The Ballad of Iain and Ronnie

Identical twins on the day they were born
one full of love the other full of scorn
Iain was always loving as a child
but Ronnie was uncontrolably wild
when they were four years old they went off to school
Iain was the intelect, Ronnie was the fool
they had nothing in common, or so they thought
but it turned out they both had a penchant for sport
Iain broke the record for the hundred metres
on which track to go, a young child teeters
whatever the race Iain always came first
Ronnie was left seething, he felt he was cursed
when they got older they both went off to work
Ronnie a rivetter, Iain a clerk
they both had fine homes and families to be proud
but the desire to be better still rang out loud
because now every year they hold a 10k race
the rivetter groans as the clerk gets first place
as envious poison begins to permeate his mind
an offer of friendship was scornfully declined
self importance became the God of one Brother
whimsical songs played in the mind of the other
one was a natural he never even tried
the other was 'the best' but to himself he had lied
to sing forever of the victory he'd won
he was determined after all was said and done
wouldn't let it drop and cut a little slack
just a broad grin with a dagger behind his back
tho Iain trained hard, didn't just rest on his laurels
but resisted the fights and the pointless quarels
he couldn't make peace with an enraged bear
when the 'sins of the fathers' hung in the air.
Surely cross country would give Ronnie his chance
when he won he would have a right song and dance
he was stuborn enough to give it a go
another bone for his inflated ego
over ruts, pot holes, rabbit warrens and stones
amidst chafing calfs his tired heart groans
his mind kept pushing his feet on yet more
but his breaths became shorter and his thighs were so sore
then Iain's steps bound on by faster and higher
no rasping throat or lungs being on fire
he kept his rhythm, his arms still kept their swing
as Ronnie sits their nursing a pulled hamstring
anger gently smoldered in his selfish prison
from the ashes of despair fresh thoughts had risen
an unctuous smile broke out across his face
"I'll win the marathon, I know I've got the pace"
Ronnie trained for months with hardly any smiles
he knew that his legs had to soak up the miles
feelings of jealousy he had to protect
brotherly affection he had to reject
on race day he stood there confident and strong
but he soon realized he'd got it all wrong
overtaken by Iain honest and true
Ronnie the green eyed monster through and through
nothing left in the tank but he still kept on going
but the pain in his legs on his face was showing
his mind firmly entrenched on the forbidden side
to soothe his insecurities and bolster his pride
just then he saw something his eyes couldn't believe
was his mind playing tricks, he just couldn't percieve
the sight of it sent a shiver running down his spine
Iain stood static just in front of the line!
Mesmorised, Ronnie could only just keep on running
crossed the line and caught the devil in his cunning
no punching the air, not a song and a dance
but Ronnie reconfigured, with a different stance
all of his life it was all about 'to win'
but now he begins his long haul out of sin
there's more to life than winning, it's not about the race
as exemplified by twin brothers in a tearful embrace.

A Rainbow's Promise

A unity of colours in restorative mold
resonating a promise worth more than gold
a perfect arc of one hundred and eighty degrees
in a land that will soon be free from disease
it enhances creation and radiates love
a portrait of hope shining down from above
purging your heart of all your past mistakes
your cares skim across the water like ducks and drakes
when 'Wisdom's' melodies always play on your mind
when every single person is mild and kind
flowers will dance to a song only you can sing
in a time when death will no longer rule as King!

Haiku - Strangers

town full of strangers
you don't know anybody
the stranger is you.

Mistle Thrush

A day in the life of a Bee

hey humble Bee, come and comb for some honey
the Winter has fled and everywhere is sunny
so for the Yellow Army the Queen signed up
the finest gold dust will fill her precious cup
onward to the woods where the dandelions grow
dancing pirouettes over blooms of yellow
see the sun gently rise over the highest peak
escorting in summer so mild and meek
hanging and bending with that enticing hum
flowers open their hearts for the right Bee to come
there you are rushing and hurrying along
a gilded memory of summer's long song
but endless August days seemed to float on by
as harbingers of Autumn cascade the sky
as one those late blossoms bloom with all their power
but when the work is done the Bee will leave the flower.

The prolific Dandelion is more often than not the Queen Bee's desperate first nectar hit when they come out of hibernation.



Yearning to be normal

voiceless whispers just yearning to be normal
shops staring back at you in a thoughtful mood
a desperate jogger who can't be informal
in case, into his private space you intrude

distrustful of every other single person
living in dread that you're going to break the law
fearing that conditions are going to worsen
like a wave that hardly dare land on the shore

warm gusts of bygone days calmly sweep on by
where happiness was left on a razors edge
a booming stock market and more pie in the sky
and promises that could not renew their pledge

in bars and cafès hang painted silhouttes
on an empty High Street that was once the fast lane
seeing your hopes dashed again as another sun sets
but how long before the bridge breaks under the strain?

Going for my daily jog up Lincoln High Street and the appropriately named Steep Hill at the height of the Coronavirus epidemic, the place was deserted at 10.00am on a Saturday morning! 

Dandelions

so maybe the sun has come here to stay
perhaps the rain has finally gone away
Dandelions sway in the warm breath of spring
wandering what an endless summer will bring
windswept childhood from a sun drenched sky
with a kiss from the wind, you calmly float by
in effortless action you enhanced those years
in mirth and laughter and in sorrowful tears
all those years disappeared like shooting stars
in admirable innocence and scattered memoirs
like an abstract hay bale in a forgotten field
where the moss of time lays quietly congealed
onward to the smoldering embers of old age
to the long goodbye when you reach the last page
where weathered stones are battered into the earth
awaiting the time for the land to give birth
when the rain has finally gone away
and the sun is definitely here to stay.

Reflections on Firemore Beach (solace in art)

yoyo sunrises of wholesome frivolity
where the copper mirror and glittery frieze part
where morning Larks cavort in tandem jollity
on the doorstep of Summer there's solace in art

how you lament the waves as they kiss your feet
in the bay where mackerel are a hunted school
near ancient woods where dreams and reality meet
in see-saw days from time's never ending spool

announcing the evening, a Seagull's plaintive cry
circling 'the ruin' surrounded by nettles
striations of gold under a mackerel sky
many happy days but the dust always settles.

Tornapress

There you are, sat in quiet torpor
resolute - Guardian of the Bealach.
You can't go beyond the boundary
where giants put there hands over the sun
and summon aquatic rages from the arctic!
You're the moment before the needle comes down on the record
the sound of a presence that can only be felt,
a stand alone excerpt from a much larger symphony.
Though the gradient has seperated you from your children
your russet stained moors will always spread the colour of life!
Emblem of Blue Ribbon wilderness, you can do anything-
chanel the zeitgeist that never ends,
play tennis without a net
or football without a goal
or even teach birds how to fly
but never forget the pledge you made with eternity...
that you would never lose your wild soul!

     

The gateway to the Bealach. A favourite pace, the exquisitely named TORNAPRESS.

 
               *       *          *         *         *            *
            * *  Whatever happened to the snow?  *

       *              Whatever happened to the snow?                    *
         *          When the morning would rise without a sun    *
        *           children building snowmen and having fun     *
           *        does the snell North wind no longer blow?     *
                 *        *          *            *           *          *             *
                     *          *            *           *         *              *
           *         come December and there's still no snow            *
            *        gone are the Autumn leaves where you stand  *
            *        but no icicles under a tinkling hand                         *
               *      or Holsts of stars with a silent night below  *
                              *             *             *              *
                        *            *            *               *                 *          *
             *        will we ever see the snow again?    *
               *     carpets of ivory delicate as lace     *
              *      from floating feathers entwined with grace   *
                *    yet all we ever did was complain                    *
                        *         *             *           *          *             *
                              *           *            *          *             *
             *      but now we realise that it was so nice         *
              *     to walk on snow where no one had before     *
             *      like tracing footprints across a dance floor   *
              *     to a gurgling stream that's now solid ice          *
                   *      *             *          *            *             *
       *            *           *             *           *            *               *
               *    so every winter we should see snow *
                   *on every branch of every tree                       *
             *      crystaline and silent, falling free   *
             *      filling the earth with your heavenly glow.   *

          *      *        *         *          *        *          *            *

                *        *        *            *          *          *          *              *       *

Return to Petriberg

a few words I have here composed
on the day that the gates of Petriberg were closed
the weeks went by like a melodious song
we kept telling each other "it wont be long"

conference meetings kept us in the right lane
until we could embrace each other again
determined that our armour would not corrode
with the flame of love we are bestowed

our world was quieter without each other
our hosts were like a Father and a Mother
the sun will soon shine through the bay window once more
and you'll hear the tap of heels on the hardwood floor

though we couldn't stop the leaves from falling
 we'll come running back when we hear you calling
I'm sure all of our hearts will be in furrour
when the gates of Petriberg are open once more.

Tesco's from Petriberg

Poor little Robin

"Hello little Robin, hopping on my fence
why sing all alone? That doesn't make any sense
you sing so shrill and sweet, I always await you're call
from tiny violets in the grass to trees that stretch so tall"

"I was getting bullied, by all those ghastly Crows
full control they've taken, of the tree the one I chose
now I'm just abandoned, I sing all on my own
I'm now just far too frightened to go back into their zone"

"poor little Robin, you should never fear the Crows
these things don't go unnoticed, there's one above who knows
don't ever let their envy, disturb your beautious peace
for fear you will stop singing, and then our joy will cease"

our hopes and aspiratons, will gradually distill
the honeyed dreams we cling to, reality will fulfill
"so come here little Robin, come and rest your weary wings
but please always remember, there's one above who knows all things".

We observed that Robins often get bundled off trees and other feeding grounds and end up foraging alone, while their mate sings by itself from some isolated vantage point.

The Gift

anchored deep in the enchantment of Spring
behold! The Great Artist's pastoral masterpiece
this preponderance of pink has a steady swing
from the gentle wind that proceeds from the East

bedazzled right through with darting gleams of sun
where a restless Blackbird sings his endless song
lamenting his own race, that's very soon run
and gushing clusters that don't last very long

alas! In one short day you're glory has gone
just like the blossom we too have our day
see the branches lay bare where glory once shone
rainbows dissappear and grass turns to hay

I asked the Great Artist "is the end of all things near?"
- "life is like blossom and vanishes like the dew
but nature is a gift to enjoy all of the year
until the time comes when I 'make all things new' ".

To write you a poem

I loved mountains and rivers
and the sea's mighty roar
and tiffany glass sunsets
but I always loved you more

I loved the Western Isles
fringed with endless golden sand
but they would all mean nothing
if I couldn't hold your hand

I loved the lochs of liquid glass
and the coconut scented air
but they would lose their wonderment
if you could not be there

I loved spotting Dragonflies
and Butterflies galore
and Waders digging in the sand
but I always loved you more.

                        Snippets
random thoughts charmingly unconnected

a Sparrow sits motionless on a fencepost
suddenly a Squirell powers up the fence
the Sparrow still sits motionless
if I made the slightest noise they would both scarper!

a writer generally writes for someboby to read
that would be the intended target for a poem
if noone reads them now they may do in the future
and even if they don't you've enjoyed writing them

looking at a favourite scenic photograph on your tablet
yet only a shadow of what it was really like
an eternally preserved moment without the atmosphere
and all the things that weighed on your mind when you took it.

Greenland is not an Island
but sixty five islands around a sea of ice
what if the ice were to melt?
Sixty five islands united by the currency of the sea.

in the urban hedge Mother Blackbird feeds her young
sovereingty of detachement
the parallel world continues
from his vantage point Father Blackbird looks on.

a wee Wren

Never Seen

a hidden meaning on crumpled paper
buried in the depths of God's green acre
a perfect poem that refused to rhyme
banished forever in the mists of time
that photograph that never came to fruition
as to access the land you didn't get permission
a forgotten  dream with a flawless script
the one with the treaure map remains tight lipped
give the Artist a brush and the Writer a pen
for their take on the sight of an elusive Wren
yet the Hairstreak's wings are forever hidden
too beautiful to see, eternally forbidden.

when the Black Hairstreak is at rest or feeding, it's wings are 'never' open - hence, the pattern of the upper wing is somewhat of a mystery.

Dingy Skipper

Marsh Fritillary

Orange Tip

Browsing through old photographs

Unlocking doors to forgotten rooms of time
only you have the key.
Each room a testimony to a changed world:
crooked teeth
1970's decor
antiquated hairstyles - frozen in time!
But why did you take the photos?
It was because you loved your life.
You didn't have to be a good photographer,
or even have a good camera,
but you appreciated what was around you.
A smooth pan shot of your years:
no opinions
dissensions
atmospheres
terrorist attacks
global warming
corona virus

that's how it was.....then.

Latticed Heath Moth

Penn Y Gent, Yorkshire.

The Secret

I know a shining hillside stream
where nobody ever goes
like a fragment from a dream
down the rocks fresh water flows

somewhere under Northern skies
an ancient forest glows
the wilderness has it's prize
a location no-one knows

pine needle  carpets for your feet
lochans where the brown trout play
I'd tell you where the Otters meet
but I've given too much away!

GR LR19 881791

By the stream

Flowing, soothing, softly,
      still, flow, soothe, soft, stillness
           peacefull, serene, relaxing, flowing
                 soothing, tumbling, chattering, cleansing
                         soothing, beautiful, tinkling, constant, patient
                                   pebbles, chattering, constantly, soothing,
                                            clear, cool, meandering, bending, warm
                                                       soothing, sunshine, peaceful,
               relaxing, soothing, sunshine, beautiful,
peaceful, chattering, patient, chilled,
               pebbles, softening, unwinding, soothing, sleeping,
                         drowsy, contentment, appeased, subdued, calm,
                                  soothing, still, calming, chattering, patient,
                                            easing, unifying, peaceful, stillness, tinkling,
                        unwinding, mollifying, still, soothing, peace, calm
     tinkling, chattering, patient, flowing, soothing, rocks,
peaceful, drowsy, contentment, cleansing, calm
          relax, chilled, calming, beautiful, subdued, chattering, appease
                   stillness, settling, sweet, clean, water, meandering, chattering,
                           patient, pebbles, relaxing, soothing, contentment, sleeping,
                                   heavy, contented, relaxing, soothing, sleeping, serene, peace,
flowing, clear, cool, warm, sunshine, relaxing, patient, heavy, stones
             light, soothing, peaceful, sleeping,
                         relaxing, sunshine, flowing, serene, quiet,
                                      peaceful, soothing, tinkling, content,
                                                          relaxing, soothing, heavy, sleeping,
                                                                                        soothing, sleeping, content
                                                                             warm, soothing, sleeping
                                                            soothing, sleeping
                                                    sleeping.         

Wind in Lonely Fences

I'll be there to wipe away your tears
that have fallen through the missing years
sitting by the window, looking outside
reflecting on our own short joyride
when the door was open and the sun's glory shone
now the joy we held on to has finally gone
leafing through old photo albums page by page
evoking memories from a bygone age
so on the world's stage you just had to perform
but that stage was set for the perfect storm
we played the childhood game of consequences
as the soft wind blew through lonely old fences.

Lochan of the Night

so far away from the chaos of the city
around deserted lochans seascaped with sand
on hills that thrust up in bold propinquity
please talk to me in the language of the land

hear the wind blow through layers of voiceless peace
from a bothy on a hillside of golden brown
teamwork overhead is the call of the Geese
Queen of the night will you not wear a crown?

facing up to issues that we all invent
like discarded comments in old guest books
on a steep mountain side that will not relent
has the fingerprint of time cast it's own barbed hooks?

ongoing promises that time can't fulfill
in time and space that puts everything right
onward our gallant hearts are hopeful still
walking alongside the Loch of the Night.

Loch na H- Oidhche in the Torridon mountain range, lit - 'Loch of the Night'.

Loch na H- Oidhche from Beinn an Eòin

'deserted lochans seascaped with sand'

and finally..

KTDA and One Love - Marky x.