31. One Month Down .....

Beneath a stone may be a diamond,
among the weeds, a budding rose,
and on this blog a literary treasure
or just doggerel - who knows!

This task, my life has taken over
I'm turning invitations down,
instead I'm pouring over paper,
my brow fixed in a rigid frown

but one month gone, so one month closer
to the end, it's tough I know,
I have to tell myself 'keep going'
only eleven more to go!

30. No Forgiveness

Don't speak to me, I will not answer
Don't look at me, I'll turn away
Don't think that I can now forgive you
Don't hope that I will choose to stay

For words, once read, can't be deleted
And lies, once spread, cause hurt and pain
So walk the path that you have chosen
Don't ever pass my way again.

29. Tongue firmly in cheek!

Shut out that icy, biting wind, come in and close the door,
the soup is thick and tasty, your hands look chapped and sore,
come sit down by the fire, warm your feet against the dog,
before you get too cosy, chuck on another log,
outside the snow is falling but it's toasty warm in here,
it's winter and it's wonderful, the best time of the year!

28. Sundays

As if by magic, our Sunday joint
was always cooked and ready to be carved
when Billy Cotton shouted 'Wakey, Wake...y' from the wireless.

I watched the long knife settle in the warm soft flesh
setting free sweet juices, my mouth moist
imagining the taste of this first slice, always reserved for Dad.

'Your dinner's on the table' Mum's same words welcomed him home,
we didn't have lunch back then. Fresh from the pub he winked,
his plate piled high because he was a man.

After, he went to bed to catch another forty,
Mum, lips pursed, followed soon after, the door closed firm behind her
leaving me to pass the time with Enid Blyton.


Held together by this weekly ritual set in stone, I  know why
our lives had seemed so simple, innocent childhoods
where secrets are kept veiled from those so young.

27. Move On

The world
will keep turning
despite all that goes on
in my life.  Accept this now, and
move on.

26. Finding Skye

Like an orchestra's cue to begin, my hand on the door
set off the canine chorus housed within
while each dog strove to win the solo part

but your curled silence shouted louder than the rest,
still as a statue, only the faintest flick of the tail
gave a clue that you cared but did not dare,

yet I felt the connection crying to be heard,
me, abandoned in loss, my grief still burning,
you, just abandoned.  Reaching out a hand to the bars
you shared with me that secret collie smile.

25. Drifting (cinquain)

Drifting,
somewhere, nowhere,
anywhere, everywhere,
rudderless, horizon far, no
lifeboat.

24. Train Journey

Travelling by train, I put down my book to watch
the many scenes that pass beyond the glass:

distant crofts give way to barren hills
where black faced sheep graze slowly,

further on, with tangled mane and mud caked coat,
a highland pony dozes, then flicks flies,

more miles ahead, shrinking fields fail to hold back
marching lines of black tarmac

well kept lawns hold smiling children who throw balls
to wagging dogs waiting for Sunday roasts,

the final act takes place on littered streets of shattered glass
where youths mouth obscenities at girls who pass and giggle.

The journey ends, I close the book, so too these moments
stolen from everyday lives, unconnected and unaware.

23. Last night's poetry workshop offering

Where did they go, those wild childs?
Are they stuck out of reach on the high shelves
questioning still the eternal paradox of time?
Are they forever at war with the men in grey suits
always fighting the cause, still banging the drum?
Not any more - get your coat
We'll meet them in the pub.

22. Missing Maj

I didn't know that you were leaving,
there was no hint, no drawn up masterplan,
so I search for you still along well trodden paths,
across the mooing meadows where newly spun cobwebs
hang silently, waiting to catch my dreams

21. Edinburgh Beckons

It was raining, we didn't feel like talking,
instead I watched the rain drops dance down the windscreen,
my thoughts fixed on the journey home without you.

The wave goodbye on that first school day seems so easy now,
routines steered the years that I took for granted,
each one slipped through my fingers, carelessly.

Back then, this present moment stretched far off into the future
belonging to another time, the space between then and now
still to be filled with the thousand snapshots of laughter and tears.

Crossing the bridge, the lights of Edinburgh beckoned,
you smiled and I sensed the growing distance widen,
you moving forward, me returning home.

20. Seven Poets Hidden

I plan this day to walk the glen,
up at dawn, I spot a lark in the sky,
watch its flight till just a dot over the black burn, 
head on for hours, past the distant loch,
beneath craggy hills climbed by those more hardy than me.
Knowing that words can be worth a thousand pictures
I tuck these images away till the first frost of winter come.

(Did you find them?)

19. Me

Just don't be fooled by quiet, calm exterior
As underneath there lies a cutting edge
Never happy unless around animals, my mood
Is always governed by the weather: 
Suicidal in snow; smiling in sunshine.

18. Cinquains

(i)
Oh dear.....
Cinquains, haikus
are all I can think of,
sadly, my creativity
dried up.

(ii)
Digging
deep inside for
inspiration but the
well that holds my ideas has just
run dry.

(iii)
At this
rate I think this
challenge will last just one
month unless my muse, now sleeping,
wakes up!

17. The Modern Mum

'I'm not going to eat it and you can't make me!'
He cannot speak the words,
he doesn't need to.

Lunchtime, a new battle begins
of simpering, whining, coaxing, cajoling,
an untuned orchestra plays out
this new found arrogance of childhood
that spits out rules and pasta on the plate.

I feel her watching in her gilded frame,
mouth smiling but not so eyes, to offer
those unwanted words of wisdom:
'We did things differently in my day.'

And from the corner of the room, the soft
smiling voice from that nice presenter on Radio 4
assures me that life can be so easy for the modern mum.

16. Dandelion

Just one small soft breath
blows dandelion seeds across a field
turning the brown soil yellow

15. Well?

Will this be the pearl in the oyster?
Will this be the jewel in the crown?
Will this be gold at the rainbow's end?
Will this turn a frown upside down?

Will this be just like the others,
join the ranks of 'good try but no thanks?'
So turn to a fresh sheet of paper
Reload the mind that's gone blank.

14. No Buts

Grasp for a meaning but the clues are always missing
Pluck at an idea but it fades just like a rainbow
Clutch at fondest memories but find they are imagined
Push out all the cobwebs but the spiders are too quick
Squeeze on an emotion but find the heart is empty
Open all the windows but the shutters remain closed
Write on pure white paper but the ink just gets spilled over
Rub away the errors but they always reappear.

13. Final outcome

On that dark. dangerous night
all hope of happiness and joy
drowned with her, leaving you
tormented pictures, looped images
stuck on replay, all exits barred bar one.

There but for the grace........
We will not judge.

12. Battle of Words

Larkin, Hardy, Plath or Hughes,
I'll never follow in their shoes,
so what is it that spurs me on,
with tired eyes, ideas all gone
to sit for hours, pen in hand
where thoughts drift off towards a land
of pictures, rhythms, verse and rhyme
and where I lose all sense of time?

Hard to explain the way I feel,
this need to create, so very real
I cannot stop until it's done
and the battle of the words is won.

11. When poetry dies (Haiku)

Should the day ever
come when poetry dies, so too
the human spirit.

10. After the storm

At first, some branches strewn across well worn paths
but further on, our way was barred by fallen trees
sapped of all strength from last night's storm,
heads bowed to a greater force, just lying
battered and broken, powerless and prostrate,
objects to be climbed over, in our way.

9. Last leaves falling

I've tried so hard to love winter,
envious of those who long for days to shorten,
early closing of curtains,
lighting the lamps.

How I mourn those last leaves falling
and sigh at growing darkness
but I know as each night passes
it is one day nearer Spring

8. Words

Some days the words come
     pouring
        splashing
            crashing
                soaking
caught in a whirlpool of water
spinning towards the sea.

Some days the words creep slowly,
     sucked into quicksand
         crawling across deserts
               searching the distant
horizon to glimpse the oasis
always beckoning, never reached.

Some days there are no words at all. . . . . . . .

7. In the wake of a poetry workshop

I can no longer walk through woods
with empty thoughts.  Instead every
tree, every branch, every twig, every leaf

holds its own uniqueness that waits
to be turned into words.  And I
blame you entirely for awakening this

passion unleashed, this rabid quest
to pen that perfect moment yet to be formed,
still waiting, quivering and raw.

6. 12th Night

That's Christmas packed away for one more year
but there are those who loudly cheer its passing:
the groans from too much sickly food,
fixed grins ensure a cheerful mood
when halos slip and tongues grow sharp
when glances hint of hidden dark
of rows to come when all have gone.
But don't feel sad, one thing's for sure
come December all begins once more.

5. Waiting

Inside the lonely cottage
she watches, waits and worries,
the wind calls through the windows,
the snow falls on the hill,
she checks the clock beside her
but time is moving slowly
as the moon climbs up to treetops
casts light above the bleak December dark.

High on the slopes of Binnein Mor
with broken ankle throbbing
just stops to rest, exhausted,
like his phone the air is still
the snow now spreads it fingers
and wraps him a blanket
as the moon turns off the night light
hides his face behind a cloud.

4. Acceptance

Today, with clarity
while listening to blackbirds' song
this thought appeared to me:

When the music of afternoons is over
accept the quiet stillness of the night

3. Catriona's Whistle

Ten years have passed since the summer
we dashed the White Sergeant
atop Meall Fuar - mhonaidh,

a blistering day, we'd planned to walk as one
but soon became a snaking line
as eager youth strode on past steady age.

To the tune of Catriona's whistle
salvaged from pocket, we clasped hands, then
your head thrown back in laughter

and I knew this was a special moment
to be stored away till needed -
you ready to fly the nest, and long since flown.

2. Power Cut

The room falls dark

familiar objects, still in place

lay like obstacles to trick and trip

tread forwards slowly, arms outstretched

the hidden torch lies somewhere close

within a drawer, within a grip.

1. Begin Again

Dreich days of December behind me,
time to step out from the darkness
and wait for the snowdrops to come.