18 May 2015


                                                         long distance

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                                        first light

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04 May 2015

             
              Isle of Skye  -  First of May 2015

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01 May 2015



               silver lining


                                   most days it doesn’t matter
                                      but sometimes i feel old
                                              i have grey hair
                               bin that way a good few years now
                                      never really bothered me

                                            lately it’s been getting kinda long too
                        
                    i used to get sent to the barber when i was about thirteen
                    spend five minutes telling him what to cut and what to leave
                                                  i’d be one dandy dude
                                he’s just smile and give me a short back ‘n’ sides
                                       ….  my old man had got to him first

                                              it’s not some kind of samson trip either

                                                                    simple truth is
                                                                i like a lady to cut it
                                                                       last time
                                                             she gave me a crew-cut
                                                   but i guess that was two years ago

                                                            anyway
                                         it’s becoming a domestic problem
                                            nobody likes a hirsute hearthrug

                                                    a few weeks back i had a spring clean
                                                         damn near filled a hoover bag
                                                                       then
                                                when i was taking that to the bin
                                           i ended up with hairs all over the garden

                                                        end of story really
                                                          i’m still hairy
                                                            still mortal

                                                                            then a while later
                                                                 i was pottering around outside
                                                                trying to avoid doing anything

                                                            saw a bird visit and revisit the hedge

                                                                   when i investigated
                                                              i found a chaffinch’s nest
                                                                they’re always beautiful
                                                          soft cups of love care and moss
                                                           but this one was also filigreed
                                                             with silver strands of myself

                                                                     soon it will be the scene
                                                                             of new life

                                                                             with wings

                                                               i drew a little solace
                                                                a little consolation
                                                                       from this

                                                                      if  a chaffinch
                                                    can build a crib from hair and hope
                                                                      there’s got to be
                                                   a gossamer ghost of a chance for us all
                                                                           

                                                          ………………………………………….

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22 April 2015



                                              son set

                                                      my mother
                                       (as mothers are wont to do)
                                                       grew old

                                             as a “boy” in my fifties
                    i would visit to talk of this and that and yesterday
                                                           then
                                          on many autumn evenings
                                         in the glow of burning logs
                                             we would play music
                                   she would plug in an old keyboard
                        which had once belonged to my daughters
                    (now hers by way of some emotional osmosis)
                              i would join in on wistful woodwind

                  we would begin with the hymns of her childhood
                                           how great thou art
                                             abide with me
                                             jesus loves me
                                                    and
                              i would lose my lack of belief
                              in the melody of the moment

                                                  yet
                                             so often
                        we would graduate to our favourite
                                   you are my sunshine
                                  a simple soulful song
                                     on what once was

                                               then
                                       as we played
                       she would sing a tremulous descant
                                        and
                              there we were ...

              together in a chapel of firelight


                    ……………………………………..

Should you wish to listen to the song, 
here is a link to my favourite version  -  by Elizabeth Mitchell.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhntWIIbWBs


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21 April 2015



                        anemone of the state

                                        maybe
                                low days come more often
                              with the lengthening shadow
                                 it seemed that way today

                                    i did my necessaries
                                                but
                               the toast lacked crunch
    the coffee wasn’t black enough to match my mood
      blowing on old tunes simply brought back echoes

                                      the only thing to do was walk

                                                    perhaps
                                            i merely trudged
                                   a head-down sombreshuffle
                                not looking and seeing even less

                                     i took the long road
                            down past the low-tide beach
                                                 then
                                 as i began to climb again
                           the colours caught my jaded eye
                               a bank rich in wild flowers
                                         primroses
                                           violets
                                       celandines
                                                and
                              blushing wood anemones
                       
                                i felt the hint of a smile
                                   almost against my will
      not quite enough to win my war with the day
                                  just a paean of petals
                                         
                                      a small victory

                              sometimes that’s all it takes

                                     a small victory

                      ………………………………………………………………


                         

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09 April 2015

                             
 This is another scan of a shot taken many years ago  in my 35mm days.  I confess that I cannot remember when the words were added.

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21 March 2015


                                                  winter afternoon haiga

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