Morning

sun rise slowly at the end of the night
Gulls are circling high in the orange skies
Gannets swooping down on receding tides
rainbow crested breeze holds  shimmering light

feel the inward glow of hope renewed
melancholic call of the Geese once more
from high above you can see the ocean floor
drawn into natures world with deep gratitude

under the golden chord of those piercing eyes
little birds sing shrilly from tender throats
dewy banks, the preserve of Mountain Goats
joyful Larks ascending to paradise skies

the undertow casts it's pebbles on the shore
bleating wool calls Spinners hand back to the toil
awakened grass sways in the peaty soil
children's laughter floats on the air once more.

Primroses

When the seaweed grabs up all the sand
when driftwood cant find a place to land
Primroses abound in all their glory

when the blossoms not sure when to fall
when the Skylark sings a confused call
Primroses have an open story

when a late snowfall comes in like a thief
when the Butterflies all lay down in grief
Primroses blossom around the loch

when waves get lost along the beach
when you're loved ones are out of reach
Primroses are faithful to their stock.

 The Heron

a statuesque entity stood on a rock

time honoured icon of a stoical brood

the Heron was more placid than the loch

keeping an eye on its eternal food

plumbing the depths of fathomless blue

eyes piercing down to the ocean floor

in an instant the arrow's aim will be true

then like a Ferryman he waits there for more

wafting like mist under iron grey skies

see the silent hunter feathery plumed

scanning each wave with His cold razor eyes

it's prey was oblivious that danger loomed

swirling currents of a forgotten burn

gnarled regrets you'd rather not recall

piercing eyes around every touch and turn

there are no secrets... the Heron knows them all.

The Meadow

Holding the Hiker in it's stare
aconite flowered bluebell grass
midst lochan splattered sheets of glass
in heather scented mountain air

the meadow is at peace with the flora

passing spring gives a mournful sigh
notes of birdsong are all blended
summer starts when spring has ended
behold above, a mackerel sky

the meadow is at peace with time

children playing without a care
having fun in the hollow ground
where Primroses are to be found
and Mothers thread them in their hair

the meadow is at peace with people

soft wind sends out sweet caresses
where Gaelic harps play ancient tunes
and faithfulness forever blooms
in the beauty it possesses

the meadow is at peace with itself.

The White Queen

The White Queen sits on her cold frosty throne

a Chaffinch sings shrilly, he's all alone

snow falls gently as a White Dove's feather

covering the soft purple quilted heather

brushing up Gulls from a corduroy sea

scenes of pure wonderment, wild and free

laying quilts of snow like a white carnation

tresses of your hair fall as free as creation

gorse, seaweed and salt mixed in with the breeze

cherishing marvellous moments like these.

Dig deep

front pointing, the snow slowly turns to ice
the hill holds you close, right up to the sun
just one more pitch but will you pay the price
spinning the wheel and pointing the gun!

the enticing summit lured their soul
nothing was going to get in their way
onward grinding it out towards the goal
Omnipotent master of all you survey

epitaph to your beleaguered failure
tension picks up as the dark corries loom
will that inner voice be your own saviour
or will the reaper delight in your doom

dark clouds slowly start to cover the sun
brooding visage has warnings to tell
the joy has vanished and so too the fun
hills are always there you need to be as well!

Little Birds

She loved to hear the little birds when they sing
she didn't know her heart was a fragile thing
the fires that she started soon petered out
for in his private room was a cave of doubt
concealed intentions, the model young lover
she read through the book but misjudged the cover
he slowly breaks down the walls that they build
with heartbreak and tears the cave will be filled
the quieter you are the more you hear
but there's no sound to an internal tear
she knew the structuring of her man's desires
see the cave - full of Scientists and liars
the Scientist's a child that cannot yet talk
the liars learn to run before they can walk
she still loves to hear the little birds when they sing
now she knows her heart is a fragile thing.

Quinag- A long time ago

looking down on distant echoes of humanity
jutting out on the banks of Loch Assynt Ardveck castle
the silence was as fragile as your misanthropy
your betrayal as fiendish as the vagaries of the weather
would you like us to change the water in the vases?
.....it was a long time ago

looking down on what history wont let us forget
Calda house upholstered in decaying moss
a flottila of isles cast adrift on a glittering sea
dandelion days float by in charismatic ignorance
was that the door that we never should have opened?
..... it was a long time ago

looking down on relics of a lost civilization
you forged your hopes against a villainous reality
wind harassed lochans bound in liquid geometry
a pale turquoise sea consoles a chaotic coastline
was this the window that some would prefer to remain shut?
.....it was a long time ago

looking up at the isolated Northern spur of Quinag
looks like a Schoolmaster about to teach us a lesson
I bagged that peak with my Daughter when she was young
happy chatter floated forward in lilting waves
did you take a wrong turning in the distant past?
..... it was a long time ago.

Ode to Cows (for JM)

Daisy the gentle Cow, she gives us milk
her tail long and fluffy and as soft as silk
slumbering in a field on the edge of night
yet knows six miles away somethings not right

Jemima the Duck, she heard her sad cry
for all her Ducklings were about to die
workmen had left the top off of the drain
six drowning Ducklings are Jemima's pain

Jemima croaks to every passer by
but they don't care that her Ducklings will die
tho just as the white winged clouds float above
the Cow that gives us milk was moved by love

she waddled over moor and down through the glen
she skirted bogs in the lee of the Ben
this heavy beast picked up speed by the shore
as Jemima's sad cry was heard yet more

Wildcat walking by can't believe his luck
'this is the end' thought Jemima the Duck
the Wildcats stare caught Daisy in the eye
as she bellows a scream to an angry sky

like a Bee's attracted to a flower
her tail was Daisy's saving power
little hearts pounding after all that strife
Daisy the gentle Cow gave them their life

in a world that's debased and full of lies
we're all the Ducklings in somebodies eyes
her coat edged with brown and as soft as silk
Daisy the gentle Cow gives us milk.

The Wild Horses of Kinlochewe

Where the red clouds drift in dawn's heavenly hue
there you'll see the wild horses of Kinlochewe
like swirling ribbons in a silver blue sky
our most wonderful friends go galloping by
our own hearts may battle conflicting desires
our own personalities fight internal fires
ride one of these horses and you'll be forever free
run with the wild wind in bounding clarity
not trapped in tight spaces or boxed in by life
pounding through problems and pressures and strife
are you the wild one that no one can tame?
Well humbly surrender to nature's sweet game
with ebony hooves as strong as steel
whatever pain you had will surely heal
jump whatever life throws in front of you
be like the wild horses of Kinlochewe.

Warning

an aerial orchestra sings overhead
rejoicing that the endless winter is dead
the book falls open to the middle of May
reminiscent echoes of a warm spring day
scattering memories like seeds on the ground
where childhood seaside sunsets are found
young and free the birds were let out of the cage
to sing their song on this world's uncertain stage
whisper to me stories of long summers past
those charming melodies we knew couldn't last
so they went with their friends to water the weeds
and bask in the warmth of their ill gotten deeds
they were just as free as the birds and the bees
'till reality  brought them down to their knees
the child within you might still be fiery
but don't let anyone else write your diary!

Another Cup?

the sun beams through as the world is woken
affections journey on life's blue sea
love's a promise that should never be broken
lets sit down and have a cup of tea

you were always my cup of tea
you know that I was always yours
bound together in our serenity
a sanctuary behind closed doors

to hear the sound of dancing raindrops
behold the fragrance of peppermint
and the warming Spiced tea with ginger and hops
that twinkle in you're eye's a welcoming glint

many cups of tea as we grow older
warming our hands around porcelain walls
still the same arm around your shoulder
time drifts slowly by as the third age calls.

Ernie

When he was a child he collected sea shells from the shore
just on the local coast he couldn't have wished for more
pretty little broaches on a wave of golden sand
he didn't look with his eyes he held them in his hand
when his kids were young they picked shells up from the shore
his life was complete but Ernie wanted more
he left his family though he thought it not a sin
now eyes peer out from the emptiness within
Ernie ploughed his own furrow, tried not to look behind
his own man once again who knows what he might find
but memories like a barbed hook just would not pull free
he often thought "what do my  children really think of me?"
when he was a child he would squeeze his Father's hand
leaving miles and miles of footprints in the sand
yet the hourglass of time went by just far too fast
eternity just collapsed  when he thought that it would last
that splintering roar of the wind came right from behind
his past came back to haunt him as he's about to find
there he stood under the bright yellow moon of pride
he realised it was only too himself that he had lied
see the footprints in the sand of his patriarchal days
"if I could go back I would surely change my ways
please dear yesterday.. don't leave me on my own
wont somebody help me pull the sword out of the stone"
the breeze back Combs the waves of his patriarchal role
a lilt of laughter then began to permeate his soul
He walked on the beach where he'd held his Daughter's hand
seashell embroidery on a swathe of stained glass sand
the tide splashed angrily on his days of Fatherhood
was it now too late now to repay the bad with good
he put a shell to his ear and he heard his Daughters voice
for one brief moment it made his heart rejoice
see the sad plight of an old man walking on the shore
tried to reconcile but he's just been shown the door
it wasn't long before the rain slowly turned to snow
his Daughter had died and the Son didn't want to know
like a tree without branches is the man without a hope
life's moisture drained from him he thought he couldn't cope
Ernie was so sad he wanted his life to end
his heart's a broken shell but  broken hearts can mend
yes..broken hearts can mend....

When we started to visit the North West Highlands in the early 90's we would see an old yellow Volkswagen Campervan pop up everywhere we went. It was there year after year. This was Ernie, a well known character. He certainly had his regrets, I remember him as a very lonely man who could tell a good story. Of course there came a time when the yellow van was no more. Whether Ernie was eventually reconciled to his son I've no idea, I'd like to think that he was.

Waterfall land

the wonderful sound of cascading water
polishing our sweet and sharpened senses
vehement force of that thrashing sound
splashing the most dreadful fear into the pool below

c    p   t   s
a    o   h  p
s     l   r   l
c     i   a  a
a    s   s   s
d    h  h   h
i     i   i    i
n    n  n   n
g     g   g   g

thrashing checkered darts into a soft release
polished stones gather towards the fringe
behold the cascade of a tranquil hush
splashing gush surrenders to quietude

Alone

walking alone on a bleak Highland moor
as solitary as a lone Dove over the sea
being aware of your own fragility
sphagnum softening my footfalls on this floor
as the wind contours the hills of eternity

all alone in a nameless highland glen
here a meandering tinkling stream
release the anguish of a muffled scream
sugar paper stencil of the distant Ben
 deep in the Highlands empty wilderness seem

alone following a Deer stalkers track
wafting plumes of rain, you fear the worst
a brutal reminder of who was here first
you quicken up the pace to take up the slack
this jostle of peaks will quench it's own thirst

alone on Cul Mor at the onset of night
the ceaseless marching regiment snuffs the spark
cosy lights sparkle in the distant dark
dancing alone in buttercups at twilight
far away muted friendships leave their mark

heading for the track where dream and dreamer part
marram grass keeps time to the drum of the sea
the storm of tranquillity has set you free
loneliness is something you have in your heart
a place to visit but not a place to be.

Couldoran

surrounded by majestic spires of green
paragon of solitude you sit like a queen
towering tall over a docile loch
like residues of sunsets on a velvet smock
that esoteric white that soaked up the rays
and effortlessly holds the echoes of our days
sun peeps round clouds casting rays on the ground
Otters move stealthily not making a sound
Bhein Bhan heading confident towards the sky
as winds of change come slowly sauntering by
but Couldoran wont change she only knows peace
and peoples happy days that will never cease
please let us linger in your beautiful dream
keeping a vigil on your majestic scheme
let your craggy features bind us together
where memories don't die but last forever.

Ladies in Green

Green was the colour of the dress she wore
lucid as sugar kelp washed on the shore
that dimpled smile takes my breath away
like pollens wet scent in the middle of May
caress my senses with your calming eyes
and green sloping curves under emerald skies
sunlit layers of calmness as we walk
backdrop of gentle, stirring sounds as we talk
shimmering with verdant energy today
I'll never tire of seeing that silky sway
rivers of green that sparkle in your gaze
piercing the nimbus of downtrodden days
don't be scared to sing if you don't know the words
float with the Butterflies sing with the birds
like the dewy freshness of a brand new day
just make sure that nothing takes your breath away.

The Bright Stream


truly beautiful
truly bright
hold me gently
with your peaceful sound
captivate me with cheerful tidings
as we drink to forgetfulness.
A group of friends
in half remembered days
on green calming hills,
in a fragment of time.
Basking in a moment of dislocated reality
away from the fallen masonry
we cast comely backward glances
to a composition of real verve and opus.
Now the clouds of foreboding catastrophe
will drop sweet rain on cushioned ground.
Truly beautiful.
Truly bright.

Evening (Ernie part 2 )

silhouette of a Lark flying to it's nest
clusters of Iris's shake their weary heads
the sky is all fiery red in the west
soon be time for children to head for their beds

still a family of four jump the waves holding hands
memories like sand slip through your fingers, they're gone
the Watcher craves sunsets past right where he stands
before time joined all of his days into one

as the sun drapes shadows beneath the orange sky
the Watcher observes from a safe point it would seem
see the Phoenix in flight with a tear in it's eye
shadow of a broken man without a dream.

At Night ( Ernie part 3 )

Laid there gazing up at the moonlit sky
those clouds of time slowly drifting on by
a mischievous wind on the last night of June
but Ernie is dancing a different tune
new found faith gives him a break from the play
no longer in the prison of yesterday
night doesn't rise but falls like a feather
trailing hushed air over daisies and heather
night revealed secrets that people don't know
answers to questions where we dare not go
no longer bound by regrets and sorrows
time to move on to endless tomorrows
laid there gazing up at the moonlit sky
clouds of hope go slowly drifting on by
you've made your mistakes many tears you've cried
wipe your nose Ernie, your tears have dried
determined to carry on a dogged fight
even tho our thoughts can be gloomy at night
embracing his Son a startling godsend
but like someone said 'broken hearts can mend'
like the slumber in every human creature
the Watcher was no longer a visible feature
forever gone was that old Camper Van
but Ernie died a contented old  man.