Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Breathless from-
the beauty
the art
the history.

Those who’ve sacrificed-
to do what’s right,
what others could not
what others would not
who said what everyone else was afraid to say.  

Those who’ve gone before,
Made the way for me to be-
right here
right now
in this moment
in this foreign land.

So many feelings
So many thoughts
I push back the tears
(Why am I crying?)
I light a candle
I say a prayer.

Gratitude takes overs.
Click, click, click
Desperate to remember-
this moment
this feeling.
Still pondering the flood of emotions I experienced when I went in St. Giles cathedral yesterday. I’m on holiday in Scotland.
Skywlkr Apr 28
Rain'full Delight
The Wee' Droplets Sparkle So
Fae oor Scottish Hills
Its Makes For Such a Sight ;
Pure Green Hills wi' Mountain Tops
Clouds That Carry Might......that Would
Give yee a "Freight"!
A Found Some Inspiration to
! "Write" !
Because this Perfect! Scottish
Night........ is Carrying!
A Background of Rain'full
"Delight" !
J love the rain I love Scotland!!!
(wow over 70veiws no likes where did I go wrong)
Dear gem, dear ever Art,

Today I sat under yellow sun disappearing west and
stared horizonward with thoughts not shallow.
I worried with outer silence about the distance
Separating us — a temporal damnation upon us.
I left you in north central and journeyed north west,
About half the length of the vast space from east to west
of this green and white country is laying in betwixt us.
Longings that graduated into aches burnt
My tent joy and covered me with sorrow's ragged garments.
It truly ached  that you are not here
but i learned an addiction of thinking about you
Like drunkenness in silence with no whisky in belly.
Your absence birth my woe here
thinking about you is my solace here.
Damnation be ******,  
distance be distanceless.

Be here With me or faraway,
I am bound to feel your energy
right here inside my pumping heart.
Be here with me or faraway,
You are still on this orb that i am breathing in
And that is something good to me.
Be here with me or faraway,
your round face and the spot close to your brows
Flashes anytime I closed my eyes' windows.
I am drunk in you by thoughts and
Imaginations — but
It is soberness to my worries.
Then I realised that you are always in two places —
In North central and in my aging heart.
But i must suffer the absence of your
I must suffer lack of serenity in the sight of you,
My imaginations cannot bless my palms with the softness of your
Brown skin.

It was an ember month moisty morning — a hundred and six days are gone already
Since when i left you to chase my study with zero certainty of seeing tomorrow.
If my seconds are to end before I come back to you my beloved,
Know that i died and only with the thought of you in my dying heart.

Thy all, thy all is forever beautiful.
I pray to see you again welcoming me
at the coasts of Edinburgh with that smile only you possess on earth.
Fictional character
Part One - Missing presumed dead

Apparently Alec was missing presumed dead
at least that was what the obituary said
how then he got married is still a mystery
life after a very dark period of history

               Jane plodded head down through another long day
               solitude complete in a strange kind of way
               while Kestrels are tacked to an untamed sky
               she screams "Dear Lord wont you please tell me why"

young Alec stood well over six foot tall
legs full of shrapnell disfigured and all
willing to give all for a meagre days pay
a young man with half of his face blown away

                Shepherdess Jane sat under sad twinkling stars
                it was plain to see she had her own mental scars
                the Ferryman's Daughter, she was so kind
                different from the others, Jane was blind

when the bells of victory began to ring forth
it was too much for Alec, he headed up North
up to the North where the bronze fields shone
but Alec's old personality had gone

                 there in the North a young Shepherdess called Jane
                 did dry Alec's tears and soothed his deep pain
                 Her voice rolled over hills in a plaintive wave
                 as they assumed Alec lied in an unmarked grave

In time they married, Jane bore Alec a Son
but talk about the war, Alec would have none
all that he said was "between you and me..
I've seen things that no man should ever see"

                 flashbacks in his mind of the dead still ringing
                 offset by his young Wife's ethereal singing
                 somewhere around the Somme young Alec lay dead
                 at least that was what the obituary said.

Part Two - The Ferryman

The Ferryman vowed he would find his girl
he picked some roses to place in the top room
searched high and low to find his precious lost pearl
swore he would have her back before the flowers bloom

treated like a slave, a young girl in her prime
the Brothers got away Jane was left behind
her body it did whither through the passing of time
She was different from the others, Jane was blind

worked as a Milkmaid her hands would get so sore
under constant threats she still searched for the spark
work never done a family waits on the shore
although Jane was blind she could see in the dark

the moon shone bright on the path to the Ferry House
the gusts picked up on the night Jane ran away
salty wind and sea shanty's awakened the grouse
as Jane finally gets her break from the play

He scoured every square inch of the land
yet couldn't ask why? Or search into his past
at the Wayfarers Inn they'd got it all planned
released from a cruelty that could no longer last

the night the Father died Gaelic psalms they sang
a lonely house still stands like a watch to nature's will
when they buried the Ferryman the church bells rang
the flowers in the attic, they stand there still.

Part three - The Inn (recapitulation)

The Ferrymans lantern swung in the pouring rain
he heard that his Daughter had made it to the Inn
the audience sang to the Drovers refrain
midst discarded cigarettes, rolling dice and gin

Jane had long picked brambles from thorn covered vines
lived an intoned existence yet she had her plans
though Jane was blind she could read between the lines
a chance to escape, she grabbed it with both hands

the Inn's cosy light shone at the end of the lane
to Whiskey Jack, Jane's elopement had come to light
she had nothing to lose and everything to gain
Jane's now with Alec and has recieved her respite

see him dramming away yarns, bereft of what's true
then screaming his lies to the starry sky above
but tidal subtleties are demanding their due
his heart had long died to the trueness of love

the landlord played the piano and felt every note
the Ferryman's lantern swung in the pouring rain
given up his search, now in want of his boat
regular at the Inn but never seen again

he knew that yesterday would never come back
sailing aimlessly like a throw of the dice
he knew there would be no-one to take up the slack
the doomed Mariner paid the ultimate price.
On the North coast of Scotland on the Ard Neakie peninsular, there lies an old Ferry house, built before the road in 1830. Sadly it has long fallen into desuetude. On the other side of Loch Erribol lies the Wayfare Inn, now a holiday let. My imagination knows no bounds.
HeWhoExplores Jan 17
Edinburgh, oh lovely Edinburgh
I visited you during a Scottish storm
But, it did not deter my fascination with your beautiful rich land,
which I had set out to soak up during my short welcoming stay
I saw castles and monuments
galleries and eateries
even little pubs and alleyways
that tickled my fascination
I took midnight strolls into the backstreets
and met lovely people who equally shared gratitude towards your wondrous land
And so, I leave temporarily at least
with a little something to say
"Thanks for the memories, I'll be back indefinitely,
with more love and awe to share than ever before!"
A memory from Edinburgh
Mark Motherland Nov 2018
I was being stalked by something large and threatening
foot falls behind me but there was no-one there
an uninvited guest to me he is beckoning
shimmering rings, rainbow his head in the air
I know Bigfoot looms large in swathes of shifting grey.
I'm above the clouds stood with my back to the sun
the dark figure motions to his trembling prey
"oh circular glory, to you I'm outrun
sat cowering beneath the Brocken Spectre
the circle was broken and the Grey Man walked free
was he a Troll or some Mountain Protector?
Oh! Hideous encounter, the Grey Man was me!
When you are stood with your back  to the sun, your shadow is cast into the mist. The halo is caused by an optical illusion called a 'glory' where diffracted light is reflected back at you. It has a greater effect when you are above the clouds. 'Brocken' is named after a mountain kn Germany that is renowned for this phenomina.
Mark Motherland Nov 2018
the hills breathe verselets high and low
in jigsaw lochans of liquid sky
lure me back to where I want to go
back to the land where poems lie

clouds turn mountains into words
that sing unto the morning sky
and a faintly scattered beach of birds
call out to me where poems lie

four seasons lie forever stranded
await some verse to unlock the spry
in a song that never ended
in beautiful land where poems lie

the setting sun says that all is well
as rhythmic rivers join the cry
of pounding waves of sand and shell
in the Motherland .. where poems lie!
for me poems lie in the Highlands of Scotland, the Motherland. But where is your Motherland?
David Hutton Nov 2018
Raw landscapes shape the far distance
Brutal terrain tests our endurance
A greeting with coldness
A sheet of fog invites us
Raw landscapes welcome us with silence.
Picturesque Edinburgh symbolizes Scottish regal splendor,
Which can be seen in buildings that are truly rich in decor,
The solid architectural structures are such a visual marvel,
Replete with history when one tries to unravel

Mary, Queen of Scots is a name we  remember from school history,
The palace where she was born speaks of tales that remain a sad mystery,
That she was ordained to be the Queen as soon as she was born, was destiny,
It was her mother's foresight and Providence that enabled her to survive the mutiny

The palace rooms and items therein portray her tragic life,
Their vividity saddens the visitor when seeing how full it was of strife,
The room in which she was kept in isolation by her better half,
Spoke volumes of the agony she endured at the hands of her bitter half

The Royal Castle has a whole history behind its walls,
The gusty Scottish winds in no way diminishes visitors' footfalls,
The audio tour reveals fascinating stories little heard of elsewhere,
Which we would never come to know if we had not been there

The prisoners-of-war cells and isolation wards that are centuries old,
Depict in great detail the meted treatment which was a sight to behold,
One cannot but wonder at the related stories of medieval times,
The mannerisms of people of warring nations, that was less than sublime

The difference in Scottish and English (London) accents is quite striking,
One needs to listen closely without too much jaw breaking,
Where the former is more subtle and measured and in consonance with word spelling,
The drawl and crunching emphasis of words in the latter is more telling

While walking through Princess Street Garden at leisure,
Taking in the floral beauty is such a pleasure,
The spectacular view of the castle atop the hill,
Screams for a photo shoot of your own free will

The Waverly Bridge junction is a busy thoroughfare all day,
As automobiles ply by and pedestrians wend their way,
The hustle and bustle is not too over the top,
As people seemingly find time to stop and shop

As a nation the Scots can be justifiably proud,
By nature they seem modest without being too loud,
Their common bond with the English is that they share the same Queen,
Their rivalry otherwise is perhaps latent and needs to be seen
Steve Oct 2018
I wonder what you see
When you think of us
Red boxes, dead foxes
The flag of St George
Or a shiny red bus

Yes I wonder what you see
When you think of us
Scotch pies, och ayes
A white cross on a blue sky
Unruly Scots - treasonous!

I wonder what you see
When you think of us
Bore da, nos da
Green valleys and red dragons
Welsh words to discuss

Yes I wonder what you see
When you think of us
The mountains of Mourne, a leprechaun
Peace between orange and green
Or the troubles between us

What do you see?

Shamrock, glam rock, God save the Queen
Daffodils, leeks, tartan breeks, a red haired colleen
Better together, miles apart, kissing cousins or time for a fresh start?
Never before has the moment felt so close.
Next page