouldn't go there again!

      Star Croft - wonderful isolation but we wont be going there again.

The Land beyond the Highlands

Beyond Ben Nevis and the grief of Glencoe

past Ben Loyal and the most northerly munro

up in the far north east there are some wave battered shores

vast expanses of sky and the loneliest of moors

many there are that take the road to elsewhere

missing out on the land that doesn't do fanfare

visitors flock to the other end of our isle

blithely unaware of Caithness's secret file*

vaguely heard of engraved rose bowls and Caithness glass

but here, golf, fishing and skiing have reached an impasse

the Pentland Firth is slowly opening her mouth

libraries are silent as many young feet head south

grim reality spoke to me on an autumn breeze

"the land doesn't need you, come and go as you please

the crofts belong to an era that's now bygone"

the land beyond the Highlands just refused to move on.

 *In most of the Highlands, all the attractions are all laid out, in Caithness they are still there but you have to explore to find many hidden gems as if in a secret file.

Braemore c.1800

Morvern turned his broad shoulders towards the sea

The Maiden stands resolute staring at the sky

they talk to each other by howling wind and mist

down amongst the scattered crofts Gaelic whispers lie

a young lad takes milk to his Grandad who is blind

but he sees clearly although he's lost his sight

men of the fields can't live on a cliff top

and suddenly become fishermen overnight

neither can you sow oats high up in a gale

so his sons move to the coast for the great herring boom

the land that fed his family will soon feed only sheep

but the wise man could see success would soon lead to doom

for generations families had lived on the peat

Wick's population grew as rents began to double

yet the old man living in darkness could see ahead

that with no 'fall back' there was bound to be trouble

Grandad died before all things came to pass

not long before the Herring boom gave it's final shout

the lazy beds now lie underneath the heather

and the Gaelic whispers eventually died out

The Maiden still stands staring towards the heavens

Morvern is motionless looking towards the sea

glancing at each other they ponder the question, why?

lamenting of a time when we all will be free.

       Morvern with Maiden Pap in the foreground

What do you see?

I asked my walking partner, who replied in good faith "a tree"

I said that is true, but there is a lot more to see. 

I will lay out what I see arrayed as an artist's paintbox and then try to paint a poem with words.

ethereal      drama          art            mountains    music

mist             poetry          passion      power           otherworldly

emotion     excitement          awe      grandeur      majesty

glory           magnificence    stark      austere         prosaic

What do I see?

A tree that stands where no others dare

in the hollow of the glen it stands alone

drama hangs in the ethereal air

the wind of doom doth howl and moan

no friend or shelter just mist, hills and sky

prosaic austerity lingers all around

the mountains grandeur changes with the spry

the land groans with an otherworldly sound

it makes no promise so therefore can't break one

demands repect but refuses all glory

a long lost refrain, an art that's never gone

emotions like deep waters of your story

a passion that's rooted deep in stone

far distant music that cannot be named

like the tree you realise you are alone

the majesty of the land will ne'er be tamed.

 

Leaving Scouriemore - Peace of the Night

Taking a last walk to the seat above the shore

the tide rolls out just like it did the night before

sheep are scattered all around and about

right down to the sea where the coastline runs out

the sun has gone down but there's still light in the air

Ben Stack and Arkle are majestic in their stare

now Handa island is curling up in repose

lights going out as another day comes to a close

see the village below that doesn't know crime

gazing sleepilly within the stillness of time

the only fight it has is against a winter storm

but always a fire inside to keep you warm

resident visitors know the pulse of the land

don't seagulls come back to the same stretch of sand

on the road in darkness before the Cockerel's first call

when you leave Scouriemore you don't really leave at all.

Blue (Loch Caise)

In the porcelain freshness of a Caithness morning

beyond the Highlands where the land grows flat and wide

entrancing are the ripples that lap against the shoreline

noise is a distant rumour that went out with the tide

the loch is calm again it doesn't need to move

under azure skies it's all breathtakingly blue

trout rise and vanish leaving many silver rings

your breath will find its rhythm before the day is through

angled shades suffused with the boldest of colours

see the long patient strokes of serene perfection

letting go of your worries you just stop and stare

at this sheet of glass holding perfect reflection.

When I was a child...

When I was a child I collected sea shells

but out of saltwater they lost their shine

it was something special to go to the 'seaside'

I loved the swirling patterns and ornate design

rolling back the years there have been many joys

but there have also been many sorrows too

the chipped shells we would throw back into the sea

now 70 years of sea shell memories are through

yesterday at Dunnet I went collecting sea shells

tellins and barnacles in a curvaceous sprawl

time softened the edges so now they all shine

maybe we're still all little children after all.

when I was a child I collected sea shells....

Latha math dhut, Marky.

addendum - now with 'sea glass' ... KTDA Marky xx.