Cup and Ring

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

Walking

 
 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 

October

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. 

Charles Hamilton Sorley

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.