Category Archives: weather

horizoned

Horizoned

Fafernie is a rounded top
astray amid other places.

Southeast a shank to the Knapps,
slow strewn stone rumpled ancient beds.

Northwest Callater glens a way
to distant Cairngorm stories,

if these are unobscured by clouds
looming grey with rain lofted into snow

as ambiguous as now.

 

At the small cairn a throw from the top
I meet ptarmigan partners.

Sighting me they take stations:
he stands porcelain on the topstone,

eyeing me with red khol caution.
A step past, she sits well grounded,

dissolving spring speckle into
lichen and wind rounded stones

as still as earlier ice.

 

Bending slowly, I rediscover
her against the uncertain sky.

Firmly static, from above she flickers
lost and found and lost again.

Stalking an unready camera,
I exist too much, and they burst

in flurry croaked alarms of flight,
just far enough to horizon me

as vanished as myth.

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old post

windstream whittled

boundary lines surrendered

sculpture on the way

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Earthed

Montage

Earthed

Beech pennies tanned rust and ochre,
circles of sky cast in cold pressed leaf,
they do not always look the same,
though Brighty is damp almost all year
the pools are not always present.

I can look above and below,
but not at the same instant.
I must choose one plane,
breathe low and look kindly, and
fix each in focus, turn about.

This short circuit, a balanced cut-log bridge,
needle scent, fern and copper scale contours,
barely fifteen minutes to walk around, but
gently, surely, it all returns to ground.
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Sounds of rain

drops

click to listen:

Sounds of rain

     Staccato taps syncopate
           justification on your cautious hood.

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Take Ten: 10

dsc07280ssVery pleased to have one of my short poems (In the squall) included in Issue 10 of Fat Damsel’s ‘Take Ten’.

 


Beech pools

Inquisitions of rain discover
Cusps in Brighty’s surface.

Shallow lacunae warmed
By fallen silks of beech.

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Whiteout

IMG_1872

Whiteout

Land’s stationary surface
Squeaking like meringue
To grip my marks,
Becomes a sudden sky.

I sense the edge.
I can’t see it,
But my stomach gives
A predictive lurch.

Ahead an uncreased page
Sweeps away, her seamless
Laid quite unperturbed
By marginal horizons.

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