Poetry

Paths

I am walking
along familiar paths,
listening to bird song
drifting down
from the same old sky.


Yet, there is a change
in the air, a shift,
a new old same old.
Beneath that tree,
a broken shell, a feather.
Winter Jetty


There is a beauty
In the cold,
In the white loch,
In the sparkle of winter.


This is a time
When all stops, 
All holds its breath,
Water is held still.


Here is a moment
To pause for a while,
And then to listen
To nothing...nothing at all.
Release


I miss the sound of the sea,
as it unfolds upon a shore,
the chatter of shell and stone
as the tide pulls and flows.


And when I’m free again,
I’ll renew along the edge
of land and sea and pledge
never to presume...
                   never to forget.
Whitesands, Dumfries (May 2020)


The Nith is low for this time of year,
Small islands have appeared midstream,
A heron guards a dawdling Caul.


The windows are barred on The New Bazaar,
There’s a light burning in The Piccalo,
A bus coughs from an empty bus stance.


A young couple descend the Auld Brig steps,
Their laughter disturbs a stubborn gull
That skips to another patch of tarmac.


Just beyond the deserted car park,
A shaft of light strikes the Suspension Bridge.
Clouds are clearing, the sun is coming out.

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