THE VALLEY

THE VALLEY

A blow in still from Glasgow

though here  since he was 12.

He was proud of where he lived

in Falcarragh’s valley, not far

from The Station House

where he suffered depression

two years ago.

Hard to believe in a man

with a grin as wide as a rainbow

risng from the mist forming

about the foot of the mountain.

THE EDGE

THE EDGE

You smelled the lake before you saw
The edge – aromas of a time before –
You absorbed the tears of a broken
Mother – while they put wet clay
Over your Father.

Loosing yourself in a haze of puberty,
In that barren land; you got lost in an
Advancing mist, but the ghost of your
Father finds you now, leaning in,
And whispering through the breeze;
“you’re not the first to suffer –
you can face adversity.”

Moved… to another time, another place,

When you made paper boats; with your
Dad’s fragile breath – whispers of wonder –
Setting them free….
You look to the sky and feel, you sense
A different sphere and know…. Your Father
Was in his element when he was with you
And water, on this land.

Although much of him has faded –

You realise this, it fastens you to
The earth – loneliness disappearing;
Drifting away from the edges.

 

 

  

BLOWN

BLOWN

Below the long-grassed dunes

the water-like shadows of sands pass

like time itself…I shudder at the force

of the wind, and the realisation

that life can scatter as quickly; become

diluted by memory, but we always

leave shadows behind. I walk back-wards

for a moment as if to recapture time,

but it has moved on.

So now I stand still, searching the sun-

set, reflected in the sea-waves foamy light.

Above on the dunes; long grasses sway

and below the sand shifts and swirl their shapes

onto the exposed Northwest Shore, a feeling

I have been here before; blown…

 

A NEW DAWN OF WORDS

A New Dawn of Words

I try to let time pass,

Slowly - as always

Yet it still

Goes fast

Beauty of Words...

Ordinary life dimmed

Yet not put out

By this glorious light.

Peace surrounds me

Like a forgotten vale:

Un-earthed from childhood:

A forgotten state of grace.

A web of story-telling -

In a different place

This time…

MOURNING

MOURNING

I think, it was the winding lane that did it – the one

Lined with daffodils (Wordsworth would have approved).

I had my own poem set out, open like the cupped

Yellow offerings; perhaps I’d have added in:  Sun-trapped

Stone steps, coming down from the white-washed loft;

And what the house held:

The bed-rails, the heavy wardrobe and ancient drawers,

The lace of the curtains, and the old dresser,

A range to help a kettle sing, and streams...

Of light across the lanolin floor – peeping

From wide window-sills, with hills outside;

Now, I have to content myself with the fact that - we have

A bigger vegetable patch here, than the little fenced one

At the back of the cottage we nearly had,

I knew the man who lived there once.

SEEDS

    

           SEEDS

               1

On a Sunday in mid-summer

right at the edge of the park

You come to me;

talking future plans

shining eyes

and a heart that dared.

We saw ourselves

buying a car to travel

down to the coast

whenever we took the urge.

All planned out under the elm

of eager spreading roots.

Many seeds scattered

ideas with wings on the breeze

hope floating all the way

towards the sea along winding

open-windowed roads.

             

             2

Smashed in spring – the last                              

season you inhaled;

lying singing on the back seat.

The front driver’s side was saved,

letting me drive

to dreams that died.

Dreams have a way

Of coming at you by the front

And leaving by the back door.

I pass it now, the car

In the scrap yard

At the edge of the town

It’s only half now.

MUM AND SPUDS

MUM AND SPUDS

How are you managing for heating oil?
Do you know that Mrs Mullin died?
I hope you like onions with your stuffing?
You said in your text that you're on nights next.

Heaped on offerings of food,
Hot pans make mood for flavour.
Television. Loud repeated soaps,
Water hissing on stove. Potato
peelings blocking sink - no time to think;

Can i help? I question her red face,
No it's alright - clean the windows instead -
but listen; wait until after you're fed.