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.
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.
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.
The Nith is full
and pours through the town.
A heron stands,
head-still above it all.
It is waiting, for that one chance.
Debris slides by,
torn by the full tide.
The heron lets it all go…
and waits, some more.
(The Nith - River that flows through Dumfries, Scotland)
Auld Brig, Dumfries.
Was it just Monday
that the sun shone?
So much rain, since then,
so much has flowed
beneath the Auld Brig.
But it’s still there,
still strong enough
to endure the torrent.
Still carrying us
from one side…
…to the other.
Cup and Ring Marks, or Cup Marks, are a form of prehistoric art found in the Atlantic seaboard of Europe. There are particularly nice examples in my native South West Scotland. Their meaning remains a mystery and, hopefully, always will be.
The moon fell through the tree tops
And time became a gentle thing.
I walked on wrapped within myself
Hearing only my heart and birdsong.
Time became a gentle thing
That fell with the autumn leaves.
Hearing only my heart and birdsong,
I walked alone, content.
Falling with the autumn leaves,
A light rain caressed my cheek.
I walked alone, content,
Not thinking of this troubled world.
A light rain caressed my cheek
I remained wrapped within myself.
Not thinking of this troubled world,
The moon fell, through the tree tops.
Just as Spring starts to show itself, a wee poem about Autumn. Ah well…
on my bedroom window.
A cold sound,
Autumn slowly kills,
in its usual, beautiful way.
reveals a golden irony.
from cold branches.
They beckon me
to bear witness
to the richness
of their going.
is not the colour of death,
continues at the bud.
what we all hope for?
A last flush of beauty,
a promise of rebirth.
I’ve been asked to come up with a short poem (two 4 line verses) about a deceased, under-rated / under-valued hero of Scotland. I remembered one of my favourite WW1 poets, Charles Hamilton Sorley. He was born in Aberdeen in 1895, sent to France in May 1915 and was killed in October of that year during the Battle of Loos. Tragically, he didn’t last long to say the least, but long enough to write some of the best poems of that war, including “To Germany” and “When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead.” References to these two poems appear in my wee poem.
Charles Hamilton Sorleyb. 19th May 1895d. 13th October 1915
You saw the millions
and the millions more
that followed in your war
and the wars it spawned.
You joined them, the spooks, one more loss; nothing gained.
Rest as gently as you can,
in the darkness, thunder, rain.