Poems for a Summer evening

Cricket - The game of life

Quintessentially English, billiard board green

triangle sandwiches and cups of tea

the holy of holies can easily be seen

tradition as old as the village oak tree

leather on willow over freshly mown grass

under aspirin bottle clouds and slanting sun

village green, shimmering air and engine gas

battling it out until the day is done

maroon leather polished on the bowlers thigh

hesitate slightly and you know you're in trouble

an outsde edge and it could be 'goodbye'

just one wrong decision could burst your bubble

dreamy somnolence and another maiden over

sometimes life doesn't deliver tbe goods

beyond the covers there's a boundary moreover

with polite applause from local neighborhoods

I was plied with loose conduct and other worldly tricks

in deep concentration I maintained my stance

with a perfect left hook I knocked him for six

I've fought and lost but for the Devil I wont dance

rescued from the sea, nearly out at nineteen

dropped at second slip that would have been fourty three

as the sun slowly falls they move the site screen

my days could be as long as that old Oak tree

then it's time to bring on the left handed Spinner

to catch you off guard with all those worldly jokes

he knows deep down you're nothing but a Sinner

but I grind him down with my back defensive strokes

wouldn't it be great if rain never stopped play

in the game of life when the bails refuse to fly

with perfect judgment you could bat on all day

protect your wicket and never have to ask 'why'?

to bat on forever then your innings wouldn't cease

no umpires finger and no final shout

you could stay indefinitely behind your crease

a quick look at the scoreboard, fifty seven* not out!

*this figure should change once a year in an upward direction.

A young tourist's lament

The young lad had just got back from a week in Torridon...

"did you see the crumpled up gorges with their cascading waterfalls?" exclaimed the old man. "Or did you cross the rubicon into mountain territory with those long searing ridges that never know when to end. Or perhaps you stayed low and appreciated the empty wilderness on its terms"

The young lad interupted...

"Mountains! I hardly saw any. The mist came down with such a depressing feel of permanency, I didnt think it was ever going to lift. It rained with such power I thought it must have nurtured a grudge. Gusts of wind tore through the glen like they were competing for a personal best. The only time it did stop raining there were midges of biblical proportion! I'm never going back there again"

The old man just smiled.

An Tealach

I stood on top of An Tealach

there was no finer place to be

I felt I knew the land so well

and I felt the land knew me

I stood on top of An Tealach

and traced the rivers to the sea

I gazed around like a child

at a wilderness so free

I stood on top of An Tealach

in a widerness so free

and marveled at the mountain tops

for what seemed an eternity

I felt I knew the land so well

and I felt the land knew me.

Around Carbreck

The River Dionard snakes through the glen

quivering blue ribbon of nature's blue pen

prosaic brush strokes of caramel tones

as grassy dominance gives way to stones

distant townships lay entranced in your stare

pocket rainbows hang in silvering air

from on high you can trace the river to it's source

then descend through the coconut scent of the gorse

the hills of the Parph are very rarely sung

they're like paper stencils we made when we were young

jostles of peaks stretch themselves out with grace

nothing tame or tailored just plenty of space

Righolter farm has the thrill of isolation

no lonelier spot for grand exaltation

where the sheen of the sun smothers every rocky clough

please stay in my heart and that will be enough.

     The River Dionard - my outdoor skills suggest this was taken around  midday

Under a Highland Moon

"Storyteller, Storyteller what do you see?"

"Sheep scattered on the hills so wild and free

and hungry Oyster Catchers where the Cockles are strewn"

"please write a tale and tell it to me...

                                                                   under a Highland moon"

"Piper, Piper tell me what do you see?"

"Redstarts in the glen so wild and free

and a sheen on the gorse on the last day of June"

"please compose a reel and play it for me...

                                                                      under a Highland moon"

"Artist, Artist tell me what do you see?"

"Deer in the mountains running wild and free

in a vermillion sunset that'll cause you to swoon"

"please paint a picture and give it to me....

                                                                      under a Highland moon"

"Wandering Bard, wandering bard what do you see?"

"A beautiful woman in love with me

in a land that breathes poems from where it was hewn

please take my hand and we will be wild and free...

                                                                       under a Highland Moon".

Musings of a man approaching old age

A golden glory settled on the sea

the dog swims in the loch 

like the old man used to

and wishes he still could

souvenirs may have no monetary value

yet the recollections they evoke

take you back in time 

and you can't put a price on them

I could look at a photograph of a Hairstreak

but I'd rather see one with my own eyes

and feast on it's beauty

as the Butterfly does on the leaf

why does a child fight sleep

when he knows he needs it

yet we do the same thing 

when we get to the end of our lives.

Culmination

Every Blackbird has a song

Every Damsel has a mate

Every Winter is too long

Every Summer comes too late

Every Dog has it's day

Every man has his stage

Every coastline has it's bay

Every seascape has it's rage

Every mountain has it's mist

Every road has it's bend

Every shoreline has been kissed

Every poem has an end.

      Banded Damoiselle

                  Purple Hairstreak 40x zoom!

             

A Poem at dusk

the water lily slowly closed on it's leaf

beguilled by melancholy and laden with grief

the old man pats his faithful dog on the head

nocturnal melodies say it's time for bed

the lavender of time has faded somehow

those lazy purple streams have turned silver now

years of nostalgia are firmly stowed away

to salvage some happiness for another day

the sky paints with clouds like a poet paints with words

down on the shoreline the beach is full of birds

far away from the plum velvet of night

a myriad paw prints say that all is alright

long swooping lines of a Sandpiper breeze

in an orange silhouetted mountain frieze

petals of colour fall from Northern skies

morning has emerged as the sun starts to rise

since he lost his wife many years have come to pass

now Winter has once again pressed it's face to the glass

there on the horizon the old man sees his boat

"here come the Mackerel!" he ruffles his dog's coat

later that same evening he lays down to rest

a man of deep faith he knows that he'll be blessed

a relic of chivalry from a bygone time

withdrawing from this world was his only crime

a stray dog on the beach greets every passer-by

until the day came when it gave it's final sigh

in the New World a young man is free from his grief

the water lily slowly opens on its leaf.

Bothy Tale No.1 - Moving Targets

In my early teens, one of the phases I went through was a spell in the Air Cadets. I became a bit cynical in the end and just saw it as 'playing soldiers', nevertheless I have some fond memories, one of which was an opportunity to recieve the 'Marksman' badge - a highly esteemed accolade rarely achieved on the first attempt.

After a few weeks of training we were hauled off to RAF Scampton to trade off our newly found skills. Two were set up in the tunnel at a time. It came to my turn, for reasons unbeknown to me, high expectations were on my head. On presenting my 'target card' to our Commanding Officer, a very abrupt man - it didn't bode well. "Cadet Ingram, I expected much better from you!" he bellowed. I didn't think it was that bad, five rounds were spread out all over the card. To achieve the coveted badge all five shots had to be in the centre of the card and in the compass of an old ten pence piece. Next time I was determined to do better.

Me and my friend Richard were called up again. I pulled the rifle snugly in between my shoulder blade and clavicle and concentrated with all my might and mind. Anxiously I walked the walk to retrieve my card but to my abject horror I'd missed the blinkin lot! I was looking at a blank card. Sheepishly, I walked back to where a group of lads were stood chatting and tried to blend in but the CO's voice came booming over "Cadet Ingram, let me see your card". Somehow I had the presence of mind to put my card on the pile of blank cards and furtively pick up any card at random that belonged to one of the lads, it had to be better than mine. On presenting it to the CO I couldn't believe it, it was the best one of the lot!

The CO was in raptures over it, "hey lads, come and have a look at this" he exclaimed. Before long a group of lads were huddled around my bogus card. Several pats on the back and words of commendation followed. It wasn't long before the obligatory ten pence piece was offered up to the five rounds on the card - the Marksmans badge had been missed by a whisker! I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy at this point when one of the lads said "that looks just like Jacko's" I thought to myself "hmm that's maybe because it is Jacko's" and there, neatly inscribed on the back left hand corner, in tiny capitals - P.Jacklyn. I stealthily put my thumb and forefinger over the name and said "well lads, if you don't mind".

When we were dismissed as a squadron the CO commended us all for doing so well but singled out none other than Cadet Ingram for special praise. Now we should have all been a cheery enough platoon but all was not well in the camp. My friend Richard was having a tussle with the Green Eyed Monster, you see he was with me when we walked down the tunnel to collect our cards and saw with his own eyes that I'd completely fluffed it. Not only that, he was ready to gloat when I was summonsed by the CO. How bewildered he must have been when inexplicably, instead of being severely reprimanded, I was the blue eyed boy. He just couldn't fathom it. I teased him as we walked home with comebacks like "I don't know what card you were looking at Richard" and "Richard! You heard what our Commanding Officer said just as well as everyone else". Mind you when I came clean he was in hysterics.

So it goes when you're young - you win some , you lose some. Not so much is at stake at that age. You climb a tree, fall out of it and break your arm - so what, you have a week off school and life goes on. It's a pity that as we get older we have to stop climbing trees.

When the Bothy fire is raging and you're beginning to feel human again - the stories start to flow. This is one of my favourites, I used to tell it to my Kids, they loved it.

Brown Argus and a friend

Brown Hairstreak

The Fire

We made a fire

down on the beach

away from the crowds

and well out of reach

all you could hear

was the sound of the sea

we got warm by the fire

where we could be free

we were so content

as the flames danced higher

fun and laughter

around the happy fire

the flames consumed more wood

as we laughed and talked together

'although it's just a memory

some memories last forever'.

We had just cycled around ten Hebridean Islands and found ourselves where the road runs out on South West Lewis. It was a wonderful moment with Bruch's 'Scottish Fantasy'  blasting out from the car. I borrowed the last line from the late Neil Peart.

Dancing with Dragonflies 

for an inspirational Odanata Scholar called Mr Tense

Where invisible thread falls down from the sky

is where I will dance with a Dragonfly

their eyes as lucid as precious metals

a glory as stunning as opening petals

with diligent patience they hang in the air

while bagging their quarry they'll give you a stare

spiralling colours on a flightpath so fleet

gauzy winged dynamics are no mean feat

will the antique river play all it's aces

and reveal all your secret hiding places

will you befriend the Summer with your poise and power

or cower away in another Spring shower

your eye catching presence tells me life is good

in an enchanted corner of a Bluebell wood

near the swelling river where the tall Oak trees sigh

is where I will dance with the Dragonfly.

Four Spotted Chaser

Common Darter

Brown Hawker

Ride

joyfully breathing in life's serenity

a brief respite from spiralling reality

how the warm wind in your face makes you feel awake

tho every bone in your body's starting to ache

powering on up some endless chalky hill

your body says it can't but you're mind says it will

the summit beckons you on but the gradient is steep

out of the saddle now so soon the joy you will reap

while you relish your self imposed hour of test

Swans float on the water enjoying their rest

Aconites and primroses adorn the verges

clouds arise from where the sea and sky merges

on a silky road under an overhang of trees

and a backdrop of birdsong you ride with the breeze

there's a wobble in your legs but you're spirit is high

you unclip at home and give a long happy sigh.

After all is said and done

To hear the sound of the Cuckoo again

as we amble along a leafy lane

or cycle down miles of empty roads

when we no longer carry heavy loads

how the sky had a deep metallic hue

and the rivers were as clear as crystal blue

but after all is said and done

this is the tangled web we've spun

so the steady shadow of sunset crept

but a wonderful promise has been kept

gone forever will be the scourge of war

then love will permeate the air once more.

The Butterflies Secret

After the celebrated transformation

a question fired my imagination

I thought about it all day and all night

where do Butterflies sleep at night?

when the gate of sunshine finally closes

do they curl up within the petals of roses?

Or maybe on the back of an evening breeze

do they head for the heights and hide in the trees?

Untethered flowers you've got no need to hide

let your patterns and polka dots be your pride

you skip around the meadows in perfect aplomb

so what is it that you're really hiding from?

I asked Wisdom if he had any idea

but he advised me just to stay clear

"they don't have that long to be wild and free

so don't disturb the Butterflies, just leave them be."

Small Blue

Silver Washed Fritillary - form Valezina!

Five Spotted Burnett Moth

Mighty Micros - connected by serendipity

When something  bad happens to you

don't be overwhelmed by sadness

in the fulness of time it will be filed away

like rows of books in a library

old lady in a library in the '80's

she covers her face with a scarf as a child coughs

other children mimick her behind her back

but the old lady was wise

all the world is indeed a stage

and we are all players

but sometimes it's good to be in the audience

when others are on the stage

our problems are often a lot worse at night

yet when we awake they're not half as bad

perhaps in a way we don't understand

our mind has been busy filing them away in our subconscious.

Shaded Broad Bar

Mother Shipton

Latticed Heath

Near the End

we're getting near the end now

there can't be much further to go

see the pain on all our faces

all the jokes have ceased to flow

the end can't be far away now

surely just around the next bend

but it seems to last forever

this is a hike without an end

it was such fun when we started

we were all such a merry band

a flowing lilt of merry chatter

demands on stamina were not planned

you try to take your mind off it

by meaningful coversation

but it drags like a Status Quo song

endless meandering duration

your head pushes your feet forward

you can't believe it's been this far

but then you see the most awesome sight

there in the distance - that's your car!

Come back .... ... ....(?)

Fly away Peter and fly away Paul

now the tide swells high and the grass grows tall

in coral pink sunsets with a crimson smile

as darkness fades on the golden kyle

but the sea breeze always brings salty air

serpentine ridges will always be there

Summer vistas will stop the world spinning round

in Winter frost will always grip the ground

Autumns with colours that you can't describe

and Spring will never lose that golden vibe

from the North you will hear old Mother time's voice

and at that time your own heart will rejoice

from where the tide swells high and the grass grows tall

crying come back Peter and come back Paul.

bbtblLLb?lwblbL

Longing

Our freedom was written on crumpled pieces of paper

then thrown into the fire of uncertainty.

Surreptitiously the gaps were filled in.

Meanwile Eagles scan deserted mountains

Sea Gulls forage on empty beaches

Courmorants dive into a wrinkled sea

oblivious of the perpetual struggle.

We always left part of ourselves there

foolishly we called it home

now we have a 'longing' of our own making

In the middle of a windswept glen

stands a weather battered tree

alone, he has stood the test of time

a monument to 'hope'

he laughs at all the friends he has made

but where are they now?

How I long to see that tree.

note - having lots of trouuble with Blogger it keeps changing colour, underlining and                      other things. Iv'e decided to plough on.

An apology-Blogger is beginning to do my box in nowit seems to have a mind of its own somehowbig spaces in between and underlined in blue!I'll have chat with 'Wordpress' and tell them I'm throughI tried my hardest to get my words to rhymeand pooled hours and hours of my prescious timeas far as penalties go, I hope I'm exemptbecause I couldn't find a word to rhyme with dreamt!

KTDA - Marky.