Category Archives: seasons

Cup and ring

cup and ring illustration

.

Cup and ring marks are a kind of carved rock art or petroglyph. They are found widely in both Mediterranean Europe and across north western Europe, including Scotland. As with so many prehistoric artworks, their intention and meaning are far from clear. They consist of a central indentation surrounded by concentric grooves of carved circles. Like a tiny map, or a labyrinth for the hand, they seem to invite touch.

The place where I was when I had the idea for this poem does not have such a mark (that I know of), but the poem is connected with thoughts about their meaning.

 

Cup and ring

(a benediction)

Turning at this middle stone mark
Driesh and Mayar, Dun Hillock,
Tom Buidhe, Tomount, Monega, Maols, and Claise,
Fafernie, t-Sagairt Mòr, and Bannock,
Broad Cairn, Lochnagar, Meikle Pap,
and Broadlands
back again.
 
While the wind spits grey break rumours,
this little top lees a cup of sun:
be warm and happit here a sitting moment,
brim hill-flask full,
short sweet napped, 
rest still as quiet ground
in a place well met.

 


go-around

StAnza Poetry Map of ScotlandDelighted to have my poem go-around placed on StAnza’s Poetry Map of Scotland. They located the pin for this poem perfectly on the exact spot between the hills of Glas Maol and Creag Leacach where this encounter happened.

Read the poem and check the map here.

WordPress tells me this is my 200th post on subjects, objects, verbs – hooray!

.

.

.


It’s almost

 

It can be an nervous time, when you have been waiting for a change for a long while, and you know it is coming soon, although you don’t know exactly when it will happen. When the change finally arrives, will it be what you expected? And, meeting it, will you be the person you may have wished to be?

 

.

It’s almost

Leaves remain furled at harbour,
tide not turned yet for royals
set aloft on a new season’s airs.

So tell me, is it me, or would these fine trees
be bonnier still without
the addition of wee wooden doors?

Is it the same eco-fetish that
makes me pick at kerbside litter,
or am I just another wannabe-curmudgeon?

Certainly trees don’t much care
about dinky doors, or awkward hinges,
or rusty rat-bag minimalist aesthetics.

They neither bare their wrists,
nor wear their watches on them,
their second sweeps are much too slow.

Less than a woodland minute,
sixty seconds back to seven years, or so,
a growing season’s sea of stories,

a wonky-plank squeezed creasote fence,
to dreamscaped white horse
marrams of unmapped sunlit wonder.

So yes, you say – it’s me. But there’s just time,
to careen and clean before spring
sails. For now – now it’s almost

.

.

 

 


Breaking the mould

Breaking the mould

In the box-van back a mirror cabinet
trembles leafy outer worlds under
a roller-back gate of steel, half open,
like the cloth-bound shell of my father’s desk,
a sticking portal to cryptic drawers, tiny shelves,
to faint unsmoked tobaccos of before.

Ahead, and through my windscreen,
outside inside, green shimmers framed
by the mover strapped hardwood mouldings,
whisper hints of a remote Narnian spring.

Breaking the Mould grins in lean sans-serif,
strap-line wry beneath the tailgate logo.
I pray granny’s paper-lined display case
will pass Dens Road’s potholes un-cracked,
that still somewhere seven more years’ luck,
or even fair Cair Paravel, might be found intact.

.

.


Walking out the words

Back in December I posted about The Curlew publishing one of my poems called ‘Horizoned’. Recently the editor got in touch with me to ask about using the poem for some teaching she is planning, and if I could record something about my motivation in making this kind of poem. I was delighted to do this of course, but I thought it might be fun to try to show something about what goes into some of my ‘wandering’ poems.

Really I wanted to take people on a wee walk, because there is something about being there (and getting there!) that is essentially important. An aspect of embodied poetry perhaps.

There’s a long tradition of walking poets – the Wordsworths and Bashō prominent among them. When I googled about the topic I found some fantastic work by Mike Collier of the University of Sunderland which is well worth a look.

Here is my wee piece, with a reading at the end. I tried to cover the questions of what and why seriously, but answering using images, sound and physical effort(!) as well as words. I hope the result is entertaining as well as informative…

.

.
More posts about walking.

.