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. Derek Ross
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.
open field stone pages laid open
strolling eyes in the stone follow
reaching out cold fingers trace a lost world
we whisper the stones remain silent
I’m very lucky to live near a wood, especially in these troubled times. A great place to centre yourself and indulge in some much needed mindfulness.
Walking 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. Derek Ross
Just as Spring starts to show itself, a wee poem about Autumn. Ah well…
October October taps on my bedroom window. A cold sound, relentless. Out there, Autumn slowly kills, in its usual, beautiful way. First light reveals a golden irony. Leaves wave from cold branches. They beckon me to bear witness to the richness of their going. But gold, is not the colour of death, and life continues at the bud. Isn’t this what we all hope for? A last flush of beauty, a promise of rebirth. Derek Ross.
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 Sorley b. 19th May 1895 d. 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.