A wave

Rolling ashore
languidly
thundering
incessantly

A wave
born of
distant storms
long since gone

Under the pale
northern skies
where the ships
of cloud sail aloft

It carries ashore
memories
of yesteryear
long since gone

Are you still there
in the sound of the waves
in the voice of the wind
those, we do miss?

National Poetry Day

As clouds sweep by
painting the blue
that is the canvas
of the sky

Branches sway
leaving leaves to tremble
as they prepare
for their final fall

The sea is restless
its incessant motion
ruffling the waves
in the endless wind

Autumn is digging in
for the short haul
some two months more
and it's solstice time again

Rolling

Countless
waves
roll
ashore

Easterly
winds
blow
steadily

Straight
through
from
Siberia

White
mainland
hills
loom

White
waves
roll
ashore

Countless
winds
blow
steadily

Easterly
through
from
Siberia

Straight
mainland
hills
loom

Straight
waves
roll
ashore

White
winds
blow
steadily

Countless
through
from
Siberia

Easterly
mainland
hills
loom

Easterly
waves
roll
ashore

Straight
winds
blow
steadily

White
through
from
Siberia

Countless
mainland
hills
loom

The Hebrides

Scattered in northern seas
like so many jewels
in hues of green
with a white fringe

Lighthouse to lighthouse
Butt to Berneray
islands 80 miles long
or just 80 yards

The Atlantic pounds
on their western doors
brashly demanding entry
mostly rockily rebuffed

Hardy folk
making their living
from the hard land
or the unforgiving sea

Unflinching loyalty
to hearth and home
to king and country
to their sacred lands

The forest

An avenue of trees
reaching high into the skies
marching on for many a step
immutable it seems

Their crowns are rustled
by the wind
Their bows sway and creak
As if talking amongst themselves

A uniform carpet underfoot
of rustled brown leaves
A memory
of sunny summer days

I cannot see
beyond their eaves
the wind is that of land
blowing ever further away

Here the sea is to my west
well beyond my line of sight
even the belvedere on top of hill
only shows rivers from afar

Footsteps in the snow

A thin layer of snow
greets the first light
of the winter morning
dawning late in pink hues

A line of footsteps lead
from the blackhouse
down the slope
and to the water

A swirl of smoke
writes in the pale
northern sky
telling a story

For no footsteps
have yet returned
for several days
the sea has been empty

A stack of peat
dwindling over months
more carried to the fire
as it softly crackles its tale

Over the hilltop
the smoke drifts
looking down the sealoch
where no movement is seen

Only some driftwood
out by the headland
nothing on the slow swell
is that a sail in the water?

None knows what befell
the boat at the headland
except the fire glowing dully
and the smoke

Gently drifting
over the scene of loss
Forming
A wreath

Barvas

A line of four hills
on the southern horizon
The endless sea
stretching out north

The old land falls
from the cliff edge
to its ruins
the sea toys with the stack below

A single line of houses
along the edge of the loch
another line marching
on the opposing skyline

The moorland waters drain off
to rest for a while
in the shallow waters
before merging with the ocean

Ever moving
never still
motion born
of long dead storms

Trains of white riders
charging the shore
A bullying wind
batters the cowering homesteads

Stretching uphill
to end at the church
views opening out
west along the coast

Like so many places
in these old islands
it's given up its people
to seek riches abroad

Or pledge fielty unto death
For a distant king
The village awaits
The return of the departed

Whether in this life
or in the one beyond
At the setting of the sun
Or at the Breaking of the Day

Tides

Low tide
The bar stretches
across the entrance to the basin
a rapid outflow the sole break

An old engine
now just a lump of rust
with a few floats
attached

Dirty mud with stones
seaweed
empty shells
gulls squawking

A squirt of water
scallops
other inhabited shells
try not to stand out

Six hours later
Only water
All else aforementioned?
Under 17 feet of water

The bell tolls

The bell tolls
Hauntingly over the dark moving plain
Fast moving currents of air
and of water
Smash through the doors, flooding

The bell tolls
Its call answered from all corners, echoed
Driven ashore, the boat is stuck fast
The men taken off, on the edge
Taken to safety - the wind still howls

The bell tolls
An alarm call to all
The low tide at high tide level
The barriers stand, but what will hold
Force 12 at springtide flood

The bell tolls
Over torrents of water, flooding
Crumbling barriers, sweeping away all
Islands retaken, the sea reconquers
Lost for centuries, it reclaims within hours

The bell tolls
As dawn breaks, over a sea of death
Houses afloat, byres adrift
Roads washed away, the railway torn up
The tide has turned, but the water remains

The bells ring out their peal, joyously so
The barriers gleam white
Blocking river from the sea, deprived of its spoils
Peace for our time
Can we withstand?