Poetry of the Campsies

100_0021Two poems written at a local beauty spot. It is not far from Glasgow.

 

A JOURNEY

Written in the Campsies after seeing a shoe in the waters. An article in a local magazine spoke of ghosts being seen at one particular pool.

The picture is taken at Campsie Glen.

 

In February, we visited the Glen

They never saw me fall

I heard no words of sorrow,

There was no extensive search for me.

Trapped in the ice, I tried to speak to a thirsty deer,

But my voice was frail and muffled.

With March, came the thaw, and I was freed from the ice

I tumbled through the waterfall

Hitting rock after rock.

During April, a water beetle lived deep within my fabric.

On the hottest day in June,

A dying sheep joined me in the waters

She fought long and hard for her life

I was sad when the churning of the water ceased.

Down stream, always downstream.

One saffron stained twilight in July,

I travelled into the Ghost pool

Spirits came to see me

I understood the twinkling language of their dull lights

At first I was afraid, but they spoke to me and told me, “No Fear”.

The golden leaves of November filled the pool

I lay hid deep within their mass

Mud buried me ever deeper,

Further from the light.

But on a night of rain and storms

I moved to my new home,

Held tight within the roots of a tree.

Think of me, now and then,

A discarded shoe in Campsie Glen

 

 

 

 

CYCLING UP THE CROW ROAD (ABOVE THE CAMPSIE GLEN AND NEAR LENNOXTOWN)

 

                                                         

Legs are straining as light is fading, hill-side shading. Sweat and sunset colours stain each golden grain

Muted hues are spreading, into leaves then shedding. Streams, together threading and downwards heading

Lapwing calling, limbs are stalling. Singing in the rain, and cycling through the pain

White gulls darting, diving and arising, lit by BRILLIANT SHAFTS OF DANCING LIGHT, as they tumble down the empty air, to squabble, here, and there, and EVERYWHERE

 

Winds are bracing, through dark sheep I’m chasing, ever faster racing, homeward bound

Turning corners, down and around. Tired and wet, and cold-wind facing. Heavy breathing is the only sound

Tighter bends as daylight ends, and straining eyes to see in the grey-patched and yellow-dotted dappled light

No-one to please. Happy and free. Just the two of us-my bike and me

 

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