Welcome to my blog “Photos-Poetry-Haiku”. I hope you enjoy your visit. I am an Amateur Photographer / Poet from Dumfries in beautiful South West Scotland.

Evening Sail

I enjoy Minimalist Photography, sometimes single images, sometimes multiple images on a theme. Most images here will be in colour but I’ll include black and white images too.

Dalton Old Kirk

My poems tend to be short, I’m a Scot after all and words are precious things! I also write in Scots dialect. Whether Scots is a separate language or not, I’ll leave to others, I just like to write.

The above probably explains my interest in Haiku and its associated forms. I agree with the statement that syllable and line count are not vital in contemporary English (Scots!!!) language haiku. Many writers produce fine haiku using the 5-7-5 syllable count, however, I feel that counting English syllables in this way can make the haiku too long and can loose the essential quality of the form. Haibun are prose poems that use embedded haiku to enhance the overall effect, although the haiku should be able to stand on its own without referring to the prose. Haiga combine an image with a haiku in the same relationship as the two parts of a haibun.

Anyway, enough of the arty-farty stuff. Please use the menu to navigate, I’ll add and update as I go on, I’m still new to this! Also, please feel free to comment, one of the main points of this is to connect with like minded people.



In the midst o naewhar,
oan a nairrie road
through a lanesome muir,
a brig, abin a burn.

The brig cares nocht
aboot whar ye’ve bin,
nor whar yer gan,
it’s jist a crossin,

stane faced, solid,
takin ye fae yin side
tae the other,
askin fir nithin.

Aa stop haaf wey,
takin time tae gaither.
Afore me the muir, the sky,
the lang road hame.


In the midst of nowhere,
on a narrow road
through a lonely moor,
a bridge, above a burn.

The bridge cares nothing
about where you’ve been,
nor where you’re going,
it’s just a crossing,

stone faced, solid,
taking you from one side
to the other,
asking for nothing.

I stop half way,
taking time to gather.
Before me the moor, the sky,
the long road home.

Marram Grass

Marram Grass

The grass, they say,
builds the dunes
from wind and sand.
Then holds them in place,
daring the gale
to blow them away
and let the sea
erode the shore.

Let us be
like the Marram grass.
Let us build again
and then hold on
for as long
as this wind blows.
Let us claim our shores,
walk the sands once more.



The wonder is the way
that water breaks the world,
how the sky is shattered
and clouds cannot hold.
The tree line falls apart
our colours decompose,
boundaries are broken,
and frailties, exposed.
Then, as ripples flatten
and calm returns again,
water, once more becomes,  
a mirror, with no end.