XXII
hooded boy
kite aloft
duned beach
turquoise sea
uncertain wind
hard horizon
variegated rocks
suddenly sunshine
XXIII
clouds sailing away
from a sunset
great banks of reflected
light caressing
the heavens expecting stars
far distant a lighthouse pencil-thin
awaits its first flash into the night
XXIV
on the horizon’s rim
far St Kilda waits
two islands one a ****
of rock basalt-black
a stack bird-coated
sheer with noise perpetual
morning boat slicing
a myriad blue aimed
purposely between the two
faint shapes seaward
XXV
Donald
parish priest
of Bornish
died 1905
30 years of age
3rd year of his
priesthood
his Celtic cross
standing before
three hills
of South Uist
‘next the sea
and the call of birds
a life barely lived
resting in peace
XXVI
after the swim
a warm beach
soft fine sand
between the toes
a steady breeze
off the sea
with a coverlet of light
stretching horizon-ward
XXVIII
six geese
fallen from the sky
in the roughest weather
(more likely shot, he said, and
dumped from a farmer’s sack)
feathers bones and intricate
webs of cartilage lie
on these quiet rocks
XXIX
girl with *****
digs out channel
for the boat to pass
to its winter home
a long task a project
for this late-summer week
she has at home
away from the desk
measuring the silence
in shovelfuls
whilst thinking
of what is and what might
be then and soon
***
sea loch
maze of water
****-mantled
granite holding
the moor-side in place
a low cloud rests
curtain-like
on the heights
where deer lie
ready for the stalking
XXXI
white horses
chomp at the bay’s
bit while the Barra
ferry waits
wind everywhere
this bright morning
XXXII
impossible grasses
jiggle on their slim stems
planted in the immediate sand
before the machair takes control
windy today but sun lightens
the shell detritus lining the beach
so fine these calciated shapes
rendered perfect in fractal forms
tossed and turned but so precise
when seen alone
held in the hand
meanwhile there are wind waves
across the dune-land grass
nodding to the facing sea
as the water foam-faced
breaks irresponsibly across
the Sound.
These poems are part of a collection of forty-five written during July and August 2016. Thirty-six of these poems were written in the Outer Hebrides on the islands of North and South Uist, and on Eriskay. They are site-specific, written on-the-fly en plain air. They sit alongside drawings made in a pocket-size notebook; a response to what I’ve seen rather than what I’ve thought about or reflected upon. Some tell miniature stories that stretch things seen a little further - with imagination’s miracle. They take a line of looking for a walk in words.
